The Billionairess (The Billionairess, #1)

Chapter 19: Open Wounds

I thought I could follow the sound of her crying, but the penthouse was eerily silent. I quietly tapped my knuckles on her bedroom door, then peeked inside.

Rose was laying over the duvet, her body curved inwards and her face stuffed into a pillow that she wrapped her arms around. I hated seeing her that way. It seemed so unnatural. I wanted to rush to her.

I quietly closed the door, then slowly approached the bed.

"Mistress" I said softly.

She made no response. I came closer, unsure if it was right for me to move at the moment. I gently placed a hand over hers.

She glanced up at me from the pillow. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks still streaming with tears. I wanted to wipe them all away.

"Mistress" I said, cupping her face in my hands. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes swelled up again, she looked down and shook her head.

"Thomas" she said. "I'm...so sorry..."

Tears streamed down her face.

"Mistress, please stop crying" I said. And I meant it. I couldn't see her like this. "It's okay."

"I...almost lost control..."

"Mistress, it was a little slip..."

Despite part of me warning against it, I crawled onto the bed next to her. For a moment she was still, but then she curled into me. Her hands fisted into my shirt, and she nuzzled her face into my collarbones. I wrapped my arms around her, and snuggled her close.

"Tell me what is wrong, mistress" I said. "Tell me what it is between you and Tristen. What is it that makes it so easy for him to turn you into this? Why can he not just let us be?"

She didn't answer for a while. She sniffled into my shirt, probably leaving snot on the collar but I didn't care. She finally wiped her eyes, and looked me in the face.

"I supposed I've kept too much fom you, Thomas" she said. "Perhaps it's now time you learned the truth about me. About Tristen. About my past."

She stood up from the bed, then approached a table by the window. A bottle of vodka and a few glasses awaited on it. She poured herself a glass, then stared out the window.

"I was not born Rose Delacourt" she said, pulling a cigarette out of a drawer and lighting it. "My name at birth was Hannah Steele."

"I had no idea"

"Before I was who I am now, I was a university student just like you. Majoring in business, minor in English literature. I was a shy girl then, living off the fantasies of books like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights. I told you before I identified more with men like Rochester and Darcy. But that is only a newer development. Before, I wanted  men like Rochester and Darcy. I wanted my billionaire lover who would sweep a poor, plain girl like myself off my feet."

She took another puff. "One day, I finally did meet my Rochester. Tristen Grey had visited the publishing house I was working at, and I was asked to show him around. He took an interest in me, me being only an intern at the time."

She took a puff.

"I was enamored with him. He was a hero out of all of my romantic fantasies, from the books I read."

I tried to picture Tristen Grey as the romantic lead in a novel, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

"We were together for some time. He would shower me with gifts, take me on helicopter rides, buy me new cars, allow me to sip from some of the most expensive champagne."