Mine and Mine Alone: Billionaire's Obsession

Two: The Client is my ex

"No... please, no! Ahhh!"

Cleopatra bit her lips, forcing herself back to reality. The past was too painful; she didn't want to think about it. Her body was trembling, the phantom weight of those gold chains still haunting her skin.

"Are you alright, miss?"

Cleopatra looked up to see a man staring at her in genuine concern. She nodded quickly, her fingers trembling as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I'm fine. Excuse me," she whispered, her voice cracking. She didn't wait for a response, quickly walking away and losing herself in the crowd of the lobby.

The man stood still, his eyes narrowed as he watched her retreating figure. Why does she look familiar?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the lobby, Gideon found himself blocked by a tiny, fierce roadblock.

"You bumped into my sister," Tara demanded, her voice firm and her tiny hands planted on her hips. "Apologize!"

Gideon raised a brow. No one usually dared to raise their voice at him, let alone a child. Despite himself, he felt a strange, magnetic pull toward the trio, a sense of familiarity he couldn't name. He squatted down to their height, his expression softening as he looked at Tori.

"Little girl, are you hurt?" His voice was a deep, smooth rumble. "I am truly sorry I bumped into you. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Tori looked up, her big eyes still watery from the shock of the fall. The man before her was breathtaking. He possessed a jawline so sharp it looked carved from granite, and hair the color of midnight swept back from a high, intelligent forehead. He looked like the princes in the storybooks Cleopatra read to them, only more dangerous.

A spark of mischief replaced the tears in Tori’s eyes. A brilliant, cunning idea took root.

"You hurt me," Tori said, her lip trembling with exaggerated sorrow. "Do you think a simple 'sorry' will stop the pain? My knee is very precious."

Gideon raised a dark, elegant eyebrow. "Oh? Should I take you to the hospital then?"

"Never mind," Tori waved a hand dismissively, struggling to her feet with the help of her sisters. She brushed off her knees with the air of a tiny queen. "How about this: You give me your number. If I need anything, if the pain comes back, I’ll call you."

Tia and Tara's faces twitched. This cunning little sister of theirs... they knew exactly what was going on in her mind.

Gideon smiled. He reached into his pocket and brought out a sleek, gold-embossed card.

"This is my private number," Gideon said, handing it to the tiny girl. "If you find that your 'precious' knee still hurts tomorrow, you make sure to let me know personally."

Tori looked at the card. Gideon Moretti, CEO. Just then, Tara's phone rang in her pocket, shifting their focus.

"It's Mom," Tara said, checking the screen. "We have to go."

Tori and Tia nodded quickly. "Goodbye, Uncle! See you next time!" Tori called out, even blowing him a playful kiss.

Tia and Tara rolled their eyes and shook their heads. "What a flirt."

The trio turned and walked away, with Tara answering the call. "Mommy? Where are you? We're coming!"

Gideon stood up and stared at the retreating backs of the three identical girls, a strange smile lingering on his face.

Cleopatra met the children near the exit, her eyes darting around frantically. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, praying Gideon wouldn't see her. She quickly flagged down a cab, ushering the children inside and sliding in after them. Only when the driver pulled away did Cleopatra finally let out a long, shaky sigh.

"Mom, why didn't you run after us? It's unlike you," Tia said, tilting her head.

Cleopatra leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes. "Sorry honey, but I am so exhausted. I didn't have the strength for that today."

"Sorry Mommy, we didn't know you were so tired," Tia said, patting her arm. "Don't worry, when we get home I will give you a massage!"

"And I will make dinner, Mommy. You don't need to stress yourself," Tara added loyally.

Cleopatra smiled at them, feeling warmed by their thoughtfulness. Then she looked at the youngest, who was unusually quiet. "And what about you, Tori? What will you do for Mommy?"

Tori grinned, her hand clutched tightly over the pocket where the gold card was hidden. "I'm going to find us a big surprise, Mommy! So big that you’ll never have to be tired or work a long day ever again!"

