The Billionaire's Authentic Daughter ▶️

7 2 | J U L I A

I was working on my high notes which Mr. Bennett advised me to pay more attention to when I heard a thud somewhere in the house.

Alerted, I placed my guitar down on the bed and cautiously walked towards the door. Pulling it open, I peered both ways into the darkness but the sound hadn't come anywhere from here. It was at least a few rooms down the hall.

It was late at night, but not quite late to be around my bedtime. There was no one around. The maids had been dismissed for the day as Braxton would be out with band members and friends for dinner and he wasn't expected until way later. It was a celebration of each of their individual projects with other artists, except Braxton.

Walking down a hallway, I turned the corner to see a figure hunched over the floor. Startled at first, I calmed myself before I could react rashly and waited until I recognized that the person was Braxton.

He was turned away from me so his back was to me. He was on his knees and he seemed to be holding something in his hand.

I cleared my throat to announce my presence and walked over to him. He did not look up at me, did not seem aware of me.

I lowered myself to my knees to be at his level. "Braxton?" My knee grazed his thigh. I put a hand over his shoulder. "What're you doing?"

He turned to me and I was surprised his eyes were a little moisty. Then he held up his hands which was holding a picture frame. It was of him, his father and his mother.

"It's broken," he said, a tear falling down on the cracked glass.

"It's alright. The photo inside is fine." I said, not understanding why he was crying over a frame. "You're hurt. Put it down or you'll hurt yourself more."

I took the frame from his hand, tugging when his hand didn't relinquish it's hold easily. "We'll put the photo in another frame and it will be as good as new."

I set the splintered frame with it's glass back on the table from where he had knocked it down. Then I took his hand which was bleeding from a cut from the glass. A small piece of which was still halfway stuck inside.

"Let me help you. I'll get the first aid kit," I said, standing up.

He rose up, then swayed and stumbled into me. I caught him just before he could hit his head on the wall.

"Sorry," he mumbled, then widened his eyes and blinked a few times.

"You're drunk," I stated, just now smelling the beer on his breath.

He turned back and looked down at the floor where I noticed sat a quarter full beer bottle. "I'm sorry," he sighed.

"Don't be. Is your room that way?" I asked, pointing to the other end of the corridor.

"Yes." He bent down to pick up the bottle.

"I'll get you there." I rested my hand lightly above his elbow.

"T–Thanks." He rubbed an eye with the heel of his palm and leaned more into me.

I had never seen his room since I started living in his house which was why I was so amazed with its decor. It was a big room with minimal furniture and a king sized bed. One corner of the room was fully dedicated to a drum set and a guitar. The wall behind it was decorated with musical note stickers in the shape of a heart.

On the other side was a walk-in closet and there was a big window behind the bed.

I guided him to the bed and took the bottle from him to set it on the nightstand.

"I'll be right back," I said and slipped out of the room to get the first aid kit.

When I returned he had already kicked off his sneakers and was about to reach for the beer but he stopped when he heard me.