Billionare Secret

The evening air carried a soft chill as I sat beneath the grand willow tree, my favorite spot for reflection and writing. The world around me was quiet, save for the distant laughter of noblewomen enjoying their evening strolls and the occasional sound of a carriage passing through the estate gates. I dipped my quill into the inkwell, ready to pour my thoughts onto parchment, when a voice interrupted my solitude.

"Your father saved my dog twice, so yes, he is a great man," a deep yet smooth voice said, cutting through the silence.

I turned my head sharply, my eyes meeting those of a young man standing a few feet away. His dark brown hair was neatly styled, and his sharp, intelligent eyes held an unreadable expression. His clothing was of fine quality, yet not ostentatious. Whoever he was, he was unlike any of the noblemen I had encountered before.

"Firstly," he continued, stepping closer, "why do you think of him in such a light? I mean, he is your father, is he not? Secondly, where did you learn to speak so eloquently? From the way you speak, one can tell you read a lot of books. I have never seen you at Dynasty Hall, though I am not certain whether you go there or not."

He circled me slowly, his gaze unwavering. I stiffened at his intrusion into my space but maintained my composure. Compliments were rare in my world. Most of the words directed at me carried either mockery or veiled disdain, but his tone was different. It was neither arrogant nor demeaning; it was curious, almost admiring.

"Thank you very much," I said coolly, careful to keep my emotions in check. "I work hard on myself, considering I do not have the same privileges as you. And no, I do not attend Dynasty Hall. Whatever thoughts I have about my father are nobody's business. Now, if you would excuse me, I was working on a piece before you distracted me."

He chuckled, unbothered by my sharp words. "Perhaps I can help, Melody."

My name rolled off his tongue effortlessly, as though he had known it for years. A shiver ran down my spine, though I could not tell if it was from unease or curiosity.

"I wrote something about him months ago," he continued. "Because he saved my life, twice. I wasn't able to give it to him in person for obvious reasons, so I think you might need it." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small folded paper. "I may not be as learned as you are, but I don't write so badly. Please, take it."

Before I could respond, he turned and began to walk away. I stared at his retreating figure, my mind scrambling for an explanation.

"How gentlemanly of you to leave without a name," I called after him, trying to suppress the strange mix of emotions welling up inside me.

He paused but did not turn around. "I did not think you were interested." His voice carried an amused lilt. "If you take the time to read the piece I wrote for your father, you will most definitely remember me. What is uncertain, however, is when you finally do, will you accept me?"

With that cryptic remark, he walked away, disappearing into the night. My heart pounded as I clutched the folded paper in my hands. Remember what? Remember who? Why would I need to accept him?

My fingers trembled slightly as I unfolded the note, scanning the words hastily written in elegant script.

To the man who saved me,

Life is a debt, and you have repaid it twice on my behalf. You do not know my name, nor do you need to, but your kindness remains with me. A man of power is often feared, but a man of kindness is remembered.

One day, the weight of gratitude will no longer be mine alone to carry.

Yours in silent admiration,

A stranger in your debt.

A sense of unease washed over me. The note was heartfelt, yet filled with an air of mystery that unsettled me. My father was a great man in the eyes of many, but to me, he was a stranger behind closed doors, cold, calculating, and distant. How could he have saved a life twice and not mentioned it? Or perhaps he did not think it important enough to share?

I sighed, folding the paper and tucking it into my dress. This was not something I needed to concern myself with. My focus was on my writing, on escaping the suffocating world I had been born into. And yet, I could not shake the feeling that this man, this stranger, had just set something into motion, something far bigger than either of us could anticipate.

The days that followed were filled with restless thoughts. His words replayed in my mind, and I found myself stealing glances at the paper tucked safely in my drawer. Curiosity gnawed at me, but a part of me resisted. If he truly was someone from my past, why could I not remember him? And why was he so certain that I eventually would?

The next evening, as I returned to my favorite writing spot beneath the willow tree, I felt a presence before I saw him. My heart raced, though I willed myself to appear unaffected.

