Billionaire Redemption

Chapter 27

Aura’s POV

•

•

•

*Ayra’s Point of View*

*What if I see his front?*

The thought slammed into my brain like a warning I didn’t ask for. My breath hitched, and I immediately looked away, the image already forming uninvited in my head.

*Nope. No. Absolutely not.*

I did the only reasonable thing a girl in my position could do.

*I turned and bolted.*

Or at least, I *tried* to bolt—because foolish me *completely forgot* there was a step near the hallway and in the blink of an eye, I tripped.

*“Ahh!”* I yelped, landing with a painful *thud* on the cold floor. My knees and palms screamed at me, but I couldn’t even focus on the pain.

Because that was when he turned.

*Leon. Kael.*

He was now facing me. One brow slightly raised, a flicker of surprise dancing in his eyes—but what had my soul exiting my body was *everything else*.

My gaze locked onto his *sculpted chest*, each muscle perfectly defined like he’d walked straight out of a movie scene. His *abs*—God, how did he even *have* abs that looked like they were chiseled by Greek gods? And don’t get me started on his *shoulders*, broad and solid, like he could carry the weight of the world and not break a sweat.

I stayed flat on the floor, completely frozen. Not because I couldn’t move, but because my body had literally *stopped functioning*.

He cleared his throat, and like a snap, my gaze shot up to his face. His lips were pressed together—firm, smooth, and… were they *shiny*?

Suddenly, I imagined running my fingers across them. Would they feel as soft as they looked? Would they taste like the strawberries from my ice cream? Or—

*SPLASH.*

I blinked. Then gasped.

*Cold. Water. On. My. Face.*

I shot up like I’d been electrocuted, hissing at the pain in my elbow. “*What was that for?!*” I snapped, glaring at him.

Leon stood calmly, now holding an empty glass. His voice smooth, bored, and taunting:

*“Helping you wash away your drool.”*

He walked away before I could even gather a proper comeback.

I touched my lips, confused. There was *nothing there.*

He poured water on me… for what?! The audacity!

I turned back sharply to throw something—*anything*—at him.

But he was gone.

Just like that.

I stood there, dripping wet, my hoodie clinging to my body, hair soaked and sticking to my cheeks. I looked like a soggy cat. I glared at the air he previously occupied.

*“Rude bastard,”* I muttered under my breath, storming to the living room. I shut off the TV with unnecessary force, grabbed my half-melted ice cream, and stomped toward my room.

*“Rude bastard,”* I said again, louder.

Then my subconscious whispered with annoying sass:

*That rude bastard is your savior and your hope, yunno.*

I rolled my eyes. *“Shut up.”*

Once in the walk-in closet, I grabbed two more panties—because at this point, I was running out—and pulled out a long, tight pair of trousers and a hoodie big enough to drown in. The cold from the water had given me goosebumps, and my skin was starting to prickle.

With one final, dramatic stomp, I entered the washroom, ready to change—and ready to pretend none of *that* had just happened.

Except… I *definitely* wasn’t forgetting it.

Not anytime soon.

**

Authoress POV

•

•

•

The soft click of a door creaking open pulled Leon’s attention from the files scattered across the study desk. He didn’t move at first, just lifted his gaze slightly. It was subtle, but distinct. He knew that sound—it was the guest room door.

Ayra.

He leaned back in his chair. A quick glance at the wall clock told him it was 4:13 AM. Way too early for anyone to be up—unless they hadn’t eaten the night before and were sneaking around like a thief in their own home.

He sighed and stood, abandoning the work he was doing. Quietly pushing the study door open, he stepped into the hall, catching the faintest glimpse of her retreating figure, tiptoeing toward the kitchen like a cartoon character.

His lips twitched.

“You’re terrible at sneaking.”

He didn’t say it aloud, of course. Instead, he followed, his footsteps silent against the floor. Years of training had its perks. He stood just at the edge of the hallway, watching her through the gap.

She was in the kitchen, opening every cabinet, searching with mild frustration. Leon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He remembered how she barely touched her food the previous night, too shaken after what happened with the maid.

