THE BILLIONAIRE'S MISSING PIECE (ENGLISH)

CHAPTER 4: TRUE COLOR

Naime crouched at her laptop, her fingers moving methodically over the keys as she finished the last of Drevin’s assignments. Emails needed sending, clients had to be notified about the canceled meetings, and the reschedules had to be slotted for next week. Drevin would be out of the office for a week, and she had chosen the comfort of her apartment over the office chaos to get it done.

Working with Drevin was easy. He was considerate, not the kind of boss to pressure her unnecessarily, and he never demanded long, mindless hours. When he realized her tasks were complete and her inbox clear, he had allowed her to leave early without hesitation. It was a relief to be trusted to manage her own time, to be treated like a capable adult rather than a machine.

Naime leaned back, stretching her shoulders and tilting her head, feeling the satisfying crack of her bones. The small sound was comforting, grounding her in the quiet hum of her apartment. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the stillness.

A knock at the door jolted her upright. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and laziness urged her to ignore it, but the persistent tapping drew her attention.

“Just a moment,” she called, her voice reluctant.

Before opening, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was slightly tousled, her expression tired, but presentable enough. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to see Marco and Jennifer Medina, Clifford’s parents. Concern etched their faces, and her chest tightened with an unexpected flutter of anxiety.

“Please, come in,” she said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the living room.

The couple settled quietly on her sofa, their posture formal but strained with worry. Naime moved to the refrigerator, grabbing juice for them, and returned with glasses, placing them carefully on the coffee table before taking a seat across from them. The heaviness in the room was immediate, a weight that pressed against her chest.

Jennifer spoke first, her voice gentle but steady. “You probably know why we’re here.”

Naime nodded, her eyes meeting theirs with quiet acknowledgment.

“Why can’t you give Clifford another chance?” Jennifer asked. “No relationship is perfect. It was just one mistake. He told us they are no longer together. I understand you’re hurt. I’m a woman too. But if you love Clifford, you should consider forgiving him. He fought for you against us. Are you really going to throw it all away?”

Naime listened, her expression calm but pensive, absorbing every word.

Marco leaned forward slightly, his voice softening. “We admit we weren’t thrilled at first, but over time, we’ve come to care for you. You’re part of our family now. We’re pleading with you. Please, consider coming back to Clifford. He’s a mess without you.”

Her gaze dropped to the glass of juice in her hands. The worry in their eyes was unmistakable, genuine and tender, but it could not erase the memories of betrayal. Quietly, she asked, “Do you know who the woman is?”

The couple exchanged uneasy glances. They had heard whispers but had no knowledge of the details.

“It was Shelly,” Naime said, her voice sharp with controlled frustration. The name felt heavy on her tongue. Shelly, her best friend, now intertwined in the worst moment of her life. “That’s why this is so hard for me. I hope you understand and respect my decision. I love Clifford, but love alone isn’t enough. I need a man who is faithful to me. What kind of future could we have if this repeats after marriage? I’m sorry, but my mind is made up.”

She handed a tissue to Jennifer, who had begun to cry quietly, her shoulders shaking.

“Thank you for accepting me despite my background, which I know wasn’t ideal. You had your reservations, and yet you made me feel like family. I’m grateful for that warmth. Right now, though, I need to be alone. I cannot face Clifford and Shelly after everything that has happened.”

Marco rose and gently guided his wife to stand, their hands entwined. “We understand. Our door will always be open. You are welcome anytime. I am truly sorry for what Clifford did to you.”

Naime’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Thank you... Dy.”

When the door closed behind them, the quiet returned, but it brought no peace. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks, a raw testament to the storm she carried inside. Others might never understand why she could not forgive him, but she did. The betrayal, the heartbreak, and the shattered trust were not things she could simply brush aside. Her heart bore the weight of what had been broken, and it ached for the love that had once seemed certain.