"You came back," I said, keeping my voice even.

He leaned against the tree, arms crossed over his chest. "Did you read it?"

I nodded slowly. "And?" he pressed.

"And... it was well-written," I admitted, my fingers curling around my quill. "But I still don't know who you are."

His lips curved into a small smile. "You will."

A chill ran down my spine, but before I could question him further, he turned and disappeared once more into the night. I let out a slow breath, my mind swirling with unanswered questions. One thing was certain-whoever this man was, he was about to change everything I thought I knew.

As I walked down the stairs, I could see the pity in everyone's eyes as they stared at me. Who was he? I asked myself. Everyone looked at me as though I had lost someone so important, someone irreplaceable. But I felt nothing.

I once loved my father, I mean, I loved him until the neighbour's kid became his new priority. I won't deny that he taught me most of what I know, though always in the most aggressive manner. He taught me never to show emotions, and I was a quick learner. What I never understood was why he chose someone else. Being his biological daughter, I assumed I would be his main priority. But I was wrong.

You left a gaping hole in my heart. You are the reason I hate men, especially men like you. And no matter what, I will never forgive you, dear Father.

And here I am, stuck in this life of pretence.

As I approached the altar, I realized I still held the piece written by my nameless acquaintance. I had planned to mumble a few words, but that might not end well, Mother would have my neck for it. So, I decided to stick to the piece, hoping it was as good as he claimed.

I took a deep breath and began reading.

"I have never read anything this hilarious," I said, smiling despite myself. The words on the page were so different from anything I would have written about my father. They felt warm, affectionate, full of admiration. It made me wonder, what kind of relationship did he and my father share? Certainly not the one I had.

"It was a great honor to have learned from you, my mentor from"

I stopped.

The piece was unfinished. My eyes widened in disbelief. I should have known better than to trust him. What was I supposed to do now? Everyone was waiting for me to finish the sentence. The silence stretched uncomfortably, the weight of dozens of expectant gazes pressing down on me. What was he thinking, leaving this incomplete?

As a writer, I could not and would not finish someone else's work. If this was his idea of a cruel joke to leave me stranded in the middle of my father's eulogy he had failed. Because if there's one thing Melody is good at, it's causing a scene.

I clutched the paper tightly, drawing in a shaky breath, and burst into tears. One eye opened just a sliver to gauge the audience's reaction. As expected, they fell for it. Why wouldn't they? I was a grieving daughter mourning her late father. The only person unmoved was Mother. She knew me too well.

Her furious glare burned into me, a silent warning. I'm sorry, Mother, I thought as I turned and bolted out of the hall, my fake sobs echoing behind me.

Mother was going to kill me. I was tasked with writing a heartfelt piece, but instead, I had let myself be led astray by some nameless trickster. Hiding for an hour or more seemed like the best option. If Mother found me now, I wouldn't hear the end of it.

I ran to the back of the house, where an old tunnel lay hidden in the shadows. Father had always forbidden me from going inside, insisting it was no place for a girl. Once, when he caught me trying to sneak in, he had grabbed me by the neck like an animal, pinning me to the wall.

His voice was a low growl behind me. "I thought your mother told you not to set foot here, you brat. But don't worry, I won't tell a soul."

I had shivered as his grip moved from my neck to my lower back.

"You're still a child, yet you have the body of a grown woman. Isn't that... beautiful?" he whispered as he pulled down the zipper of my dress.

I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew I didn't like it. His hands were like iron cuffs, holding me in place. His breath was hot against my skin. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. Desperate, I recalled Mother's words: The only way to make a man weak in his knees is to yank the organ between his legs.

So, I did.

The first and last time I ever touched a man like that, and it was my father.

Now that he was dead, I was finally free to enter the tunnel. Nanny Chopper once told me there was nothing scary down here. I just needed to stay hidden for a while, then I'd leave.

