Billionaires Desire

vengeance of her

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Ariella’s anger had been simmering for days, boiling beneath the surface until it became too much to contain. Her resentment toward Desiree grew with every passing moment, every glance from Atticus that wasn’t directed at her. She had lost control, her father was spiraling, and the more the Killians held the reins of her family’s company, the more her pride was shattered. Atticus's cold indifference toward her cut deeply, but what stung the most was his fascination with her. That damned pianist. Desiree had no right to be in his life, no right to be so close to him, so important to him.

In her desperation, Ariella sought out revenge. She convinced herself that it was Desiree’s fault—everything was Desiree’s fault. If it weren’t for her, Atticus would have never let go of her. And so, Ariella acted. She used the last bit of influence she had to hire two men to send Desiree a message. Just a little fear, a little pain, enough to make her leave. To make her go away.

She didn’t know—or care—that the Killians were dangerous, that crossing them was a death sentence for most. In her mind, it was simple. Desiree was the obstacle, and obstacles were meant to be removed.

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That Fateful Night

It was a quiet evening at the Killian mansion. Most of the staff had retired for the night, leaving just a few maids to tend to the household. Desiree stood by the large window in the drawing room, gazing out into the darkness. She often found herself here late at night, unable to sleep, her mind restless. The stillness of the night had a way of pulling her into her thoughts, and tonight was no different.

She stood, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared into the empty garden. But then, something caught her eye. A movement, a shadow. At first, she thought it might be one of the guards patrolling the grounds, but the figure moved too quickly, too cautiously.

Curious, Desiree narrowed her eyes, stepping closer to the window. Another shadow moved along the side of the mansion, and her heart began to race. Something wasn’t right. Her instincts screamed at her, but before she could act, the door to the room creaked open behind her. She turned, and her breath caught in her throat.

Two men stood in the doorway, their faces partially obscured by the darkness. They were dressed in black, moving with a predatory ease that sent a chill down her spine.

“Who are you people?” Desiree asked, her voice steady but laced with tension.

The men didn’t answer. Instead, one of them stepped forward, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don't worry, we're just here to deliver a message,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

Before Desiree could react, the other man lunged at her, grabbing her by the arms and throwing her to the floor. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she gasped, struggling to get back up. But the man held her down, his grip tight as he pushed her face into the cold marble floor.

Her nose hit the ground hard, and she felt a sharp pain followed by the warm trickle of blood. She tried to fight back, kicking and writhing beneath him, but it was no use. The second man stood over her, watching with an eerie calmness.

“Maybe we should teach her a lesson,” the man pinning her down said, a twisted grin on his face as he shoved her harder into the floor.

“Stop…” Desiree managed to gasp, her voice muffled against the floor. Her heart raced, panic flooding her veins. It brought back images of the compound—the helplessness she felt. She knew this wasn’t just a random attack—this was planned, deliberate. And she had a sinking feeling she knew exactly who was behind it.

As the man began to taunt her, pushing her around like she was nothing more than a ragdoll, Desiree’s mind raced. She needed to do something, to fight back, but her body froze of trauma, too overwhelmed by pain and fear.