Billionaires Desire

Mistakes and mysteries

Desiree sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the plate of food that had been left on her nightstand. Atticus hadn't said anything when he placed it there no explanation, no words. Just the plate, set down with a silent command to eat.
Her stomach growled in response. Despite the weight of dread pressing down on her chest, she knew she needed to eat something. The day had been long, tense, and her body was crying out for sustenance.
She reached out hesitantly, picking up a forkful of food and bringing it to her lips. The flavors hit her immediately rich, seasoned, and far more luxurious than anything she had eaten in years. For a brief moment, it was almost comforting. Almost.
But then she felt it. The familiar, sharp tingle on her tongue. Her heart dropped.
Desiree's fork clattered to the plate as panic began to rise in her chest. **Shrimp.** She hadn't noticed it before, but now that she did, the warning signs were there subtle hints of the shellfish she couldn't eat, buried under sauces and seasoning.
Her throat tightened as her stomach churned violently, her vision beginning to blur. She stumbled toward the bathroom, her breath coming in short, labored gasps as she leaned over the sink. Panic coursed through her, her body rejecting the food, purging it as violently as it could.
She barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching behind her until a soft hand touched her back. One of the maids, an older woman with kind eyes appeared at her side, her presence calm and steady.
"Shh, dear," the maid whispered, rubbing gentle circles on Desiree's back as she heaved into the sink. "It's alright. Let it all out."
Desiree could barely respond, too consumed by the nausea and the overwhelming sensation of her body betraying her. When the worst of it passed, she leaned heavily against the wall, her vision swimming and her limbs shaking.
The maid helped her back to the bed, her hands gentle as she guided Desiree to lie down. "You'll be fine," she murmured. "Just rest for now."
Desiree nodded weakly, her body too drained to protest. Her head throbbed, the lingering effects of the allergic reaction leaving her feeling lightheaded and exhausted. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself to calm down, but the fear still lingered, wrapping itself around her like a vice.
---
Hours later, she woke to the sound of footsteps once more. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she was disoriented unsure of where she was or how much time had passed.
But then she saw him.
Atticus stood beside her bed, his tall frame casting a shadow in the dim light of the room. His expression was hard to read, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes as he looked down at her.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low and controlled.
Desiree blinked, still groggy and trying to process the situation. Her mouth felt dry, her head spinning slightly as she pushed herself up onto her elbows. "I... I'm fine."
Atticus's gaze shifted, his jaw tightening for a moment before he spoke again. "The maid told me what happened. You should have told someone about your allergy."
There was no anger in his voice, but there was something there... something she couldn't quite place. He seemed distant, like he was struggling to find the right words.
"I didn't mean to..." He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. "You probably think I'm trying to kill you."
Desiree's breath caught in her throat at the bluntness of his statement. The thought had crossed her mind, if only for a fleeting second. Everything about Atticus was cold, distant, calculated. She didn't know him, didn't understand him, and that made him dangerous.
But looking at him now, there was something different. He seemed... uncertain. Almost vulnerable in the way he stood there, waiting for her response.
"I don't think that," Desiree whispered, her voice soft but steady. "It was just a mistake."
Atticus didn't respond right away, his gaze flicking away from her as he let out a quiet sigh. He seemed tired like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, and he wasn't sure how to carry it.
"My parents went back to the main house last night," he said after a long pause. "You'll be more comfortable here now. It's just you, the maids, and me."
He glanced toward the door, his posture stiffening slightly. "Feel free to walk around the house. Just don't... get in anyone's way."
With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Desiree in a strange silence once again.
---
The day passed in a blur. Desiree wandered the halls of the mansion cautiously, her mind still reeling from everything that had happened. The emptiness of the house was unsettling there was no warmth here, no life. Just cold marble and distant footsteps.
As night fell, she found herself pacing her room, restless and uneasy. Atticus hadn't returned yet, and the mansion felt even more suffocating without his presence. The stillness of the place made her skin crawl.
Her thoughts drifted back to their brief conversation earlier his awkward attempt at concern, his strange admission that she probably thought he was trying to kill her. It had left her more confused than ever.
Unable to stay still any longer, she left her room, her bare feet padding quietly against the floor as she moved through the dimly lit halls. She wasn't sure where she was going she just needed to move, to do something.
That's when she found herself in front of his room.
The door was slightly ajar, and Desiree hesitated for a moment before pushing it open further. The room was just as meticulously organized as the rest of the house everything in its place, no sign of disorder or chaos.
But her eyes were drawn to the dresser, where a sleek black object caught her attention.
A gun.
She approached it slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as she reached out to touch it. Her fingers brushed against the cool metal as she grabbed it, and for a moment, she felt a strange sense of power. It was dangerous deadly. Just like him.
But before she could dwell on the thought, the door creaked open behind her, and a voice cut through the silence.
"You."
Desiree froze, her hand still hovering over the gun as she turned to face Atticus. His expression was unreadable, but there was an edge to his voice that sent a shiver down her spine.
"I..." she started, but the words died in her throat.
Atticus stepped forward, his gaze locked on hers when she slightly moved back her feet ending by the dresser when she leaned in towards her extending his hand to grab the gun, he held it against her head looking at her and for the fist time she looked directly at him, she showed no fear, no emotion. "Desiree You should know people in this house stay in their lane, know your place, otherwise you won't be so lucky"
There was no anger in his voice, just a cold, hard warning tone as he pressed the trigger for a clacking sound to be hurd, Desiree don't flinch nor blink when looked down at her, "You're not allowed in here," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument, when she looked down to sigh "There's no such thing as luck I learned that the hard way, if there is... I haven't seen it yet" she threw the three bullets she had taken out on his bed before walking out when Atticus looked back at her to scoff out a smile.
Desiree's breath hitched, her heart racing as she slipped out of the room, the weight of the gun's cold metal still lingering on her fingertips, one thing became clear.
Atticus Killian was a mystery one that might just destroy her if she wasn't careful. She got to her given room closing the door her knees getting weak as she feel on the ground her whole body shaking as she silently cried, Her tears non stop as her hands dug into the floor, she was filled with anger, rage and fear. She felt completely hopeless, the way things were going she could possibly die and no one would know.
Desiree had come to a conclusion, he wasn't as mysterious as she thought he was just a different kind of crazy from his brother, all the kindness she thought towards him got drowned by the clicking of the gun and over shadowed by his cold gaze.