.....

Once they arrived home, the house came alive with the girls' coordinated efforts.

"Tori, come help me in the kitchen! We’re making Mommy’s favorite pasta," Tara commanded, already reaching for her tiny apron. Tori gave a mysterious little grin, patting her pocket one last time before joining her sister.

"I’m going to go prepare Mommy’s bath!" Tia chirped, running toward the bathroom. "Lots of bubbles to make the stress go away!"

Cleopatra leaned back, watching them with a weary but grateful smile. She was supposed to be the one taking care of them, the one shielding them from the world's harshness, but in reality, they were the ones taking care of her.

The apartment was small, but it felt massive once the girls got to work. True to their word, the trio treated Cleopatra like royalty.

In the kitchen, Tara and Tori worked in a chaotic but well-meaning harmony. Tara stood on a stool to stir the pot, her face dusted with a bit of flour, while Tori "supervised" by handing over the salt with a flourish. They eventually marched into the living room, carefully carrying a bowl of pasta.

"Open wide, Mommy!" Tori chirped, holding up a forkful.

Cleopatra laughed, her heart melting as her daughters took turns feeding her. She didn't have the heart to tell them the pasta was a little overcooked; to her, it was the best meal she’d ever had.

After dinner, the scene moved to the bathroom. Tia had gone overboard with the bubbles, creating a mountain of foam that nearly reached the ceiling. They sat Cleopatra on a stool and, with tiny sponges and much splashing, began scrubbing her legs and arms.

"You're the prettiest queen in the whole world," Tia whispered, diligently scrubbing her mother’s knee.

"And queens don't get stressed," Tara added, rinsing Cleopatra’s feet with warm water.

Wrapped in that warmth and the scent of lavender, Cleopatra felt the phantom weight of those gold chains finally start to fade. By the time they tucked her into bed, her limbs felt like lead. She drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep at 7:00 PM.

.....

The sharp buzz of her alarm woke her at 8:00 PM. Cleopatra sat up, momentarily disoriented, before the reality of her night shift at the agency rushed back. She freshened up quickly, splashing cold water on her face to shake off the sleep. She dressed in a crisp, white button-down shirt, meticulously tucking it into a sharp black pencil skirt that fell just to her knees.

When she arrived at the venue—a high-end private club used for late-night corporate signings—her boss, Clark, was already waiting by the entrance.

Clark was a man of few words and even fewer smiles, a reputation that made the office go quiet whenever he walked in. But the moment he saw Cleopatra, his cold expression shifted.

He noticed her pale face immediately. "Cleo," he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone as he stepped forward to steady her by the elbow. "You look exhausted. If this is too much, I can handle the minutes myself."

"I'm okay, Clark. Really," she insisted with a small, appreciative smile. "I just need the overtime."

"You're too hard on yourself," he sighed, his gaze lingering on her just a second too long. He offered her his arm, his movements steady and protective. "Stay close to me. This client is... formidable. But as long as you're with me, you have nothing to worry about."

Cleopatra took comfort in his gentle presence. They walked through the hushed, carpeted halls of the VIP wing toward the executive suite. Clark pushed the double mahogany doors open, his voice professional and welcoming.

"Mr. Moretti, thank you for seeing us at such an hour. I believe we have the final drafts ready for your—"

Clark’s voice faded into the background as Cleopatra stepped into the room. Her breath hitched, getting stuck in her throat.

Sitting behind the glass desk, a crystal glass of amber liquid in his hand, was the man from the lobby. The sharp jawline, the midnight hair, the aura of dangerous elegance—it was unmistakable.

Gideon Moretti looked up. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto hers. The recognition in his gaze was instantaneous, hitting her like a physical blow.

Cleopatra froze, her fingers trembling against the leather of her notebook. The world seemed to shrink until there was nothing left but the thundering of her own heart and his piercing stare.