Billionaires Desire

To the letter

The grand estate loomed over Desiree like a beast ready to swallow her whole. The towering iron gates that had creaked open now felt like the closing bars of a cage. The mansion’s dark stone walls and intricate architecture spoke of untouchable wealth, a fortress to keep the outside world at bay. She had been led through the winding halls by a maid, who said nothing and moved with the precision of someone who knew their place too well.
Each step echoed louder than the last as they climbed the marble staircase. The walls were adorned with expensive art, all perfectly placed in their frames, a testament to someone’s obsession with control. As they passed rooms full of velvet and mahogany, Desiree couldn’t shake the coldness that wrapped around her like a second skin. She had been in terrible places before, but this this was a new kind of prison.
She hadn’t seen Atticus yet, not since that brief, terrifying glimpse the night she arrived. He hadn’t spoken to her. He hadn’t even looked at her. But Anthony had. Anthony had smiled as he led her through the entrance, his arm draped lazily over her shoulders, whispering in her ear like they were old friends. He was lively, vibrant his energy crackling like a live wire in the sterile coldness of the house.
"You’ll love it here," Anthony had said, his voice light, almost playful. "Or, well, you’ll learn to. But listen closely, doll, my brother, he’s... different."
Desiree had remained silent, as she had been for most of her life, letting Anthony’s words roll over her. There was no point in fighting she had learned that long ago. It was survival now. Always survival.
They had reached her room, a luxurious prison with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the gardens. It was beautiful—far too beautiful for someone like her. Anthony turned to her, his expression softening just for a moment before he grinned again.
"You know you’re a present, right? For Atticus." He paused, looking her up and down. "He’s a bit... particular. Doesn’t care much for gifts like this. But don’t worry, you’ll grow on him. Just obey his rules, do what he says, and you’ll be fine."
Her stomach twisted at his words. A present. That’s all she was. An object to be given, traded, and used.
Anthony’s smile faded slightly, a more serious tone slipping into his voice. "He doesn’t like noise. He doesn’t like disorder. You’ll have to figure him out, learn what he likes. But the most important thing is that you don’t question him. Don’t try to understand him. Just... do what you’re told." His fingers lightly brushed a lock of her hair, almost affectionately, before he turned away. "I’ll be back in a few days. Behave until then."
---
For days, Desiree saw nothing of Atticus. The house was disturbingly silent, the only sounds being the soft footsteps of maids or the creak of floorboards in the dead of night. Atticus would leave before dawn, returning late in the evening when the house was already asleep. His presence was felt more than seen everything in the house was meticulously arranged, as if a single misplaced item could throw the entire world into chaos. And she understood, through whispers and observations, that this was his doing. Everything was under his control, down to the finest detail.
---
Anthony had returned, his arrival as lively as ever, a whirlwind of laughter and energy. He had thrown open the doors, calling out for his brother with a voice that echoed through the halls. It was their 24th birthday, and the house had been prepared, decorations adorning the room. But as soon as Anthony saw Atticus, his voice lowered. There was tension in the air, thick and unspoken.
Desiree watched from the shadows as Atticus presented his brother with a motorcycle, sleek and black, gleaming under the light. It was Anthony’s dream gift, and his excitement was palpable as he threw his arms around Atticus in an exaggerated hug.
But when Anthony gestured toward her, his own gift to his brother, the room shifted. Atticus’s face hardened, his gaze barely flicking in her direction before settling on something else. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even acknowledge her.
And so it continued for days. Atticus said nothing to her, barely looked at her, and Desiree was left in a limbo of silence and uncertainty. She spent her days in her room, not knowing what was expected of her, waiting for something, anything.
It was on the fourth day, after another long stretch of quiet, that Anthony decided to intervene.
He found her standing at the window, her eyes lost in the distance, and dragged her to the living room. "Come on, you’re not some ghost haunting the place. You need to talk to him, doll." His voice was light, but there was an edge to it, impatience bubbling beneath the surface.
"I can’t—" Desiree began, but Anthony cut her off.
"You can and you will. He may not act like it, but Atticus is human. You just have to break through that ice. And what better time than now?" His grin was sharp, mischievous. He was pushing her into something she wasn’t ready for, but that was Anthony’s way.
They waited. The house seemed to breathe around them, the ticking of the grand clock the only sound that filled the space. Atticus appeared suddenly, his expression as cold as ever, his movements precise and controlled.
Anthony, ever the instigator, gave his brother a pointed look. "She’s been waiting for you, you know. You can’t just ignore her forever."
Atticus, in a rush, barely glanced at Desiree before speaking curtly. "I need to go. Just keep quiet and wait here," he muttered, turning on his heel without another word.
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Desiree stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as the door closed behind him.
---
Hours passed. The light outside dimmed as the day faded into evening, but Desiree remained where Atticus had left her. His command had been simple, and she followed it without question. Keep quiet. Wait here. So she stood there, unmoving, the silence wrapping around her like a suffocating blanket.
She barely noticed when the door opened again, soft footsteps echoing behind her. It wasn’t until a gentle hand touched her shoulder that Desiree snapped out of her trance, turning slowly to find a woman standing before her.
The woman was elegant, her posture straight and regal. She had an air of authority about her, though her expression was warm, almost motherly. Desiree didn’t speak... she couldn’t. The fear, the uncertainty, the exhaustion all weighed down on her tongue.
"You must be Desiree," the woman said softly, her eyes studying her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "My son didn’t tell me much, but the maids have been talking."
Desiree remained silent, unsure of what to say. She had no words, no answers for this woman who stood before her like a stranger in her own home.
The woman, Atticus and Anthony’s mother, she realized and sighed, her brow furrowing as she looked toward the door. "I’ll have to call him," she murmured, stepping away to pick up the phone.
Atticus arrived faster than Desiree had expected, his movements sharp as he entered the room. Without a word, he crossed to her, his hand gripping her arm as he pulled her upstairs, his pace brisk and silent. Desiree’s heart raced, fear bubbling up inside her as she struggled to keep up.
When they reached his room, he turned to face her, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. "Who's attention where you trying to capture?" he demanded, his voice low and controlled.
"You told me to wait." Desiree said softly, her eyes downcast. "You said to keep quiet and wait. So I did."
For a moment, Atticus seemed to falter, his icy facade cracking ever so slightly. He stared at her, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I... didn’t mean it like that."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward. Atticus rubbed his temple, frustration flickering in his eyes. He seemed at a loss, unsure of how to handle the situation he had unintentionally created.
"Just... go to your room," he muttered, turning away from her. His voice had lost its edge, and there was something almost resigned in his tone. "I don’t have time for this."
Desiree nodded, her body tense as she turned to leave. But just as she reached the door, Atticus spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'll have food brought up".