Naime thought of her mother’s life, a series of hard choices, dashed hopes, and bitter lessons. Her mother had been coerced into marrying her father, fully aware of his flaws and infidelities. She had clung to the fragile hope that love might change him, that commitment could soften his cruelty, but reality had proven merciless. Her father’s betrayals persisted, the lies and the abuse driving a wedge between them. And yet her mother had stayed, holding onto the illusion that things could be different. The result had been years of suffering and a life of hardship after she finally left him.

Naime pressed a hand to her chest, her resolve solidifying. She would not repeat her mother’s mistakes. She had learned that love could not be forced, nor could respect be conjured from wishful thinking. She would not sacrifice her happiness or peace for the sake of someone who could not honor her trust.

She wiped her tears and straightened her shoulders, feeling a renewed clarity settle over her. Temporary comforts and empty promises would not sway her. Any future relationship would have to be built on mutual respect, fidelity, and genuine commitment.

Her mother had regretted her decisions for years. By the time Naime was born, her father’s behavior had worsened. Repeated betrayals had escalated into physical abuse, leaving her mother overwhelmed and exhausted. Eventually, she had left, fleeing for safety, though the separation brought its own hardships. Financial struggles and emotional strain became their daily reality, yet her mother persevered. Through relentless effort, she worked to provide a stable life, instilling in Naime an unshakable work ethic and determination.

Naime had absorbed those lessons. Every achievement she reached, every milestone she celebrated, had been earned through grit and persistence—not through clinging to broken promises or unfulfilled dreams. Her mother’s struggles had shaped her, fueling a determination never to settle for anything less than a life of respect and genuine affection.

When her mother passed away, Auntie May became her anchor. She had no desire to seek out her father; his absence was a wound long acknowledged and quietly accepted. Solace came in the bond she shared with Auntie May and in her own resilience.

Shaking off the heaviness of her thoughts, Naime picked up her cellphone. Drake’s messages glared at her screen, stark and unapologetic.

The first read:

You left your lipstick here. I’ll be out of town for a week. Feel free to drop by and get it.

The second was more direct:

I want to f**k you. Come over.

A rush of conflicting emotions swirled through her. Relief, irritation, desire, and guilt collided. Drake’s messages were a jarring contrast to the heavy, sorrowful conversation she had just endured with Clifford’s parents. She hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen, weighing the temptation for distraction against the emotional complexity that still clung to her chest. The room felt suddenly smaller, the silence pressing in, as if the weight of her choices and desires coexisted in the same fragile space.

It was eleven in the evening, and Naime was still wrestling with her decision. The weight of the day pressed heavily against her chest, each memory of Clifford’s betrayal echoing louder than the last. She questioned whether she should go to Drake’s apartment simply because he wanted her there, or if she should allow herself a quiet moment to reflect on what she truly wanted.

The allure of their arrangement was undeniable. Their secret meetings offered her a thrill, a sense of control and freedom that stood in stark contrast to the turbulence she had faced that day. With Drake, she was not the woman betrayed; she was a confidante, a player in a game she could control. The thought brought a flutter of excitement that battled with the heaviness in her chest.

Her phone lay beside her. Silence had replaced the urgency of his earlier messages, leaving only the low hum of the night to fill the apartment. She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over it, wondering if distraction was a salve or a trap.

Her eyes drifted to the picture frame on the side table. The photo inside captured a different time, a different Naime and Clifford. They smiled at the camera, hope shining in their eyes, a day brimming with promises and imagined futures. That image now felt tainted, a painful reminder of vows broken and trust betrayed.

She reached for her phone again, indecision tightening around her like a vice. Should she chase this fleeting escape with Drake, or should she confront her feelings, give herself the space to heal? The question weighed heavily on her heart, every option tangled with guilt, desire, and a longing for stability she could no longer trust in others to provide.

A deep sigh left her lips. She grabbed the picture frame, frustration and resolve propelling her to throw it into the garbage with a sharp, final motion. It clattered against the metal can, a sound of closure she needed. Clifford’s number was blocked. Her social media accounts were deactivated. Solitude and reprieve were now her only companions.

