Billionaires Desire

leaning to play

The ride home was quiet, the silence between them thick and heavy, just as it had been for most of the day. Desiree stared out the window, her thoughts swirling in the quiet hum of the car’s engine. Atticus drove with his usual precision, his eyes focused ahead, seemingly unaffected by the tension still lingering between them.

But then, the car took a turn, and Desiree glanced up, her brow furrowing in confusion. This wasn’t their usual route. The city streets slowly faded behind them as the familiar towering buildings gave way to quieter, more peaceful surroundings. And then, there it was—a small, old church nestled between trees, its stone façade illuminated in the soft glow of the evening sun.

Desiree’s chest tightened the moment she saw it. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check, but something about the sight of that church tugged at her deeply. Memories she hadn’t thought about in years rushed to the surface. She quickly looked down, avoiding Atticus’s gaze, though she could feel his eyes briefly flicker toward her.

Atticus, perceptive as ever, noticed the subtle change in her demeanor. Without a word, he pulled the car over and parked by the side of the road. For a moment, they sat there in silence, the tension thickening as he glanced at her.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, almost gentle, a rare break in his usual coldness.

Desiree hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat. She didn’t want to talk about it. But something about being there, in that moment, made the words tumble out before she could stop them.

“There was a church like this one,” she began softly, her voice steady but distant, as if she was recounting someone else’s story. “Near the orphanage I was in… before the facilities.”

Atticus didn’t say anything, but he turned his body slightly toward her, listening. Desiree kept her gaze down, her fingers trembling slightly as she spoke.

“I used to go there after school, play the piano. It was the only thing that made me feel… human.” She paused, her throat tightening. “Then one day, they took us. Half the girls died in a bus accident, the rest… died in the facilities. The ones like me, well, we were the lucky ones, I guess.”

Her tone was flat, almost indifferent, as if what she was saying was no more significant than commenting on the weather. But Atticus knew better. He could see it in the way her shoulders stiffened, in the way her eyes refused to meet his.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he reached over and placed his hand on the door handle. Without a word, he got out of the car, the door closing softly behind him. Desiree blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. She hesitated for a moment before she followed him.

Atticus stood by the front of the church, his tall frame outlined against the fading light. He didn’t look at her as she approached, but instead, he walked forward, opening the large wooden doors of the church and stepping inside. Desiree followed him, her heart pounding in her chest as they entered the dimly lit space.

The air inside was cool and quiet, filled with the faint scent of incense and old wood. Desiree’s breath hitched as she took in the familiar sight of the altar, the rows of pews, the stained-glass windows casting soft, colored light across the floor.

Without a word, Atticus gestured toward the altar, as if giving her permission to do whatever she needed to. Desiree hesitated for only a moment before she stepped forward, her footsteps echoing softly in the empty church. She moved toward the altar, her hands clasped in front of her , closing her eyes.

Atticus stood at the back, watching her silently. There was something about her—her quiet strength, the way she carried the weight of her past with such grace—that stirred something deep inside him. He had seen many sides of her, but this was different. This was something he hadn’t expected.