The air inside was damp, and the sound of dripping water echoed through the cavernous space. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I gasped. This wasn't just a tunnel, it was a secret hideout. The walls were adorned with delicate carvings, candles still sat in their holders, melted wax pooling at their bases. It looked like a place for lovers.

Did Mother create this? I wondered. She must have truly loved Father.

A voice broke through my thoughts. "We meet again... I didn't think we'd cross paths so soon."

I turned sharply.

It was him, the nameless acquaintance. He leaned against the stone wall, watching me with quiet amusement.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "You should be out there addressing your guests."

I crossed my arms. "Firstly, they are not my guests; they're my father's guests. And secondly, you have no right to question me. Why don't you leave, just like you left me hanging with that brilliant piece of yours?"

He smirked. "Ah. So, you noticed."

I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. "You didn't write that eulogy, did you?"

He tilted his head. "What makes you think that?"

"It was too good," I admitted. "Too real. There was a deep connection in those words, something I never shared with my father. And then you left it unfinished. Why?"

He took a step toward me. "Is that all you wish to know?"

Something about his voice sent chills down my spine. He reached for my hand, his touch featherlight. My breath hitched.

What was this feeling?

His hands were gentle, soft, unlike my father's. My heart pounded against my ribs. When Father touched me, I wanted to run, to scream. But when this man placed his hand on my waist, all I wanted was to dance.

"What was that?" he asked suddenly, his gaze snapping to the shadows.

I blinked, my trance broken. "What?"

"I think someone else is down here."

Panic set in. My moment of foolish distraction had cost me precious time. I needed to come up with an excuse for Mother, an escape plan anything. Instead, I was in a dark tunnel with a man I barely knew.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

He exhaled slowly. "What do you think of my perfume?"

"What?"

"I was hoping you'd recognize it. Whenever I needed you, I wore this scent, and you'd come running into my arms." His voice trembled. "I wrote to you so many times, but you never replied. When we were together, you only spoke fondly of him-your father. What changed? What happened to you while I was gone?"

Tears welled in his eyes. He lifted a trembling hand to my face. "Look into my eyes and tell me you don't remember me."

My lips parted, but no words came out.

I wanted to remember.

"MELODY!"

A shrill voice echoed through the tunnel. Mother.

I turned sharply toward the entrance, my heart hammering in my chest. When I looked back at him, he was already stepping away, retreating into the shadows.

And suddenly, I wasn't sure what scared me more, Mother's wrath or the truth buried in this stranger's eyes.

My heart sank when I heard my name.

Yes, that was Mother, her voice sharp, slicing through the silence like a blade. She was screaming my name. My breath hitched. How do I explain what I am doing in a tunnel with a man when I ought to be with our guest? Panic clawed at my chest as her voice grew closer. Mother can be violent, I mean very violent. I've seen the way she treats the servants, the cold cruelty in her eyes when they displease her. I have no desire to experience that myself.

And if she sees me with him...

He's as good as dead.

Before I could react, his hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me into a tight, suffocating corner of the tunnel. My back pressed against the cold, damp stone. His body shielded mine, our breaths the only sound between us. If I so much as moved, the faintest whisper of sound would give us away.

He knew better than to let Mother see his face.

"Grace, if I find that girl, she's going to be in so much trouble," Mother spat, her voice echoing through the tunnel. "How dare she vanish into thin air, today of all days?"

Aunt Grace's voice was lower, but I could still hear her. "Mary, have you told her? Does she know about this place? About your hideous crimes?" A pause. "Why did you really send that boy and his family away?"

My pulse roared in my ears. My nails dug into my palms as I listened, struggling to piece together the meaning behind her words.

"I never got to hear the full story," Aunt Grace continued, voice sharp with accusation. "Not that pretty little lie you conjured overnight, the real story. What did he do to deserve such a fate? I need you to understand that I only kept silent because it's your family, not mine."

Mother's voice wavered slightly. "What are you insinuating?"