Yet her thoughts stubbornly returned to Drake. Why did she find herself drawn to him? Was it merely the physical allure, the undeniable presence he carried, or something more complicated? She shook her head, attempting to dispel the confusion. For now, she would embrace the moment with him, however tangled her emotions.

The streets were quiet as she approached Drake’s building. A mix of nervous anticipation and reluctant surrender fluttered through her chest. The elevator ride did nothing to soothe her racing thoughts, and the cool night air bit at her skin, heightening the pulse of tension that had settled in her limbs.

Drake had almost resigned himself to her absence. He had begun focusing on other things when the unmistakable sound of his door opening cut through the room. A grin spread across his face as he saw her step inside, a mixture of surprise and relief brightening his features.

“Hey,” he said warmly, his voice carrying the quiet astonishment of someone who had almost given up hope. “I didn’t expect you.”

Naime gave a small, uncertain smile. “I needed to be here.”

Drake took a step forward, his gaze softening. “I’m glad you did.”

For a moment, they stood in silence. Words remained unspoken, hovering in the air, fragile and unformed. Then he drew her into a gentle embrace. The comfort of his arms offered her a fleeting sense of safety, a momentary reprieve from the chaos outside and within.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the noise of the outside world receded. They were left alone with the quiet intimacy of the apartment, a shared understanding bridging the space between them.

Drake’s apartment was familiar, yet the setting felt charged tonight. The room carried a mixture of sophistication and ease. A glass wall separated the minibar from the rest of the space, allowing her a clear view of him. He lounged casually on the edge of the minibar, a towel wrapped around his waist, a glass of brandy cradled in one hand. The lines of his bare chest caught the dim light, the effortless confidence in his posture making her pause.

Her gaze met his, and a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “Hey, come on in,” he said, voice low and inviting.

Naime returned a small smile, the tension in her chest loosening slightly as she took in the sight of him. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, letting her tone sound casual even as her heart thumped with anticipation.

Drake shook his head, taking a slow sip of his brandy. “Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.”

Naime stepped deeper into the room, her bare feet silent against the cool hardwood. The space breathed quiet luxury: clean lines of dark furniture, soft ambient light spilling from recessed fixtures, and that expansive glass wall framing the city lights like a private constellation. Her gaze drifted to the minibar tucked in the corner, its bottles catching faint glimmers, then settled on the wide, low sofa where they had collapsed laughing only a few nights earlier. The memory tugged at her, bittersweet.

She sank onto the cushions, spine straight at first, then slowly easing back. The day's weight still pressed against her ribs, yet the familiar scent of cedar and bourbon that clung to the leather helped loosen something inside her chest. Drake moved with his usual easy confidence. He set his glass on the side table with a soft clink and dropped beside her, close enough that the heat of his skin reached across the narrow space between them. The white towel knotted at his hip looked almost comical against his serious expression, but it only made the moment feel more unguarded.

"Want something to drink?" His voice stayed low, casual.

She shook her head. "I'm good. I just needed… this. Being here."

He studied her for a beat, then reached out. One fingertip brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheekbone and tucked it behind her ear. The touch lingered a second longer than necessary. "I'm glad you came."

Their eyes held. The city hummed faintly beyond the glass, but inside the room the silence felt intimate, almost sacred. For those few heartbeats, nothing else existed.

Later, his back rested against the headboard while she knelt behind him. Her palms settled on his shoulders, thumbs circling slowly, deliberate pressure into the tight muscles. He exhaled roughly, head tipping forward as pleasure rippled down his spine. Her hands slid lower, tracing the planes of his chest. Then her mouth followed—soft, open kisses pressed to the curve where neck met shoulder. Each one drew a quiet shiver from him.

God, she's too good at this.

"I'll be gone a week," he murmured, voice gravel-rough. "Gonna miss exactly this."

Naime's lips curved against his skin. "What, no s*x with the girlfriend while you're away?"

He laughed under his breath and twisted to face her. "I've slept with plenty of women, Naime. You're different. You give me what I want, and we both understand the rules."

