Billionaires Desire

unraveling

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Desiree stared at Atticus, her mind reeling from his sudden declaration. This was not how she had expected things to go. She had maneuvered carefully, calculating her every move since she'd been brought into his life. But even with her manipulations, this was... different. His words had a weight she hadn't prepared for, and it unnerved her.

She could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as Atticus's gaze bore into her. His eyes, always so controlled, now had a fire behind them, something raw and intense that made her chest tighten.

"How is being your girlfriend going to solve anything?" she asked quietly, her voice laced with uncertainty. "It might just make everything worse for you... for Ariella."

Atticus's jaw clenched at the mention of Ariella, his hands tightening around the steering wheel as if the mere thought of the woman brought him discomfort. He let out a breath through his nose, the sound sharp in the silence of the car.

"So what," he said, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument. "Whether or not she's affected doesn't concern me. But you-" his eyes flicked to her again, hard and unyielding, "-you shouldn't have provoked her that night. If you didn't want to be involved with her, you should have left it alone."

Desiree's lips twitched slightly at his words, a brief, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He had seen through her. Not entirely, but enough to know she hadn't been the innocent bystander in that confrontation. It was a dangerous game she played, and she knew it. But hearing him say it aloud stung more than she expected.

As they pulled into the driveway of the house, the silence between them grew heavy again. Desiree turned her gaze to the window, watching as the familiar walls of the estate loomed ahead, her fingers idly tracing the door handle as the car came to a stop.

"I didn't provoke her," she said finally, her voice calm, almost detached. "I was just being herself. If Ariella couldn't handle that, it's not my fault." She sighed softly, leaning back in her seat as if the weight of the day had finally caught up with her. "You own me-that's a fact. So whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. But preferably... your world is too much for me to handle right now. I'd prefer to just be left at home."

Her hand moved to the door handle, and she glanced at him one last time before adding, "As for your suggestion, let's keep it at that. Good night,."

With that, she opened the door and stepped out, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she walked away from the car, leaving Atticus sitting alone in the driver's seat.

She had never spoken to him like that before. It wasn't defiance, not entirely-it was something else. A quiet resignation, perhaps, or maybe it was her way of reminding him of the power dynamic between them. Whatever it was, it unsettled him. She was slipping through his fingers, and the realization made his blood boil, though he couldn't quite explain why.

Atticus watched her as she walked into the house, his eyes narrowing slightly as her figure disappeared into the shadows of the hallway. Something inside him stirred, a mixture of frustration and something else-something darker, something he didn't want to admit to himself. She had always been a mystery to him, an enigma that he couldn't quite solve. But this... this was different.

He sat in the car for a few moments longer, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he tried to make sense of his own emotions. Desiree had always been careful around him, always measured in her words and actions. But tonight, there had been a shift. Something in her had changed, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

After what felt like an eternity, Atticus finally got out of the car and headed inside. The house was quiet, save for the distant sounds of the maids finishing their duties for the evening. He made his way to his room, his mind still racing with thoughts of Desiree and the conversation they had just had.