THE BILLIONAIRE'S BURNING DESIRE

THE DEVIL I THOUGHT I KNEW

The drive was quiet.

Abigail slept soundly in the back seat, her small frame curled up beneath a pink blanket Ethan had retrieved from the trunk. Lila sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands folded tightly in her lap. The streetlights of the city cast a pale orange glow through the tinted windows, painting fleeting patterns across Ethan’s sharp jawline and the tense set of his mouth.

She tried not to look at him—but her eyes betrayed her.

He had always been handsome. It wasn’t new. But five years had sharpened him. His jaw was more defined, his body broader, and the fine lines at the edge of his eyes spoke of battles fought in boardrooms and behind closed doors. His once-boyish charm had been carved into something darker, something commanding.

She couldn’t help but wonder what the years had done to his heart.

The city came into view like a glittering mirage, tall buildings rising like giants into the sky. As the car pulled into a private estate and rolled to a stop before a sleek, modern mansion, Lila felt her breath catch in her throat.

This wasn’t the house she remembered. That house—five years ago—was elegant, yes, but warm. This one was bigger, sharper. Every corner gleamed with wealth. Every surface whispered of control.

Ethan stepped out, circling the car. He opened the door with calm precision and gently lifted Abigail from the back seat. She stirred briefly in his arms, but didn’t wake. Lila watched him carry her up the steps, the little girl’s head resting against the shoulder of a man she didn’t know was her father.

Inside, the mansion was silent, save for the soft hum of air conditioning and the muffled ticking of an antique clock in the hallway.

Ethan took Abigail upstairs to a room already prepared. The walls were painted in soft pink and lavender. A white canopy bed with glittering star-shaped lights hung from the ceiling. Shelves were stacked with toys and books. A dollhouse stood in one corner. It was like something out of a storybook.

He’d made this for her—

Ethan, upon learning that he had a daughter, Abigail, resolved to make her feel like the happiest girl on earth, determined to treat her like a cherished princess. Despite the years he had missed in her life, he made a heartfelt promise to himself to embrace a fatherly role for her. In preparation for her arrival, he lovingly set up a room for her, eagerly anticipating the day she and Lila would move in. Little did he know, Lila was planning on running away, AGAIN....

After gently placing Abigail on the bed and tucking her in, he stepped aside and turned to Lila, who stood silently by the doorway.

“Your room is across the hall,” he said, voice unreadable.

Lila nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

The room he showed her was minimalist but comfortable. Soft lighting. A queen-size bed with pale grey sheets. A dressing table. A small couch by the window. A glass door that led to a private balcony.

A mesmerizing "starry night" painting by Vincent van Gogh adorned the wall just above the bed, casting a captivating aura throughout the room. She stood entranced, her eyes lingering on the swirls of cobalt blue and the vivid bursts of gold, reminiscent of a swirling galaxy. He recalled the sparkle in her eyes the first time they encountered this masterpiece at an art exhibition, where she couldn’t contain her admiration. She spoke endlessly about its beauty, lost in the way the luminous stars and the ethereal moon danced over the rugged peaks of the mountains, creating a dreamlike landscape that seemed to pulse with life. It was as if the painting breathed, whispering secrets of the night sky and enchanting her heart all over again.

"Did he buy it for me?" she asked herself. It must have cost him a fortune.

.........

He didn’t stay. He didn’t touch her. He just left.

Lila stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle.

She took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the dust of the road, the fear, the ache she hadn’t yet admitted out loud. When she stepped out, she wore a simple blue pajama set—cotton, soft, with tiny ribbons at the sleeves. She looked at herself in the mirror. Innocent. Tired. Fragile.

She crawled into the bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts swirled. The smell of the house was different—cleaner, more sterile. But the scent that lingered in the hallways... that was Ethan.

At some point, she drifted off.

And then she felt it.

The warmth of someone near.

In the haze of sleep, she felt fingers brush her forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. A familiar scent—dark spice and cedar—wrapped around her. It pulled at something buried deep inside.

She didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t. But her heart fluttered in her chest.

Ethan.

He stood there, beside her bed, watching her like he was memorizing her face all over again. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between longing and restraint. He reached out, almost hesitated... then touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, feather-light.

She stirred slightly, lips parting, but didn’t wake.

He stared at her plump rosey lips for a while, whispered something—too low to hear—and then stepped back into the shadows.

When Lila opened her eyes the next morning, she wasn’t sure if it had been real.

But her pillow smelled like him.

And that scared her more than anything else.

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