by Marian Tee
Karolina pouted. “One last, please?”
But the billionaire only shook his head. “Perhaps next time.”
The tone was still soft and charming, but the actress didn’t miss the firmness underlining the words. Knowing better than to argue, Karolina bowed gracefully to the billionaire’s decision and simply blew him a kiss, murmuring huskily, “À la prochaine, mon ange.”
She was rewarded with a sexy curve of the billionaire’s lips. A rare sight, she knew, but it was not enough. It was an open secret in their social circles that she was Christien di Luca’s on-and-off lover. Everyone knew she had lasted the longest among all the other women he had taken to his bed.
And it had to stay like that. No one should know that it had been almost half a year since the billionaire had last fucked her. And although he still paid her bills, and she still lived in his apartment---
Karolina’s hard eyes followed the billionaire as he walked away. He really did look like an angel, Karolina thought. Golden hair, sky-blue eyes, and bronze skin – Christien di Luca had all the best features his Mediterranean genes had to offer. But whereas his looks were of an angel, his reputation was the exact opposite.
With an extensive chain of the world’s most successful nightclubs and pleasure haunts under his belt, the young scion had gained infamy not only for his diabolical expertise in the corporate arena but also for the nature of his parties, which Christien regularly threw in every part of the world.
Whereas his close friend Reid Chalkias, the so-called Prince of Darkness, was notorious for the immorality of his exclusive gatherings, sin took on a more lavish form within the walls of Christien di Luca’s clubs. Pool parties where guests literally swam in champagne, winter fetes in which his nightclubs sported ice slides and Jacuzzis filled with molten chocolate – these celebrations were only for the finest and wealthiest, and even then having enough money in the bank didn’t guarantee an invitation.
But something had changed, Karolina thought uneasily. It used to be that he attended every VIP party he threw. But for the past six months, he had been conspicuously absent from the clubbing scene and was instead captured by the paparazzi spending most of his time cooped up in business meetings or hitting the gym.
“So? How was it?”
Karolina turned to face Melanie as her friend came up to her side. Like Karolina, Melanie was a celebrity, and the two had become friends the moment they realized they shared a common goal.
“Did you get him to commit to anything?” Melanie asked eagerly.
And that was the goal, of course: to land a rich husband, which Melanie had already done when she had married her sixty-year-old Italian billionaire.
But Karolina was more ambitious. She didn’t want just any billionaire. She wanted someone who was young and handsome, too, and that was where Christien di Luca entered the picture.
“There’s something different about Christien,” Karolina admitted grudgingly.
“Do you think he has another woman?” Melanie gasped.
The brunette shook her head. “I’d have known if he had. News like that travels fast. But…” She lifted her chin. “I’m not worried. I can wait. It’s all part of the game.”
And Karolina was nothing if not patient.
However galling it was to admit, Karolina knew exactly what kept the billionaire in her bed, and it had nothing to do with her looks, her fame, or even her skills in the bedroom.
Rather, it was all about her ability to draw the line without needing to be told.
She knew when to seduce him and when to back off. She knew when to make him laugh or provoke his anger. She knew all these because all her life, she had studied men like they were objects---
And at the end of the day, Christien di Luca was just that.
A man.
And men always had their shared weaknesses.
Why the hell had he come back?
Nightmare wasn’t the first club he had opened out of state, wasn’t even the costliest or the riskiest. He had already done everything to ensure that the club’s launch would be a success. There was no need for his presence at the opening.
And yet here he was.
As more people continued pouring inside the club, Christien’s gaze once again searched the crowd for a familiar blonde head. Even knowing that he was being stupid, that what he wanted was impossible –
A part of him was still waiting.
The realization filled him with disgust and he swung away with a silent curse. All of his clubs had VIP rooms, and the biggest among it was always reserved for his exclusive use. It was there the billionaire retreated, needing more than a moment to regain his composure.
His reflection on the mirrored panes of the wall caught his glance, and his lips twisted. He had lost a significant amount of weight in the past six months, and while he knew his relentless work schedule was partly the cause, Christien also knew it wasn’t just that.
She was the reason behind this.
No matter how hard he worked, no matter how many women he fucked, no matter what he did, the memories just didn’t stop haunting him, stalking him---
He couldn’t forget her horrible face. Her magical laugh. Her sweet little body.
The more time passed, the less he could remember why he needed to stay away. His hunger for her made him increasingly blind and desperate. He could no longer tell what was right from wrong, and hard-fought principles that used to mean everything to him no longer had any hold on his soul.
Was this love? Or was this Christien still grasping at straws, his instincts of self-preservation realizing that if he gave up on Kharis, he might as well give up living?
Lowering himself to one of the love couches, he pulled his phone out from his pocket---
A few clicks and swipes, and he found himself once again retrieving the dozens of messages that she had sent him.
