Billionaire Redemption

Chapter 35

Leon’s POV

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I pushed the door open quietly, it was morning so stepped into her room.

She was still asleep.

I let out a soft sigh, leaning on the doorframe. Her face was calm, but the faint bruise at the side of her neck made something twist inside me. I must’ve hit her harder than I intended.

Damn.

I should’ve let her go yesterday. That would’ve been the normal thing. The logical thing. The me thing.

But watching her run like that—so desperate, so… broken—I couldn’t. Something felt wrong. Off.

I closed the door gently behind me and returned to my study, trying to lose myself in my usual routine. Paperwork. Logistics. Cold, hard facts.

By noon, I checked again.

This time, she was stirring.

Good. She’d be awake soon.

I headed to the kitchen, brewed some tea—just strong enough to ease a headache—and grabbed a tablet from the med drawer. Scribbled a quick note.

*”Take this. It’ll help with the banging.”

—Leon*

I set everything on a tray and took it back to her room. I placed it beside her, eyes lingering a moment longer than they should’ve.

Why the hell am I doing all this?

I didn’t have an answer.

With another sigh, I left and returned to my study. I had things to do—recruit new staff, finalize exits. After confirming the firings, I made sure to leave the old team with a proper lesson—a week’s worth of wages withheld and a full blacklisting across all my properties. They’d never treat anyone like that again.

I sat down and started on paperwork.

Then something hit me—the smell.

Food.

Savory, fresh, damn near mouthwatering.

I stepped out and headed toward the stairs, my legs moving before I could stop them.

There she was.

Cooking.

Hair loosely tied up, strands falling around her face. Sweat gliding from her neck down to the dip of her chest. I paused, jaw clenched, my eyes not listening to reason.

I rubbed my temple and forced myself to look away. But I didn’t move. Just… watched.

She plated the food. For two.

She smiled.

And I—

I caught myself smiling too.

Shit.

I blinked and shook the expression off my face, then made a dash back to the study like some damn criminal caught in the act. I shut the door, leaned on the desk.

Phone.

I hadn’t even called the agency yet.

I grabbed it and called, gave out sharp instructions for replacement staff. As I wrapped up the call, her scent filled the room—light, fresh, feminine.

She knocked.

I looked up from my laptop, and there she was — Arya. Standing in the doorway, tray in hand, eyes not meeting mine. My gaze dropped to the tray before I could stop it.

She really brought it.

I kind of thought she dished for two because she wants to lock herself in her room.

I nodded once, keeping my face straight, and turned back to my work.

She stepped in, dropped her head, then rushed out in one breath, “I’m sorry for speaking to you the way I did yesterday. I wasn’t in the best mood. And this place is far better than my dad’s graveyard. I’m sorry for the comparison.”

I blinked. That caught me off guard.

She was apologizing?

I should be the one doing that. I left her alone, let my staff treat her like trash, and she still found a way to apologize?

She suddenly started coughing — harshly — probably from how fast she said all of that. I reached for a napkin and handed it to her, watching the way she struggled to catch her breath.

Is she always this clumsy? Or is it just how she is?

It’s odd… someone who’s clearly been through hell, yet still carries herself with that kind of fragile calm.

She's got this tiny, timid presence but also somehow stands her ground. She’s the only person who’s dared to yell at me without flinching.

I caught myself staring. And then I felt it — a twitch at the corner of my mouth.

Christ. I was smiling.

What the actual hell?

I cleared my throat and looked away, quickly grabbing my phone and putting that usual cold expression back on. She saw it. She saw me smiling. And now she’s smiling.

What the hell is happening to me?

She sighed, and it pulled something from me again. My mouth moved before I could stop it.

“Are you alright?”

She seemed surprised. Zoned out. Then stammered, “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

I didn’t buy it. But I let it slide.

Then she said, “I made breakfast. Thought you might want to eat something.”

I paused, fingers still on the keyboard. Then looked up.

She still had that same soft look on her face.

After everything that happened yesterday… she’s not angry?

“You’re not angry?” I asked.

She looked a little confused. Then let out a soft laugh and said, “Oh, no. I was angry for no reason before. Stupid me. Angry at my savior.”

Savior.

That word punched through me harder than I expected.

Is that all I am to her? A savior?

That’s what she sees me as?

Nothing more?

I felt something tighten in my chest. My jaw clenched as I looked back down at my screen.

She doesn't know the half of it. She doesn’t know that I’m not here to save her.

Hell, half the time I don’t even know what I’m doing around her.

But that word “savior” it didn’t sit right with me.

Not when all I wanted was for her to look at me... not like that.

I ran a hand over my temple, exhaling sharply.

Why the hell did that bother me so much?

Savior. That’s all she sees me as?

I should be relieved, right? Detached. That’s the role I should’ve played from the beginning.

But instead, her words kept replaying in my head, poking somewhere I didn’t even know was sore.

I glanced at her again — she looked unsure, like she realized she’d said something wrong but didn’t know what.

Then the words came out of my mouth before I even processed them.

“You think all this is because I hit you?”

It hit me too — the weight of that question. I wasn’t even sure what I meant. Was it guilt? Responsibility? Or something else entirely?

I watched her closely, hoping maybe her answer could make sense of what I couldn’t. But she said nothing.

Figures.

I sighed and looked at the tray. Food was already cooling. If I can’t figure her out, I can at least figure out how she her food tastes, that is.

What the hell did I just think?

I snapped out of it quickly. “Let’s eat. Since you brought food.”

Her eyes met mine. She handed me a plate, and I nodded, taking it quietly. The first spoonful hit my tongue and… damn. She could cook.

I didn’t stop eating. Not until her voice cut through.

“I didn’t see any guards outside… or the maids. Where is everybody?”

I paused.

Of course she’d ask.

I kept chewing, hiding my reaction behind a slow, deliberate bite.

“Fired them. Hired new ones. They’ll be here in an hour,” I said flatly.

And just like that — she choked.

Again.

She chokes more than she talks.

I reached for a glass of water, passed it to her without a word. She took it, drank, coughed, and then managed, “Why?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t going to tell her how I saw the footage. How close she came to being burned. How the staff I trusted treated her like garbage.

“They didn’t know their work,” I muttered.

Understatement of the year.

After finishing, I suddenly craved something bitter to wash it down.

I stood and went to the dispenser, made myself a black coffee, the kind that bites back.

Then, casually, I asked, “You drink coffee?”

Didn’t expect much, maybe a polite no.

But she surprised me. “Yeah. But I like it really milky.”

I raised a brow, then chuckled. Of course. Milky.

I made her a cup exactly how she said. When I handed it over, she looked way too pleased — then stood up and said she’d be back.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her leave, eyes trailing to where she’d been sitting just seconds ago. Still warm.

And she’d smiled. Genuinely.

My hand reached toward the side drawer, unlocking it quietly. I opened it and stared at the new phone inside, still boxed.

How would she react if I gave it to her?

No strings attached. No conditions.

Just… her own phone.

Would she smile like that again?

And why the hell do I care if she does?

Leon you’re sick.