The Billionaire's Enchantment

Chapter Ten

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The morning sun slipped through the cheap blinds of Sasha's small apartment, cutting pale lines across the floor. Flora sat at the edge of the small bed, pulling her sneakers near to her feet as she let out a slow exhale. Saturday had arrived at last, and she had mapped out every minute: breakfast with Sasha, a visit to Mom's hospital room, then a quick stop at Phoenix Couture's showroom to drop off paperwork before hunting houses all afternoon. Weekends were the only time her calendar cleared enough to squeeze in personal life, especially with the Crestview Fashion Week coming up in two months. Everyone was very busy.

But as she bent to tie her laces, her mind swirled back to yesterday's elevator ride. She could still feel Alexander Bennett's hot breath fanning her face, could still feel his lips almost brushing hers. His voice had been low and smooth, with each syllable carefully measured: "I always get what I want." She had tasted the faint tang of his expensive cologne—peppery oud, she guessed—right before he stepped away. The memory made her stomach flip.

She rose from the bed, paused by the full-length mirror, about to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, when her phone buzzed again. Flora looked at the screen to see the same unknown number calling again. She sighed and rolled her eyes. This particular number had been calling nonstop since morning, and she had a pretty good guess who it might be. She had no intention of hearing that man's smug voice again.

Alexander Bennett unnerved her, and worse, he fascinated her. A dangerous combination. He was power wrapped in confidence, a walking red flag she could not stop thinking about. It suddenly made sense where Jayden got his arrogance from. Like father, like son. But even as the thought rose, another question pressed harder in her mind: if they were blood, why were they strangers?

"Do you think Mom will like these?" Sasha's voice drifted into her thoughts. She emerged from the kitchenette with a small package clutched in both hands. The aroma of cinnamon and peanut butter drifted in a warm wave. Sasha's hair was piled into a haphazard bun atop her head, a strand dangling over one eye.

"Mom will love these," Flora said, scooping up the box and lowering herself onto a couch. She peeled back the waxed paper lining to reveal a neat stack of golden-brown cookies, each one dotted with melted dark cocoa chips and dusted lightly with stevia crystals.

Sasha dropped onto the couch beside her, scrolling through her phone. "You still have not changed your mind about working for Bennett Group, have you? Phoenix will not give you the life, Flo. I do not get it."

Flora pretended to focus on the cookies. "I like where I am."

She had not told Sasha about Alexander and his escapades with her. She did not want to play his game, did not want to wonder whether those gifts—the leather-bound pen, the silk scarf, the dozen red roses—had been gestures of goodwill or thinly veiled reminders of his power. She did not want to tell Sasha that Bennett had swooped in just yesterday to buy a controlling stake in Phoenix Couture, the very start-up she had poured her heart into. Now he sat at the top of the board, chairing every meeting she attended. Flora refused to believe he had done it for her sake. Believing or talking about it would make it real, and she was not ready for that.

Sasha snorted. "Fine. But if I were you, I would take the offer and run. Preferably into the arms of a billionaire."

Flora rolled her eyes. Sasha would not understand anyway. She did not get that some offers came with invisible strings. Flora intended to keep it that way. Forget about Alex and his moves, and treat him like what he was—a boss in her workplace.

Thankfully, Sasha changed the topic. "I cannot believe you are not buying into my latest obsession," she said, waving her phone like a talisman. "Becca Lee's new series is a total guilty pleasure. The male leads are so dreamy." She cast a dreamy gaze at the screen. "They swoop in with a private jet if their lady mentions wanting to see Paris. Totally possessive alphas, but in that good way, you know? Like, protective, not psychotic."

Flora raised an eyebrow. "There is a good way to be possessive?"

"In fiction, yes," Sasha declared, flipping her hair. "My book boyfriends are the perfect men. Hot, rich, devoted, and—gosh! These men ruin real life men for me."

Flora gave a small laugh, checking the ride-share app on her phone. "Our ride is two minutes away."

"In fact," Sasha said, ignoring her sister's information, "this Damon Everly just sent his girlfriend a one-million-dollar necklace because she said she admired it once. Now that is romance."

"That is fiction," Flora muttered, thinking of the gifts Alexander had sent her. The pen, the scarf, the roses. None of it felt romantic to her. It felt... annoying. Especially after finding out who was behind them.

"Whatever." Sasha unwrapped a cookie, took a big bite, then closed her eyes in bliss. "Real life is overrated."

A chime from Flora's phone signaled the ride's arrival. She scooped up her tote, and they hustled onto the curb. The driver, a middle-aged man with a kindly face, helped them in, and they rattled off toward Crestview Hospital. Flora pressed her forehead against the cool glass as the city blurred—tall glass buildings reflecting the morning light, street vendors setting up for the day. Flora tried to focus on the scenery, anything to keep her mind off the man who was slowly invading it. What does he want from me? she wondered. Why can he not just stop?

She sighed, feeling she had been thinking too much about him lately, and she did not like that.

At the hospital, they breezed through the sliding doors and strode past reception. At the nurses' station, Flora stepped forward, seeing an unfamiliar nurse who looked up from her computer with a polite smile.

"We are here to see Joy Roberts, Room 324," she said, offering the small white card they had been given at admission.

The young nurse tapped at her keyboard. "Roberts... ah, yes. She has been moved to the Windsor Suite in the private wing." She slid a laminated flyer across the desk. "Eighth floor, then follow the signs for VIP care."

Flora and Sasha exchanged confused glances. Her pulse stuttered. "But... my insurance only covers standard wards. We cannot afford private rooms."

The nurse consulted her screen again. "No mistake. All expenses have been covered. Mrs. Roberts was moved last night."

Flora felt a cold prickle of unease crawl up her spine. "Covered by who?" She had just been with her mother yesterday after work.

"I do not have that information," the nurse said. "You would need to speak with hospital administration. But everything is in order, I assure you. Just follow the signs for 'Private Wing' after you take the elevator."

Flora and Sasha exchanged wide-eyed looks.

As they walked toward the elevators, Sasha grabbed Flora's arm. "Do you think it is some kind of insurance mix-up? Or one of those hospital charity things?"

"I do not know," Flora replied, though a sinking feeling told her exactly who it might be. "But I intend to find out."

When the elevator doors opened, it was like stepping into another world. The sharp smell of antiseptic was replaced by a faint scent of jasmine. Soft golden lights glowed overhead. The white tile floors of the general ward gave way to plush carpets and elegant art on the walls. Even the nurses looked like they were dressed for a magazine cover.

A staff member directed them to the Windsor Suite. They paused before the door labeled "Windsor Suite." From inside came the low murmur of conversation, warm laughter, and a man's rich baritone.

Sasha frowned. "Are you sure this is Mom's room?"

Flora hesitated before pushing the door open. They both froze at the threshold at the sight that greeted them.

Alexander Bennett sat beside her mother's bed, legs crossed casually. He wore a charcoal-gray suit, perfectly pressed, with a slender tie knotted at his throat. His presence filled the room, commanding, calm, as if he belonged there.

Both he and her mother turned at the sound of the door, their conversation fading.

For a heartbeat, Flora's world tilted. The Saturday she had so carefully planned had taken a turn she could never have predicted.