The first message had arrived at his inbox a couple of days after his return to Miami. He hadn’t been surprised that she had managed to unearth who he was, but it had surprised him that she had bothered to write.
I’m so sorry for hiding the truth from you, Christien. But I don’t believe my age should change a thing. I love you. And I believe with all my heart that you love me, too.
For a few weeks, she had written him several times a day. Always apologizing, but also sharing with him snippets of her day, like a fucking diary---
We had an exam today. It was hard. You’d probably have aced it, though.
I tried my hand at baking. Gramps had the first bite of my cake, and he thought it was horrible.
Soon, it went to just a few days each week.
It’s still cold here, but I like it. I love the snow. Do you love snow?
And then nothing---
The thought made him inhale sharply, and even knowing that he shouldn’t expect anything, Christien still found himself refreshing his inbox, waiting for an incoming message from her---
But there was none.
And why should there be, considering how he hadn’t replied to a single message that she had sent in the past six months?
She would no longer write to him. She was done waiting for him. She had moved on.
The thought made him want to smash his fist against the wall, and he couldn’t remember the last time he was this furious.
But was it enough? Just because he had never been this angry before – was it reason enough to believe that he was in love with her?
The answer eluded him, like it always did, and with a muttered curse, Christien sprang back to his feet. It’s over, he told himself. You wanted this, so be happy with it.
Strolling out of the VIP room, he bent over the second-floor railing and gazed sightlessly at the crowd below him.
This was his world.
For better or worse, this was the world he had created for himself.
It used to be enough for him, its emptiness a familiar devil he had gotten used to. But now, the sheer absence of hope in it gnawed at
him –
His world would never be right without her.
The truth of this struck him, and Christien began to run.
Chapter 8
Christien di Luca stood stiffly next to his car, which was parked across Angel Falls High. It was not how he envisioned meeting Kharis Stamos again, but the girl left him no choice. She hadn’t shown up last night at Howdy, and the way the two old men had glared and scowled at the billionaire made it obvious asking them questions would get him nowhere.
I’d like to talk to you. Could you please call me at this number? Or give me yours so I can call you?
He must have sent a dozen other variations of that message last night. He hadn’t slept a fucking wink, had waited for her to answer his emails the entire time. But nothing had happened, and in the end Christien had thought, fuck it. He would face her grandfather then, and damn the consequences. He would make the older man understand that while he was willing to wait for Kharis until she turned eighteen, he would not step out of her life.
Or at least that had been the plan – until he had driven up to their farm and saw that the property was for sale.
The sight had his heart clenching hard and his chest tightening with a strange, choking emotion. And because he wasn’t used to feeling anything, it had taken the billionaire several moments to understand that what was making it so hard for him to breathe was none other than…fear. Terror even.
He was terrified that he would never see her again, and the terror consumed him so that it took his entire willpower not to let his fear overcome his every rational thought. Forcing his brain cells to work, he had looked around him, his mind systematically going over every possible strategy.
Hiring a private detective could get the answers he needed, Christien knew, but that would take time. And he wanted – needed – to see her now. When his gaze had fallen upon the For Sale signboard, he saw the real estate agent’s number written below it, and that had been it.
Posing as a potential buyer, he had called up the agent, asked a few questions about the property’s original homeowners, and eventually the agent had let it slip that the owner’s grandchild studied in the town’s local high school.
And so here he was, Christien thought. A pedophile in the making – and he no longer gave a damn. From a distance he heard the last bell ring, and his powerful form became tauter with tension.
A moment later and high school students started spilling out of the front doors, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. An expressionless mask fell over the billionaire’s handsome face as he scanned the crowd, his gaze narrowed and intense. His focus was so it left him unaware that almost all the students who had caught sight of him had halted in their tracks just to stare.
The high school boys were plain envious, and they openly gawked at the billionaire’s impressive ride. It was the latest Maserati, making the older man’s car more expensive than their houses.
The high school girls, on the other hand, were completely infatuated. In his pinstriped suit and handmade Italian shoes, Christien was the most sophisticated man they had ever seen, and they couldn’t stop whispering and giggling among each other.
Who was he? And why was he here?
Everyone had a different idea, but none of them had hit upon the truth. None of them ever could because they all knew Kharis Stamos, and she was not the type of girl to attract such a man.
But they were wrong, of course.
When they saw the wealthy-looking stranger straighten and start walking, his gaze pinned somewhere behind them, heads immediately turned around, all of the students eager to find out who it was he had come for.
Could it be one of the prettier teachers of the faculty? Could it be one of their popular cheerleaders?
They followed the man’s line of sight, and the wave of shock that went through the crowd of gawking students was palpable.
This man came here…for Kharis?