"You kept the truth from her for ten years, Mary. Ten. Everything her father worked for, you hid it. Even Dynasty Hall, you kept it from your own daughter. Why?"

My breath turned shallow. My hands trembled.

"She will hate you for this," Aunt Grace pressed. "She will hate you for the rest of her life."

Silence. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Mother exhaled sharply. "Grace, help me. Just this once. Help me find her."

Aunt Grace stepped out of the tunnel, leaving Mother alone.

Then, without another word, Mother turned and left.

The gate to the tunnel slammed shut.

Trapping us both inside.

I stumbled out from the corner, gasping for air. My hands trembled as I clutched my chest, tears burning in my eyes. I am an imposter. A stranger in my own home.

They all knew.

The maids. The butlers. Nanny Chopper. Everyone knew. And I was the fool.

Everything suddenly made sense, the grudge Father held against me, the harsh words, the way he would stare at me with something that was not quite loathing, not quite hunger but something far worse. I thought he was my father. But he knew.

He knew we shared no relation.

My stomach twisted violently. I pressed a hand to my mouth, struggling to breathe. I fell to my knees, gasping as memories flooded back-his leering gaze, the times he'd asked me to visit his chambers when Mother was away.

I should have known.

A strong hand pressed against my back. "One breath at a time," he murmured. His voice was calm, soothing, but I could still hear the tension beneath it. "We need to leave this tunnel. If your mother doesn't find me in the next hour, it's going to be hell for the servants."

I blinked back my tears. "I can't go back like this." My voice shook. "My dress is covered in mud, my eyes are swollen-I look like a mess. She will know."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Then come with me. I'll take you somewhere safe. You can return tomorrow."

I let out a bitter laugh. "You have a death wish. Mother has eyes everywhere. If I vanish, she'll find you."

He frowned but said nothing.

I clenched my jaw, then, in a single motion, I tore my dress at the hem. I need to look like I was attacked. If Mother pitied me instead of suspected me, I could make it through the night unscathed.

"When we leave here, do not take the woods," I warned. "Or you'll end up like Jeremy."

His expression darkened. "What do you mean?"

I shook my head. "Just trust me."

I turned toward the tunnel exit, ready to leave, but his hand suddenly found mine, and before I knew it, we were running. His grip was tight, firm-safe. The heat of his palm sent a shiver down my spine.

And for the first time, I looked at him. Really looked at him.

He was familiar.

But I had never seen him before.

My heart raced as I found myself wondering what would he look like shirtless?

I nearly slapped myself. Melody, this is not the time for such thoughts.

Then, suddenly-

Pain.

I gasped as my foot caught on a rock, and I went crashing to the ground. My palms scraped against the dirt, but the worst partthe part that made my stomach churn was the warm, sticky sensation of blood pooling beneath me.

His voice was sharp. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," I choked out.

But I wasn't.

Without hesitation, he ripped his shirt off, tearing it into strips. My breath hitched. Oh my...

He pressed the cloth against my wound, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You need to be careful."

I swallowed hard, trying, failing, to ignore the way my cheeks burned.

We reached the exit. The guests had long since left.

He turned to me, eyes filled with something unreadable. "When do I see you again, Mel?" His voice was softer now, almost pleading. "I want to spend more time with you. Just us. Alone."

My heart thundered. I opened my mouth to respond.

But then I heard it.

Mr. Darcy's voice.

"Go," I whispered urgently. "Now."

His hand lingered on mine for just a second longer before he vanished into the shadows.

I turned to Mr. Darcy just as he approached. I need to sell this lie.

His gaze swept over me. "Miss, are you alright?"

I forced a weak smile. "It's just a scratch."

"Shall I inform your mother of your return?"

"No need." I straightened. "I will explain everything to her myself."

Mr. Darcy and his men turned back, escorting me toward my chambers. I was just steps away from safety when a sharp, chilling scream tore through the night.

A scream from the woods.

I felt my blood turn to ice.

Without thinking, I shouted-

"CHARLES!"