Taming the billionaire

The first try

Ava’s POV

The rain hadn’t stopped all afternoon. It drummed softly against the tall glass windows of the mansion, turning the sprawling gardens outside into nothing but blurry patches of gray and silver. The air smelled faintly of earth and storm, and now and then, a flash of lightning illuminated the marble floors like a fleeting heartbeat.

The whole house felt heavy quiet, as though it was holding its breath.

I moved through the corridor with a tray of tea, the porcelain rattling slightly in my shaking hands. I wasn’t nervous because of the rain. I was nervous because of him.

Damon Blackwell.

The man who owned this mansion, and possibly half of New York, but couldn’t seem to own a moment of peace.

He hadn’t spoken a full sentence to me all day. Not that he ever really did. But today, the silence felt different colder, sharper. Like something inside him had cracked again, and the pieces were too jagged to touch.

When I entered his study, the warmth from the fireplace hit me first, followed by the sight of him sitting in his usual chair. The firelight painted the edges of his jaw in gold and amber, catching in the shadows beneath his eyes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie discarded on the desk beside a half-empty glass of whiskey. Papers were scattered across the table, but I could tell from the stillness of his eyes that he wasn’t reading a single word.

He was somewhere else entirely.

I set the tray down carefully on the small table beside him. “You haven’t eaten,” I said softly, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.

No answer.

He didn’t even glance up. His gaze stayed fixed on the window, where the rain streaked down in uneven rivers.

“You’ll make yourself sick again if you keep skipping meals,” I continued. My voice trembled, but I held my ground. “You hired me to take care of your health, remember?”

Still nothing. Only the faint clink of the ice melting in his glass.

Then finally, he spoke. His voice was quiet, almost fragile beneath the roughness. “Why do you care?”

I blinked, taken aback.

He turned toward me then, and the moment our eyes met, my breath caught. His eyes gray, sharp as a winter storm were filled with exhaustion, with shadows I couldn’t begin to name.

“You’re just doing your job,” he said, his tone low, detached.

The words should have stung, but they didn’t. Because I could hear what lay underneath them. Not cruelty. Not arrogance. Just pain.

“Because that’s what caring people do,” I said after a pause. I tried to smile, though it wavered. “They care, even when they’re not supposed to.”

His expression flickered. For a heartbeat, the walls he always kept so tightly built seemed to tremble. His hand tightened around the glass before he slowly set it down.

“You should stay away from people like me, Ava,” he said finally. “I destroy everything I touch.”

The honesty in his voice was like a blade. Sharp, raw, and heartbreaking.

I wanted to ask why. I wanted to know who had made him believe that.

Instead, I said quietly, “Maybe that’s not true.”

He gave a bitter smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t know me.”

“Then let me.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them soft, but desperate. And I meant them.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound in the room was the steady rhythm of the rain.

He looked torn, caught between pushing me away and pulling me closer. I could almost see the war in his eyes. Then his shoulders slumped slightly, as though the weight of his past had just doubled.

“Go,” he said at last, his voice strained. “Before I say something I can’t take back.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding so hard it hurt.

I wanted to stay to ask, to understand but I could see that he was already unraveling. So I nodded, turned, and started toward the door.

Then his voice stopped me.

“I haven’t slept in two nights.”

I froze.

He was staring into the fire now, his jaw tight. “Every time I close my eyes, I see her.”

“Her?” I asked softly.

He swallowed hard, his throat moving. “My fiancée. She died three years ago.”

The words hit me like cold rain.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered after a moment. My voice shook. “No one should have to carry that kind of loss alone.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just stared at the flames, his fingers twitching slightly against his knee, as though he wanted to hold something that wasn’t there anymore.

“I used to think I could save her,” he murmured. “That money, power, anything I could fix it. But I couldn’t.”

The pain in his voice made my chest ache.

He turned his head then, his eyes meeting mine again. And for the first time, there was no mask. No distance. Just raw, aching grief.

“She was the only person who ever saw me for more than what I am,” he said quietly. “And then she was gone.”

I wanted to say something anything but words felt useless against a loss that deep. So I just nodded, stepping closer, though I didn’t touch him.

“Sometimes,” I said finally, “we lose people not because we failed them, but because life is cruel. You don’t have to punish yourself forever.”

He gave a broken laugh, one that sounded more like a sob swallowed in pride. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But maybe it’s worth trying.”

Something in his gaze softened. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he reached for the cup of tea I’d brought. His fingers brushed mine for just a second, and the brief contact sent a shiver down my spine.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

It was just two words, but coming from Damon Blackwell, it felt like a miracle.

I smiled faintly, blinking away the warmth that suddenly stung my eyes. “Goodnight, Mr. Blackwell.”

I turned toward the door again, but as I walked away, I could feel his gaze following me—heavy, silent, filled with things neither of us could say aloud.

Outside the study, I paused in the hallway, pressing a hand against my chest. My heart was racing like I’d just escaped something dangerous and beautiful all at once.

I didn’t know what was happening between us. But it felt like the first c***k in something I shouldn’t be touching.

And yet, I couldn’t stop wanting to.

That night, as I lay awake in my small room at the far end of the mansion, I could still feel the echo of his voice, the look in his eyes.

Damon Blackwell was a man drowning in ghosts.

And for reasons I couldn’t understand, I wanted to be the one to pull him to shore even if it meant drowning with him.