Chapter 5 At war with the millionaire

"He's quite pig headed, that uncle of yours," Isabelle murmured to Rayan who couldn't hear her for the relief of seeing the man drive away.

Rayan didn't know him well, but he knew how scary it was when the man got angry.

Just like his father.

Rayan's mind travelled back to the first night he spent in this house, thinking of the loud crashes that had come from the man's office. Breaking glass and angry screaming. The loud noises had made Rayan cower low into his blanket, tears on his face while the woman with the white hair hurried away towards the noise.

He had wanted to call her back. To tell her to stay away because when he got angry like that, the best thing to do was to hide in a dark corner where he would not find you.

He had wanted to tell her to hide, to not do what his mother did.

The boy's grip tightened around Isabelle's leg making her wince and look down in question She immediately noted how paper-white his little face had gone. Carefully, Isabelle leaned down and gently removed his vice like grip.

His gripping hand then curled into a fist on her pal, trembling harshly.

"Hey, Rayan? Rayan. Shh, it's okay," she said, trying to make their gazes meet. His eyes were focused on the ground, his face getting paler.

Dear God, what really was the matter with this poor child? She laid a hand on his cheek, but his eyes seemed to stare blankly away from her.

Then a thought occurred to Isabelle. One that she didn't want to consider at all. Her gaze lifted to take in the now empty driveway, Raphaël's car long gone.

Raphaël... he... No. He couldn't possibly be hurting the child. Could he?

"How well do you know him?" rang a whisper through Isabelle's mind.

Isabelle frowned as she lifted Rayan into her arms and hugged him to her, walking back into the house.

She didn't actually know him at all. She never really knew Raphaël when they were little kids, much less could she claim to know this powerful Greek god, billionaire version of him.

He's a billionaire, exactly. He was powerful enough to hide whatever dark and dreary activities he's up to. Especially in his own home.

Isabelle bit the inside of her cheek in anxiousness as she slowly walked around the living room, still carrying Rayan and rubbing his back gently as he rested his head on her shoulder.

He'd stopped squirming so she knew he'd calmed down.

Isabelle's eyes fell on the photograph of a teenage Raphaël.

She looked at the charming smile of the boy who has turned into a cold man.

But he couldn't possibly be all that cold. When he spoke, he sounded quite normal, didn't he? Disregarding the clipped ice tone and dark penetrating gaze he settled on her.

Isabelle sighed.

It just couldn't be. Her imagination was running away with her.

He referred to Rayan as his nephew this morning. That must have been some affection... right?

It wasn't "that boy" or "that child". He used the child's name and in tenderness.

Yes. He cared for the child and could do no such thing as lay a harmful hand on him.

But then Isabelle remembered the look in his eyes earlier when she walked in on him in the kitchen.

It was one of cold distance. Like he was hardly related to the boy at all.

It had made her falter in her steps when he glared at her from the corner of his eye then left like she wasn't even there.

And the way Rayan had shrunk in his seat.

"You see!" her inner voice insisted. "Don't be an idiot. Something is going on."

Isabelle bit her bottom lip again.

If this was it, she was going to war. It didn't matter if Raphaël had swords while she only had a spatula, Isabelle would face him!

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves the higher she felt her anxiety grow.

How could a man stoop so low as to harm an innocent baby?

Isabelle clenched her teeth and forced her breathing to even.

The anger was growing and she knew she has to stop it, for Rayan's sake.

She didn't think him witnessing her breaking out in fiery songs of war with rage drawn upon her face would help matters.

She continued to rub his back, to calm him just as much as herself.

Once upon a time Isabelle had come across a boy just like Rayan who she had assumed was being hurt at home.

She had taken it into her own hands to march into his home and seek the assaulters out, screaming bloody murder for them.

She'd found a normal family having dinner around the table.

The boy's head inclined low towards his food.

All truly looked well and good.

The parents were shocked at her barging into their home and the man at the head of the table, quietly and politely told her to take whatever she wanted, just not to hurt his family.

She had been stunned and had left mumbling an apology, convinced that the boy must have played mind games with her.

