Guarding the Insecure Billionaire

Chapter3

Aceline walked toward the garage at the side of the house, her boots scraping softly against the wet pavement.

At least her car was still there.

That was all she needed.

She could sell it, take the money, and disappear from this city forever.

But the moment she reached the garage door, her steps slowed.

A new lock.

Heavy.

Metallic.

Recently installed.

Aceline stared at it blankly for a few seconds before exhaling sharply through her nose.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

Frustration burned through her chest again.

She immediately pulled out her phone and called Selena back.

The agent answered almost instantly this time.

“Mrs. Diren?”

“I need access to the garage,” Aceline said flatly. “My car is still inside.”

A pause followed.

Then an uncomfortable sigh.

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t have any information regarding that. Mr. Spencer personally inspected the property after the purchase, and I’m not sure if he changed any locks himself.”

Aceline closed her eyes briefly.

Of course he did.

Without another word, she ended the call.

Silence settled around her again.

Cold.

Heavy.

Then slowly, a thought formed in her head.

Taylor Spencer.

It felt like a terrible idea.

Actually, it felt like the stupidest idea possible.

But it was the only option she had left.

Breaking the lock could land her in more trouble, especially if this man truly was as influential as everyone kept implying.

She needed answers.

And she needed her car.

Aceline pulled up her search engine and typed the name slowly.

Taylor Spencer.

Several articles immediately flooded the screen.

Billionaire investor.

Tech mogul.

Youngest real estate acquisition shark in the state.

Private.

Reclusive.

Dangerously wealthy.

Most of the headlines carried the same strange undertone around him, like people were afraid to say too much.

One article finally caught her attention.

“He lives on the mountain estate overlooking the city…”

Away from everybody else.

Aceline stared at the photo attached to the article.

Massive gates.

Dark mansion.

Too much money.

She sighed heavily and shoved the phone back into her pocket.

Then she walked toward the street and hailed a taxi.

The driver pulled over reluctantly.

A middle-aged man with tired eyes and nicotine-stained fingers.

“Where to, ma’am?” he asked casually.

Aceline opened the back door and slid inside.

“Take me to Taylor Spencer’s house.”

The driver’s head snapped toward her so fast it almost looked painful.

Fear flashed openly across his face.

“Who?” he asked carefully.

“Taylor Spencer,” Aceline repeated, confused by the reaction.

The man stared at her for a long second through the rearview mirror.

Then he shook his head immediately.

“I can’t do that, ma’am.”

Aceline frowned.

“Why not?”

The driver let out a nervous laugh.

“Do you even know who you just mentioned?”

Aceline’s irritation returned instantly.

“I’ll give you five hundred bucks.”

The man froze.

Slowly… he turned around again.

This time, he was smiling.

A guilty smile.

“I need the money,” he admitted quietly. “My wife’s pregnant.”

Aceline leaned back against the seat tiredly.

“I see,” she muttered. “Now drive.”

The taxi pulled away slowly from the curb.

Outside, the city lights blurred against the darkening evening sky while Aceline sat silently in the backseat, trying to process why merely saying one man’s name was enough to make grown adults afraid.

.

The climb through the outskirts of the city felt endless.

Winding roads curled around the mountain like snakes, disappearing into thick trees and fog that swallowed the skyline whole. By the time the taxi slowed in front of the gates, Aceline finally understood why people spoke Taylor Spencer’s name like a warning.

The mansion towered above the hill.

Massive.

Cold.

Untouchable.

Even from outside the gates, it looked less like a home and more like a fortress built for a man preparing for war.

She paid the driver.

The moment the cash touched his hand, he sped off without another word, tires screeching against the pavement like he was escaping death itself.

Aceline stared after him for a second.

Pathetic.

She didn’t survive years in the SEALs to be afraid of some rich recluse hiding on a mountain.

She pressed the bell.

Static crackled through the speaker before a deep voice spoke.