Her long blonde hair was plaited in a single braid, and she was playing with its tips as she walked down the steps, her nose buried in a book.
The billionaire didn’t like it.
Hadn’t she once mentioned that she disliked reading? And yet now – it was as if she couldn’t keep herself from turning the pages. It suggested a change – and if she could change that way, couldn’t it mean that her feelings for him could change, too?
Christien realized then it wasn’t dislike that had him clenching his fists – but fear.
He stepped in front of her, and she stopped. Without looking up, she mumbled, “Excuse me.”
He didn’t answer, only waited as tension grew inside of him with every second.
He watched her close her book before looking up---
Her face paled.
“Hello, Kharis.”
She flinched at the sound of his voice, and he breathed hard. He didn’t want this. It didn’t used to be like this – but now it was, and he knew he only had himself to blame.
Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he asked under his breath, “If it’s alright – I’d like a moment of your time.” She started shaking her head, and his jaw clenched. “I misspoke.” Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t actually asking. I will have a word with you---”
She paled even more.
“And we can either do it here in the open or inside my car.” The billionaire’s tone remained quiet, but his blue eyes glittered with resolve. “So which way do you prefer?”
She bit her lip then gestured to the car.
“Good choice.” He opened the car door for her and waited until she had stepped inside before closing the door for her and joining her inside. He switched the engine, saying, “Fasten your seatbelt please.”
When a look of protest crossed her face, he said calmly, “The windows of this car aren’t tinted. Do you really want to have them as your audience while we talk?”
She hesitated, then after a jerky shake of her head, she reached for her seatbelt.
He started to drive, and she remained in her seat, not looking at him, silent.
It didn’t use to be like this either, the billionaire couldn’t help thinking, and his chest tightened even more. Why had she changed so much? And how much of it had to do with him?
Christien sensed her tense as the car rolled down into Nightmare’s basement parking. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, and his hands tightened around the steering wheel.
If he was too late---
What then?
Parking his car in its reserved slot, he switched gears to lock it in place before slowly turning to face her.
Her head was lowered, her gaze falling squarely on her lap. She had her hands shoved under her, and when he slowly reached for one of them, he felt her tension rip all the way across her body, and he stilled.
“Kharis.” His voice was guttural.
She didn’t look up.
“Kharis.” A hollow laugh almost escaped him. How fucking ironic could this be? When they had been…together, he hadn’t been able to make himself say her name. And yet now, it felt like he couldn’t stop saying it enough, like he had to say it over and over because there was a chance…
After this, her name was all that would belong to him.
The thought had him sucking his breath.
And so he said it again.
“Kharis.”
But this time, his voice had all of the emotions that she had taught him to feel---
And slowly, she looked up.
Ah, God.
Now he realized why she hadn’t said a single word the entire ride.
When he reached to wipe her tears away, she choked, and the tears fell faster.
She had been crying the whole time, he thought sickly, and he hadn’t even known it.
Death started whispering in his mind, and he closed his eyes.
He didn’t want to hear what Death had to say. But he was powerless to stop the words.
That’s proof enough, boy.
Stop fooling
yourself.
How can this girl be your rainbow when you didn’t even know you’ve been breaking her to pieces?
Christien opened his eyes.
You’re fucked. That won’t change. No one can change that.
He inhaled sharply. “Kharis---”
But you’re not so fucked not to know what’s right from wrong.
His blue eyes captured her for one last time.
Leave her before you fuck her up, too.
“I’m sorry.”
Leave her.
But when he started to pull his hand away---
She caught his hand.
Pressed it to her face.
And whispered, “Don’t leave me again. Please.”
Chapter 9
It was almost nine in the evening when they arrived at the inn, having returned after sharing dinner with her grandfather at the hospice. As he unlocked his door, the billionaire glanced at Kharis, who was unnaturally quiet beside him.
“Tired?”
She shook her head and only flashed him a smile that was a little shy, a little sweet, and a whole lot sexy.
He swiftly swung away from the sight. Seventeen, he reminded himself grimly as he took his time locking the door. She might be older than sixteen now, but seventeen was still not eighteen, and he had to remember that.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said gruffly without looking at her, “while I make myself a drink.” He headed to the bar, asking, “Do you want anything?”
“Umm. Not really, but thanks.”
“Water then.” As Christien reached for the ice bucket and dropped a couple of ice cubes in his glass, his mind went over recent events. And there was a lot of it to process, the billionaire thought. Wanting to do things right this time, he had insisted on seeing Kharis’ grandfather, and their meeting had turned out better than he had expected.
Paul Stamos hadn’t even blinked at their age difference, but when Kharis had left them alone, the older man – who had been surprisingly fluent in Greek – had asked him point blank, You understand that my granddaughter is still underage?