She chastised herself and made a vow to return to the home and apologize properly.

She'd never gone back.

The following week her aunt informed her that the little boy whom she'd become fond of and had befriended was found by his parents, strangled to death and badly assaulted in his bed...

His parents claimed that they had had an intruder who made away with their valuables and killed their son.

They were Oh, so broken because, poor them, they were victims too.

Isabelle's jaw clenches at the memory.

She had been so stupid. Only now, she remembered the cold, steel look of the hawk-like mother at the other end of the table in that horror house.

That poor child, Juan had been his name. Isabelle had been his only hope and she had failed him.

Feeling hot tears stain her face, Isabelle hugs Rayan closer.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Rayan. I promise," she whispered.

Slowly, Rayan pulled back to look at her face, his own a neutral mask.

Isabelle tried to smile at him but stopped because she knew what she looked like when she tried to smile while upset.

She didn't want the boy falling out of her arms in horror.

When Rayan's hand came up to wipe the tears off her cheek, however, a soft smile did curve her mouth.

She would be damned if she'd let that brute hurt this baby again.

"It's onions," she said, smiling sheepishly at Rayan.

He tilted his head slightly.

She laughed.

"Okay, I'm lying."

Isabelle headed to the kitchen and settled Rayan back in his chair.

"Oh dear. It's already nine o'clock," she tutted.

In fifteen minutes she had a plate of steaming pancakes in front of Rayan and handed him a fork.

He looked at the fork then pondered, focusing his stare on the pancakes. A small frown on his face.

Isabelle watched him, for some reason, feeling anxious.

Then his forehead relaxed and he looked up at her and slowly a tiny smile formed on his face.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Was he really smiling at her?!

"Of course he is. Are you blind as well as an idiot now...?" muttered her thoughts.

Isabelle ignored the annoying voice in her head and smiled brightly at Rayan who then dug into his breakfast. Eating steadily and with good manners.

At least someone had taken the time to teach him those. Someone had cared.

And Isabelle could be sure it wasn't Raphaël Stick-up-his-ass Sauvage.

She just didn't see him having the time and patience to teach a boy as young as this some table manners.

Maybe in a harsh, commanding way.

Sighing, Isabelle ran her hand over the soft brown curls of Rayan's head, leaving to run his bath.

It baffled her how she'd made an instant connection to this child.

She'd always loved kids and had always been good with them, seeing as her family in Italy had plenty running around, but there was something different about little Rayan.

From the moment she beheld the cold fear and the pain in his eyes, she'd felt an unexplainable need to be close to him. To comfort him and protect him. She just wanted to see a fearless look in his eyes and a smile on his face. A wide, happy smile.

How to do that?

She didn't really know much about child psychology and with her level of mental imbalance she'd never be allowed to study it anyway.

They'd probably be afraid that with such valuable knowledge of how to build a human mind back up, she'd have an even better ability to break it down and drive everyone insane.

Luckily, Isabelle didn't think that child psychology would be the answer to the state Rayan was in.

She shrugged as she got some clothes from his neat wardrobe and laid several outfits on his bed for him to take a pick from.

All Rayan needed was a good dose of warm love. And she was right here to give it to him.

And any hands that tried to harm him would be chopped off by yours truly.

Even if they were the very masculine hands of a ruthless Sauvage.

Isabelle heard footsteps just before Rayan peeked into his room, looking for her.

Upon spotting her, he walked immediately to her as she explained why half his clothes were lying on the bed.

After Rayan has been bathed and dressed in his chosen outfit of jeans and a long sleeved shirt, Isabelle went about her duty in the house as the housekeeper.

Rolling her eyes all along the way.

What was there to "keep" in this house? It was spotless! There really wasn't much to do so she wiped and dusted invisible dirt here and there with Rayan glued to her side, although his attention was on the book Isabelle was assuming Aunt Rosa had put packed with her luggage for the child.

She was glad she'd found it.

Rayan stared, fascinated, at the endless pictures of cars and planes.

Eventually they ended up exploring the back yard.

