Billionaires Desire

Blood ties

She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap as she tried to find the right words. Atticus remained by the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her with a cautious, calculating gaze.
"I'm not trying to invade your space," Desiree began, her voice soft. "I just... I want to understand you."
Atticus's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"I know you didn't ask for this," she continued, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "I didn't either. But we're both here now, and... I don't know. I just feel like we're both stuck in the same silence, and it's suffocating."
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the tension in the room growing heavier by the second. Then, to her surprise, Atticus let out a quiet sigh, his posture relaxing ever so slightly.
"I'm not the kind of person you want to understand," he said, his voice low but not as cold as before.
Desiree frowned. "Why not?"
"Because there's nothing here to understand," he replied, his eyes darkening. "This is just... what I am."
Desiree shook her head. "That's not true. You act like you don't care, but I've seen you. You're not as indifferent as you want everyone to believe."
Atticus's gaze flickered, and for a moment, she thought she saw a crack in his armor. But then he stepped forward, his expression hardening once again.
"Whatever you think you see, you're wrong," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're here because my brother thought this would be amusing. That's it. Don't read into it."
Desiree's chest tightened at his words, but she didn't back down. "I'm not reading into anything. I'm just... trying to survive, just like you."
For the first time, Atticus looked genuinely taken aback. His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, the weight of his own words seemed to hit him.
"You don't belong in this world, Desiree," he murmured, his voice almost... regretful.
"And neither do you," she whispered back.
Atticus didn't respond right away. Instead, he turned away from her, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. There was something vulnerable in the way he stood there, his back to her, as if he didn't know how to deal with the conversation any more than she did.
"I need to go," he muttered, his voice tight with something she couldn't place. "Just... stay out of trouble."
Before Desiree could say anything more, he left the room, the door closing softly behind him.
And once again, she was left alone in the silence, wondering just how many more fractures she could find in the cold, unyielding surface of Atticus Killian.
The sound of the front door slamming shut reverberated through the empty halls, startling Desiree from her restless thoughts. She had been pacing her room, trying to make sense of the tension that had built over the last few days. Atticus had been growing more distant, if that were even possible, retreating further into himself. She had barely seen him, and when she did, it was as if he wasn't truly there.
But now, something felt different.
She moved cautiously toward the top of the staircase, her heart racing as she heard the sound of heavy footsteps followed by low, heated voices. Atticus and Anthony. Their tones weren't the usual light banter or indifferent grunts; no, this was something else. Something far more serious.
Desiree froze on the landing, staying out of sight, her breath catching in her throat as their conversation reached her ears.
"You're reckless, Anthony! You think you can just run into these situations without thinking, without consequences?" Atticus's voice was sharp, laced with anger, but beneath that was something else-pain.
Anthony didn't respond immediately, but when he did, his voice lacked the usual bravado she had grown accustomed to. It was subdued, almost remorseful. "I didn't expect things to go that far. I thought I had it under control."
"You never have it under control," Atticus snapped, his frustration palpable. "Do you know how close you were to getting yourself killed? Or worse, getting both of us killed?"
Desiree took a step back, her eyes widening as she heard the strain in Atticus's voice. It wasn't just anger-it was fear. Fear for his brother. She hadn't thought it possible, but in this moment, Atticus sounded... vulnerable.
"Atti, I-" Anthony began, but Atticus cut him off.
"No!" Atticus's voice was louder now, raw and full of emotion. "I can't keep covering for you. Not again. This time, it was too close."
There was a long silence, and Desiree could hear Anthony's ragged breathing. When Anthony finally spoke, his voice was small, almost childlike. "I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to drag you into it. I just... I messed up."
"You always mess up," Atticus said coldly, and there was a heaviness in his words that sent a chill down Desiree's spine. "But this time, it's not just you. Father knows, Anthony. He knows everything. He's not going to forgive you for this."
Anthony's sharp intake of breath was audible even from where Desiree stood. "What do you mean? You didn't-"
"I told him," Atticus interrupted, his voice hard. "He was going to find out anyway. I can't keep cleaning up your messes."
Desiree peeked around the corner, her eyes landing on the twins. Anthony was standing near the front door, his usual carefree demeanor gone, replaced by an expression of fear and guilt. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked like a child caught doing something he knew was wrong.
But it was Atticus that caught her attention. He was standing rigid, his face pale, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. And then she saw it-his shirt was torn, and there was a dark, wet stain spreading across his chest.
Blood.
Desiree gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. Atticus was hurt. Badly.
