Under The Billionaire's Control

11 | Deadpool

S A R A H

The phone pressed to my ear, listening to Ryan’s steady breathing on the other end. It's late, and the house is quiet. Noah has retreated to his room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The perfect time to call someone who actually understands me.

“Ryan, it’s been... a lot,” I sigh, trying to find the right words to describe this mess I’m caught up in. “I agreed to start over with Noah, to give him another chance, but I don’t know if I can really do it. I mean... I’m trying, but everything is just so complicated.”

There’s a pause on the other end, then Ryan’s deep voice fills my ear, calm and patient like always.

“Sarah, are you sure that’s a good idea? Letting him start over?” His concern is genuine, and it makes my chest tighten. “You’re only supposed to be working for him, right? So why are you getting so... emotionally involved?”

His question hits a nerve, and I lean harder against the counter, my fingers gripping the edge. He’s right, of course. I’m just Noah’s maid. I have no business getting tangled up in his life like this.

But it’s not that simple, is it?

“It’s not that easy, Ryan,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “From the first day I walked into that house, I’ve always connected Noah to... my father.” I swallow, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Everything about him—his arrogance, his mood swings, the way he tries to control everything, just reminded me of the worst parts of my past. And because of that, I stopped seeing him as my employer. Instead, it felt like... I was living with him.”

Ryan stays silent for a moment, probably letting my words sink in. He knows about my past, about the trauma I’ve tried so hard to leave behind.

And he knows how easy it is for me to fall back into those patterns, to see every man who crosses my path as a reflection of the monster I grew up with.

“Sarah...” Ryan’s voice is gentle, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he says the wrong thing. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all to him. You’ve already been through enough.”

“I know,” I murmur, biting my lip to keep the tears at bay. “But it’s different with Noah. He’s not who I thought he was. He’s... broken, Ryan. And for some reason, I can’t seem to turn my back on him.”

“Let me get this straight,” Ryan says, a hint of teasing in his tone that makes me smile despite everything.

“So you’re telling me that Noah, your arrogant, playboy boss is actually a wounded puppy who just needs someone to take care of him?”

A laugh escapes me, unexpected and light, eases my chest.

“No, he’s definitely not a puppy,” I reply, shaking my head. “He’s more like a stubborn, wounded lion. And it’s like... I want to help him, but I’m scared I’ll get bitten in the process.”

Ryan chuckles softly. “You’ve always been too soft-hearted for your own good, Sarah. But listen, you don’t owe him anything. Just because he’s got his own demons doesn’t mean you need to save him. You have to protect yourself first.”

His words are like a balm to my soul, grounding me in a way I desperately need. I close my eyes, letting out a long breath.

“You’re right, Ryan. I need to keep reminding myself of that. But I don’t know... I feel like I’m already too deep in this mess to back out now.”

“Just promise me one thing,” he says, his voice serious again. “Don’t let your guard down completely. If he hurts you—”

“I won’t let him,” I cut in, more to convince myself than him. “I’ll keep my distance. I’ll do my job and nothing more.”

Ryan hums in approval, though I can sense the doubt lingering in his tone. “Good. Just remember, you have people who care about you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“Thanks, Ryan. Really.” I pause, not wanting to end the call but knowing I have to. “I should go. I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he says softly. “Just... take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” I promise, hanging up and leaning back against the counter, staring at the darkened kitchen.

It’s quiet now, but my thoughts are anything but. I know I’m walking a fine line with Noah, and it scares me how easy it is to get lost in his chaos. I’ve always been the strong one, the one who walks away when things get tough.

But for some reason, with him, I can’t seem to let go. And that terrifies me more than anything.

The conversation with Ryan still lingers in my mind, his words replaying like a broken record. I should be asleep, but instead, I’m pacing the kitchen, trying to shake off this restless energy.

I’m just about to head to bed when I hear the soft creak of the stairs. I turn, half expecting it to be a illusion, but it’s Noah.

He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants, his hair tousled like he just woke up from a rough nap. He stops when he sees me, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Couldn’t sleep," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "Can you make me a coffee?"

"Sure," I reply, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in my chest. I turn away quickly, focusing on the task at hand. The silence stretches between us as I brew the coffee, my hands moving on autopilot.

I hand him the cup, expecting him to take it and disappear back to his room. But instead, he walks over to the couch and plops down, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV.

The familiar sounds of Deadpool fill the room, and he gestures for me to join him.

“Sit with me for a bit?” he asks, his voice softer.

I hesitate, glancing down at my outfit. A loose T-shirt and shorts that are a bit too short for comfort. I thought everyone had gone to bed, so I didn’t bother changing into something less revealing.

But Noah’s looking at me expectantly, so I nod and slowly take a seat on the far end of the couch.

I’m hyper-aware of how exposed my legs are. I pull my knees up, trying to cover as much skin as possible, but it only seems to draw more attention.

I can feel his eyes flicker over to me every now and then, and the air between us grows thick with tension.

Suddenly, Noah clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. He grabs a throw pillow from the couch and places it on his lap.

His jaw is clenched, and there’s a strange look in his eyes, almost like he’s fighting with himself.

“Are you okay?” I ask, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

“Yeah... fine,” he mutters, but his voice is strained, like he's anything but fine. His breathing becomes heavier, and I can see his hands tightening into fists beneath the pillow.

I turn my attention back to the screen, trying to ignore the growing awkwardness between us. But then I hear him mumble something under his breath.

It’s faint, but I swear I hear him curse my name.

“Noah, did you just—” I start to ask, turning to look at him, but he’s already on his feet. He doesn’t even look at me as he bolts for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I sit there, stunned, watching him disappear up to his room. What the hell was that about?

The sound of his door slamming shut echoes through the quiet house, leaving me alone in the dimly lit living room. I can still feel the heat of his gaze on me, like it’s burned into my skin.

I should be relieved that he’s gone, but all I feel is confusion and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.

What just happened between us?

And why does it feel like we’ve crossed some invisible line that we can never uncross?