Isabelle showed him where she used to play as a little girl and all her secret hideouts when her aunt discovered that she hadn't eaten all the vegetables on her plate.

She told him how it was growing up, having never known her father and her mother being deceased.

But she had been a very happy child. Temperamental at times, like when she'd seen Jean-Marc, the neighbor's son, kick a small stray dog. Oh, she'd been livid and used her small, tightly bunched fists on him.

She hadn't considered the fact that he was seventeen and could hardly feel a thing. He was merely amused at the red-faced little girl throwing punches at his rock-hard abs.

And she told Rayan about she loved France! Her mother was Italian, but she was born here.

She was practically raised by her mother's elder sister, her dear Aunt Rosa, in the Sauvage kitchen. Either there or shipped to Italy to be with her mother's family. She was so grateful for the way they warmly accepted her. Their late daughter's fatherless child.

Uncharacteristic of cultured Italians, but she never complained. Isabelle knew it was a form of a peace treaty between the family and Aunt Rosa after she and Lucianna, Isabelle's mother, ran away from home, tired of their grandfather's harsh and oppressing ways.

The old man died a little after Isabelle's mom and from what she'd heard about him, Isabelle couldn't be too sad about it.

With a smile, she flicked a blade of grass at Rayan as he listened attentively to all her tales.

They were seated in a shaded spot, hidden by rosebushes, with snacks spread out on a small blanket between them. She loved this spot. With the soft, grass tickling her bottom and the scent of roses wafting around her, it truly was bliss.

She sighed.

"Not knowing who my father is didn't really drastically alter my life. I was still happy and got more than enough love. Plus I got to travel. That's more than some children can say. "

Rayan listened attentively, his silence a strangely comforting one.

"I'm a writer, you know," she said to him with a twinkle in her eye.

He looked down at the grass then up at her, a quizzical frown on his face.

"An author. I write novels. Books that other people read. That's why I came back here." She closed her eyes. "France has this eternal romance in the air. It's the best inspiration a romance novelist can get, right?"

She gave him a sarcastic smile.

"Yet I've written not a single damn...no novels. I've written no novels since I arrived two months ago."

Rayan looked at the book lying on the grass besides him and pointed to it.

Isabelle laughed. "Oh no... Uhm... My books are quite different. Steamy stuff."

Should she be saying this to a child?

He didn't know what steam meant, did he? No, probably not, it was okay.

Rayan's face showed confusion but Isabelle didn't explain. What business would she have explaining what steamy meant to anybody at all?

Soon, after many trips inside and many games played outside, the sun was setting and it was a good thing too because Isabelle's mouth had gone dry from doing all the talking. It didn't help that Rayan barely responded to her games, mostly looking shyly at her, before turning his blue eyes away while she jumped around stupidly by herself. The rock-paper-scissors game seemed to be the only one he wasn't too shy to play.

Finally, she and Rayan headed inside to prepare for dinner.

It wasn't long before Isabelle was thinking about Raphaël again. He'd been rudely occupying her mind all day, forcing himself into all her thoughts.

He should just wait till he got home! Sexy as sin or not, she was going to give him more than a piece of her mind tonight. If he was reasonable and not pig-headed like he seemed to be, then she would refrain from using her fists on him.

But if he really was hurting Rayan...

Forget her height, Isabelle would destroy the man! So what if he was six-foot-two and she was five-seven? There wasn't that much of a difference.

If it came to it, she would ensure that she got in a few good swipes at his kissable jaw before making off with the boy, leaving the evil millionaire in a bloody mess on his office floor.

Oh, what victory!

Interrupting her thoughts, and very rudely too, the phone suddenly rang.

Isabelle looked over at the living room and hurried to the phone, lifting it out of its cradle and putting it to her ear. "Sauvage residence, how can I help you?"

There was a moment of silence. "How is he?"

Isabelle went cold. The depth and calm of Raphaël's voice filled her ear and she tensed.

Wait. Wasn't this a good chance? What if she was too scared to ask him face to face? Maybe she could ask him on the phone and if she was wrong and he got angry and fired her, she could just run away before he got home.

She swallowed. Okay. It was time to ask him.