She probably thinks he’s like him, her Dad.

The memory of her flinching when he entered the room that day, the fear in her eyes—it stuck with him. He never intended to frighten her. But still, he had. And it annoyed him more than it should.

He was about to walk in and offer her something better—he had a stash of imported snacks and one of his own specialties upstairs—but he halted when she finally pulled out a chocolate bar, sat on the counter, and started eating.

Her legs swung gently under her as she chewed, and then—his eyes narrowed—she moaned.

A quiet, blissful sound that sent a heat crawling up his spine.

He turned his head, jaw tightening. Control.

But before he could retreat fully, she stood up, checked the counter… and then her clothes?

What was she… checking?

Her eyes flicked behind her, then back down to the seat. Suspicion sparked in his mind, but he didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he turned and headed back to his room.

He had a long day ahead—one involving settling that irritating modeling contract issue in Phoenicia, and more importantly, Ayra’s father and the woman he called a mistress. He’d promised himself he would finish it. No matter how Ayra might feel later. Some things had to be done.

He reached his dresser, pulled out his watch, and tapped the face.

“Why would a female check where she sat and the back of her cloth?” he asked dryly.

A soft, AI-generated female voice responded: “Most likely causes: menstrual spotting, clothing damage, or cleanliness concern.”

Damn!

He raked his fingers through his damp hair, cursing himself silently. He’d remembered everything else—her clothes, skincare, books, even imported snacks—but not pads.

How could he forget something so basic?

He pulled out his phone and almost called the house manager to send someone, but stopped. He didn’t want anyone else involved. Not with her. Not yet.

Instead, he made a quiet decision.

He’d give her his black card. Let her order whatever she needed. He couldn’t let her go out on her own, not with her current state. But this would be the simplest solution—for now.

After showering, he threw on a black lounge pant and walked back to the kitchen, hair still wet and sticking to his nape.

He was searching the freezer for something quick when he caught it—a scent.

Hers.

She was behind him again. He said nothing at first, waiting to see if she’d speak.

Silence.

“You really love staring, don’t you?” he said calmly.

A sharp choking sound met his ears.

The silence returned, stretching until he wondered if she’d run. Then came the thud and a yelp of pain.

He spun around immediately, brow raised, eyes locking on her sprawled awkwardly on the floor.

The silence stretched. She just sat there—on the floor—frozen, her wide eyes locked not on his face… but his lips.

Leon blinked.

He’d seen that look before—on strangers, models, socialites—but for some reason, this felt different.

Her gaze wasn’t flirtatious or calculated… it was raw, unfiltered. Innocent, even. Like she was trying to memorize every detail of his mouth.

He felt a strange flutter in his chest.

Pride?

He almost scoffed aloud. It had been years since someone’s stare made him feel anything—much less pleased.

Why her?

Why now?

He shifted slightly, clearing his throat to snap her out of it. She didn’t move. Her eyes still shamelessly trained on his lips like they held the secrets of the universe.

Leon blinked again, caught off guard.

Get a grip, Kael.

Still watching her, he turned back to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, uncapped it, and poured it slowly into a glass. He could feel her stare—unwavering, burning—like a silent question she didn’t even realize she was asking.

She didn’t even blink when he turned toward her.

Still dazed.

Still staring.

Leon raised a brow. Alright. That’s enough.

Without a word, he walked toward her. She didn’t flinch. Not even a twitch.

Then—

Splash.

He emptied the cold glass of water right on her face.

Her body jolted, and she gasped, eyes snapping back into focus. Her head snapped up to meet his eyes, her hair wet, cheeks flushed red.

“What was that for?!” she glared, voice laced with shock and embarrassment.

Leon stared down at her, face unreadable, lips tugging at the edge like he was barely holding something back.

“Helping you wash away your drool,” he said flatly.

Then, without giving her a chance to speak, he turned and walked away toward his room, the corners of his mouth lifting—just a little.

A smirk.

It danced quietly on his lips.

He didn’t stop it this time.