“Identify yourself.”

Aceline’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Using her name alone wouldn’t get her through those gates. Men like this respected titles more than people.

“Detective Aceline Diren.”

She flashed her old ID toward the camera, careful not to hold it close enough for details to be properly seen.

Silence followed.

Long enough to make her think she’d been caught.

Then—

A loud metallic clank echoed through the air.

The gates slowly unbolted.

One side pulled open, revealing a heavily armed man in tactical gear. A rifle hung lazily across his chest, though his grip on it said he could raise it in less than a second.

He gave her a single nod.

Aceline stepped inside.

“Riley!” the guard called out.

Another figure appeared almost immediately.

A woman.

Also armed.

Also dressed in tactical gear.

Aceline’s brows furrowed.

What exactly were they guarding up here?

A billionaire?

Or something worse?

“Pat her down,” the man ordered casually.

Riley approached without hesitation.

Her hands moved professionally at first, checking Aceline’s waist, boots, arms. Then her touch lingered slightly across her chest.

The guard at the gate snorted a laugh.

“Protocol,” he said with a grin.

Aceline’s jaw tightened, but she stayed silent.

Being searched didn’t offend her. She’d spent too long in military spaces for that.

Still, the smirk on his face irritated her.

Riley finally stepped back.

“You’re clean.”

“Follow me.”

They walked side by side through the enormous property, gravel crunching beneath their boots. The mansion grew larger the closer they got, its dark windows reflecting the cloudy sky like empty eyes.

“He’s been expecting you,” Riley said quietly.

Aceline almost stopped walking.

“Who?”

“Mr. Spencer.”

A pulse of alarm shot through her chest.

“Why?” she asked before catching herself.

Riley glanced at her briefly.

“You’re the cop coming from the agency, aren’t you?”

Aceline forced herself not to react.

“Y-Yes,” she answered carefully. “Tell me about your boss.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Riley’s tone flattened instantly. “Just be careful. You’re in his house now.”

That sentence didn’t feel like advice.

It felt like a threat.

They rounded the side of the mansion, and the sound hit her first.

Basketballs striking concrete.

Steady.

Rhythmic.

Then she saw him.

Taylor Spencer stood alone on a private basketball court, launching effortless three-pointers like the world bored him.

Tall.

Too tall.

At least six-six.

Dark hair.

Broad shoulders.

A face carved into permanent irritation.

Even from a distance, he looked dangerous in the quietest way possible.

The kind of man who didn’t need to shout to make people nervous.

The ball left his hand again.

Swish.

Perfect shot.

He finally noticed them.

Riley immediately turned around and walked away without another word.

Aceline instinctively wanted to follow her.

Every nerve in her body screamed that she was not supposed to be here.

That she had walked into something she didn’t understand.

Taylor caught the ball with one hand and stared directly at her.

“Who do you have for me?” he asked flatly, bouncing the ball once against the court.

Aceline swallowed.

This was the moment to leave.

Instead, the words escaped before she could stop them.

“I need the key to my garage.”

Taylor frowned immediately.

“What garage?”

“You bought my house and locked my car inside my garage.”

The irritation on his face deepened into visible disgust.

“What the hell?”

“Or at least give me permission to break the lock.”

His eyes sharpened on her completely now.

Not angry.

Not yet.

Just intensely focused.

“Who let you in?”

Aceline stayed quiet.

“Get out of my house,” he said coldly. “Now. Before it’s too late.”

The air between them turned heavy.

Neither moved.

For one long moment, they just stared at each other.

Aceline felt it then.

The pressure people probably talked about when they mentioned his name.

Not fear.

Dominance.

The kind that made rooms bend around someone.

Finally, she broke eye contact first.

Without another word, she turned around and started walking back toward the gates, the weight of his stare still pressing against her back the entire way.

And now she had another problem.

She was stranded on a mountain owned by a man who looked like he buried bodies for fun.