Adopted by the Billionaire✔️

[39]

CLOTHES: So? Like am I a joke to you now?
ELLIE: Yes. Very much so.
CLOTHES: ...
Ellie's POV (Sunday)
One more day until school again.
One more day until I can see Rae-Rae and Kyky.
That thought alone made me roll out of bed—even though I was still sleepy.
My onesie felt too hot, so I peeled it off and grabbed my baby blanket. Then I did what I always did when my brain wanted safety more than anything else.
I ran straight to Daddy's room.
I crawled under his covers and snuggled into the warm spot like I belonged there. Daddy sleeps like a rock when he's really asleep—like nothing can move him unless it's me.
So I poked him.
He blinked slowly, like a lion waking up.
"Baby... how did you get here?"
He pulled me closer automatically, but then he paused and looked down at me like he was doing a serious inspection.
"Princess... where are your clothes?"
"Too hot," I shrugged.
He exhaled like he wanted to argue but didn't. Instead, he tucked me into his chest like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Do you want to sleep a little longer?"
I nodded.
Today was a cuddle day. A lazy day. A "pretend the world doesn't exist" day.
I closed my eyes and hugged my blanket to my face.

---

Antonio's POV (Sunday)
Sleep had become rare.
Not because I couldn't afford it—because I couldn't allow it.
A sleepover meant noise. A party meant exposure. Exposure meant risk. And risk, when it came to my daughter, was unacceptable.
At 7:00 a.m., I felt the covers shift—cold air slicing across my chest—followed by a small body crawling into my space like she owned it.
Then a poke to my face.
"Baby," I said, eyes half-open, "how did you get here?"
Of course I knew how. She had legs.
My mind tried to form a sarcastic comment at my own expense; I shut it down.
Then I noticed she was barely dressed.
"Princess," I asked, voice low and controlled, "why are you undressed?"
"Too hot."
It was November.
But she looked comfortable and safe, and my tolerance for logic ended the moment she rested her head against my chest.
"Fine," I said, pulling her closer. "Stay."
I wasn't going to have it any other way.

---

Later (still Sunday)
I woke again and found Ellie asleep on top of me—like a small, stubborn weight that anchored me to the present.
I kissed her head once.
"Morning, baby."
"Mmhm," she mumbled, already drifting back off.
"It's 10."
She didn't care.
I sat up, lifted her with practiced ease, and carried her into the bathroom.
"Daddy," she complained, face tucked into my shoulder, "I'm tired."
"Babes," I said, turning on the water, "we are going to be productive today."
She crossed her arms like she was about to start a negotiation.
"That's not what I had in mind."
"And what did you have in mind, princess?"
"Cuddle. Sleep. Lazy." She counted on her fingers like she'd prepared a presentation.
I added bubbles to the water. "Park. Ice cream. Swimming."
She hesitated—dramatic—then caved.
"...Okay. Ice cream."
"Good," I said. "Now bathe yourself."
She stared at me like I'd betrayed her entire bloodline.
"What? You're not going to bathe me?"
"Baby. Don't you want to be a big girl?"
"But it's work."
I looked at her the way I looked at executives when they tried to avoid responsibility.
"Eliana," I said. Calm. Final.
She blinked. She knew what the full name meant.
Then she tried a new tactic.
"Fine," she said casually. "Then I'll shower with you so I can learn."
That surprised me.
"You want to learn how to shower by yourself?"
"Yes," she said quickly, like she was afraid I'd change my mind.
That was growth.
So I taught her—how to turn the knob, how to test the temperature, how to rinse properly. Slow. Patient. Like this mattered more than contracts and meetings.
When she watched me wrap a towel, she frowned.
"You're a bad teacher."
"Whatever," I said, because it was easier than admitting I was proud she even wanted to learn.
She watched me lay out her clothes and then made a face at the shampoo.
"Daddy... we should buy shampoo for me."
"What's wrong with mine?"
"It smells like you."
"I don't see the problem."
Her look said: That is not the point.
"Fine," I sighed. "You'll get your own supplies."
She smiled like she'd won a corporate war.