"Which rules, exactly?" She arched one brow. "The no-strings kind? f**k-buddies?"

"Precisely." His grin flashed. "You never ask for more. No expectations. I like that. A lot."

She held his gaze for a long second. "I told you. No sweet talk."

"That wasn't sweet talk." He caught her waist and tugged. She let him pull her forward until she straddled his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. Her hips rolled in a slow, deliberate grind; his hands flexed on her waist in answer. The devilish tilt of his smile promised trouble. In one smooth motion he lifted her, carried her the few steps to the minibar, and set her down on the square wooden surface. He nudged her knees apart and stepped between them.

"Oh, that's a filthy move," she breathed. The words dissolved into a moan as his mouth found the side of her neck, tongue tracing a hot line upward.

"Don't leave marks," she managed.

"You taste like f*****g candy," he muttered against her skin, voice thick with wonder and hunger. "How is that even possible?"

She laughed softly, until the intercom buzzed, sharp and insistent.

Drake swore under his breath. "I'm not expecting anyone. No one comes here uninvited."

"It's fine," Naime slid off the counter, already reaching for her scattered clothes. "Must be important. I'll wait in the bedroom."

She grabbed her bag and slipped through the doorway just as Drake crossed to the entrance, still wearing only the towel. The door opened. A woman launched herself at him, arms winding around his neck, lips crashing against his.

"I missed you, Drake. Please… love me tonight?"

He caught her wrists gently but firmly and eased her back. "What the hell are you doing here, Shelly? You know the rules. You don't show up unannounced."

"I'm sorry." Her voice cracked. "I'm just… lost. I needed you."

Naime froze with her hand on the bedroom door frame. Shelly. Of all people. The name landed like a slap. She eased the door almost closed, leaving only a sliver through which she could see and hear.

"There's nothing between us," Shelly was saying, chin lifted. "It was a fling. We never meant for it to blow up Clifford's wedding."

"And yet it did," Drake cut in, tone flat. "You knew the risks. He's engaged or was. You made your choice."

"I thought he'd pick me…"

Drake dragged a hand over his face. "You're impossible. I'm not doing this tonight. Don't come back here. Ever."

Shelly's eyes narrowed. "I heard you're seeing Zhinkee now."

"Yeah. So?"

"Do you actually care about her? Planning a ring?"

"None of your damn business."

She gave a bitter little smile. "You'll remember how I used to make you lose your mind, Drake. One day you'll come crawling back. You'll see."

Naime pressed a hand over her mouth, stomach churning. The threads. Drake, Shelly, Clifford, her own canceled engagement, twisted tighter than she had ever realized. She gathered the last of her things, mechanical movements.

When the front door finally clicked shut, Drake returned to the minibar and poured another measure of brandy. He took a slow sip before speaking.

"Wait a couple of hours before you leave. She might still be hanging around the lobby."

Naime stepped out of the bedroom doorway. "You knew. This whole time."

He met her eyes without flinching. "Why does it matter now?"

"It matters to me."

A beat of silence. He shrugged one shoulder. "I only pieced it together recently."

"And you still wanted this? Knowing I'm Clifford's ex? Knowing Shelly was the one who—"

"She's your friend, not mine." His voice stayed even. "What happened before has nothing to do with us. We're both free agents. No one's getting hurt." He lifted his left hand, his bare ring finger catching the light. "See? Clean slate."

He set the glass down and closed the distance. When he reached her, he turned her gently so her back pressed to his chest, his hands settling low on her hips. Tension crackled in the air between them.

"You sure you want to keep going?" His mouth brushed the shell of her ear.

Her fingers curled into the sofa fabric. Heart hammering, she nodded.

"I want this," she whispered.

Drake paused, giving her one more chance. "Tell me to stop if you need to."

She shook her head. "Don't stop."

His touch remained careful, deliberate... every movement asking rather than taking. She leaned back into him, letting the heat and the rhythm slowly drown out the noise in her head. For now, at least, the tangled past could wait outside the door.