Anthony seemed to notice it at the same time. His eyes widened in horror as he took a step toward his brother. "Atticus, you're bleeding!"
"It's nothing," Atticus snapped, brushing him off, though the wince in his voice betrayed the pain he was trying to hide. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not!" Anthony protested, reaching out as if to help, but Atticus pulled away sharply.
"I said I'm fine!" Atticus barked, his eyes flashing with anger, though the pain was evident in every breath he took. "Just... go to your room, Anthony. Before I say something we both regret."
Anthony hesitated, torn between guilt and fear. His usual defiance was gone, replaced by a deep-seated fear of his brother's disappointment. "I didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Atticus stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice colder than ice, he said, "If you mess up like this again, I won't be there to save you. Father won't be so forgiving next time, and neither will I."
Anthony flinched as if he had been slapped, his face paling as the weight of Atticus's words sank in. Without another word, he turned and retreated toward his room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he disappeared from sight.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Desiree stood frozen in place, her heart racing as she watched Atticus, unsure of what to do. He was still standing near the door, breathing heavily, his hand pressed tightly to the wound on his chest. She could see the pain etched across his face, though he was trying so hard to hide it.
She wanted to go to him, to offer help, but she knew better than to intrude. Atticus was a fortress of walls and cold indifference, and she had learned all too well how fiercely he guarded his vulnerabilities.
But before she could make up her mind, Atticus turned and began walking toward the stairs, his movements slow and labored. He hadn't even noticed her standing there, his mind too consumed by the argument with Anthony and the pain of his injury.
Desiree pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath as Atticus passed by, his face tight with strain. He didn't glance her way, didn't acknowledge her presence. It was as if she didn't exist at all.
He disappeared into his room, the door closing softly behind him.
---
For hours, Desiree remained in her room, her mind whirling with everything she had overheard. The argument between the twins had revealed more than she had expected-Anthony's recklessness, Atticus's burden of responsibility, and their father's looming shadow over it all.
And then there was the wound. She couldn't stop thinking about it. How deep had it cut, not just physically but emotionally? Atticus had always been so cold, so closed off, but the way he had spoken to Anthony tonight had shown a different side of him-one she wasn't sure she fully understood yet.
---
Two days had passed finally, unable to shake the feeling of unease, Desiree rose from her bed and made her way toward Atticus's room. The house was quiet, the maids having retreated for the night, leaving her alone in the suffocating silence.
She hesitated outside his door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Was this a mistake? Should she leave him to deal with his pain in his own way?
But something compelled her forward.
Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly on the door. There was no response. After a moment, she knocked again, this time louder.
Still nothing.
Biting her lip, she slowly pushed the door open, her heart pounding in her chest as she stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight, casting long shadows across the floor.
And there was Atticus. His shirt had been discarded, leaving his chest bare, the wound had slightly closed as it wasn't as deep as she thought. His face pale and drawn, as he stood out on the balcony blowing a puff of smoke from the cigarette he held.
"Atticus..." Desiree's voice was barely a whisper as she stepped closer to the bed. He didn't respond, didn't even look at her. It was as if he had retreated so far into himself that he hadn't even noticed her presence.
She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. The man before her was not the cold, calculating Atticus Killian she had come to know. He looked... Angry on edge.
He looked back at her, his eyes calling as she stepped closer when he turned towards her blowing a puff of smoke to her face, dropping his cigarette as she stared at him. He bent down.
The cool night breeze swept through the balcony as they stood there, inches apart. The moonlight bathed them in a soft glow, casting long shadows on the stone railing. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her skin, his eyes locked onto hers.
Her heart raced as she felt the weight of his gaze, the world around them growing quieter with every passing second. Their faces were so close now, she could feel the warmth of his lips just barely hovering over hers.
She moved her eyes down noticing the gun in his other hand, before shifting to meet his gaze. breathless, caught in the moment. He leaned in closer, his lips almost touching hers, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. The space between them filled with unsaid words and stolen breaths. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth, teasing, before he moved towards her ear.
For a heartbeat, everything stood still, "I live my life in gray scale, can you handle that." Her said placing the gun in her hand, grabbing her hand she looked at him not sure what exactly he meant or what to respond when he stood infront of her leaning on the balcony "let's test your luck" she said for her to get his point.
She held the gun before she swung the cylinder out of the guns frame to see two bullets loaded in the third and sixth chamber before locking it back into place. "Atticus..." Her voice thinned when he grabbed the gun to pull the hammer back with his thumb pulling the trigger when she slightly flinched as nothing came out.
He then handed it back to her when she breathed heavily steadily pointing towards him before pulling the hammer back.