Adopted by the Billionaire✔️

[43]

[POV ~ Ellie]
I shut my bedroom door quietly this time. Not because Dad told me to, but because the silence in the hallway felt fragile, like a thin sheet of ice that would shatter if I raised my voice.
I dropped my backpack and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands. They were still trembling. I pressed them flat against my thighs and counted my breaths, just like Grant had taught me during "focus drills" in the gym.
In for four. Out for six. I was grounded. A whole week. No phone, no TikTok, no leaving the estate grounds. I deserved it—I'd seen things in his office I wasn't supposed to see, and I'd screamed words I couldn't take back. But the punishment wasn't what made my chest ache. It was the way he'd looked at me. Not like a King, and not like a Capo.
He'd looked disappointed.
I changed into my pajamas slowly, folding my clothes with obsessive neatness. Everything felt heavy. I crawled into bed and stared at the dark ceiling, waiting for the sound of his footsteps. Usually, he'd come in to tuck me in or ruffle my hair.
Tonight, the door stayed closed. I told myself that was fair. I'd told him I hated him. Meaning something in the heat of a fight and undoing it later weren't the same thing.
[POV ~ Antonio]
I remained in my office long after the house settled. The documents on my desk were a blur. I was the head of a multi-billion dollar empire and a biological legacy that spanned generations, yet I couldn't figure out how to talk to a thirteen-year-old girl without sounding like a drill sergeant.
Grounded. The word tasted like ash.
I leaned back and rubbed my face. Discipline was necessary, especially in our world where a lapse in judgment could be fatal. But God, I hated the silence. I replayed her face in my head—the tears she tried to hide, the stubborn set of her jaw that she definitely inherited from me.
She was thirteen. She was the little girl I'd rescued from a nightmare at five years old, but she was also the heir to everything I built. I'd sounded like her employer instead of her father.
I checked the clock. 9:12 p.m. She'd be awake. I left the office, my footsteps heavy on the marble.
[POV ~ Ellie]
Three soft knocks. My heart jumped into my throat.
"...Come in," I whispered.
The door opened, letting in a sliver of hallway light. Dad stood there, sleeves rolled up, looking more tired than I'd ever seen him. He didn't sit on the bed. He stood a few feet away, respecting the boundary I'd drawn with my anger.
"I won't stay long," he said. "I just wanted to check on you."
I nodded, clutching my pillow.
"I meant what I said about the grounding," he continued, his voice firm but no longer cold. "But Ellie... you weren't wrong to be curious about your past. You weren't wrong to ask about your mother, or why things are the way they are."
I swallowed hard.
"You were wrong to speak the way you did," he said gently. "And I was wrong to shut you out. I don't ever want you to be afraid to come to me. You're a Smith. We don't hide from each other."
"I was just... overwhelmed," I admitted, a tear escaping. "Everything feels so big lately."
He stepped closer then, resting a hand on the edge of the mattress. "You're grounded, Eliana. But you're also the most important thing in my life. Those two things can exist at the same time."
"I don't hate you," I whispered. "I was just mad."
"I know," he said, his thumb brushing over my knuckles for a brief, grounding second. "But words have weight. Even the ones we don't mean. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day."
The Morning After: Breakfast
The kitchen smelled like peanut butter and coffee. I hovered in the doorway, watching Dad. He didn't have his suit jacket on yet. He was just standing at the counter, stirring his black coffee.
I stepped in quietly.
"Morning," he said. No lecture. No scowl. Just a calm acknowledgment.
"Morning," I replied.
He slid a plate of toast toward my usual stool. One slice with peanut butter, one with jam. The "Smith Standard."
"I packed your lunch," he said, nodding toward my bag. "And I talked to Grant. He's going to take you to school, but you're coming straight home. No stops for snacks."
"I know." I picked at the crust. "Dad? I'm sorry. For yesterday."
He looked at me then, really looked at me. "I forgive you, Ellie. I'm still learning how to be the father of a teenager. I'm going to get it wrong sometimes. But I need you to know that you didn't disappoint me. You just messed up. There's a difference."
I felt the tension in my neck finally snap. I smiled—just a small one.
"Can I still ride the bus home?" I asked, testing the waters.
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of his usual dry humor returning. "Pushing the limits of the lockdown already?"
"Maybe a little."
He huffed a small breath that was almost a laugh. "Fine. You can ride the bus. But Parker will be trailing three cars back. Don't make him work too hard."
I laughed, grabbing my bag. As I walked out, I realized we weren't "fixed" yet. Things were still a little awkward, and I was still stuck at home for a week. But the house didn't feel like a fortress anymore. It just felt like home.

revision ii: 3.29.26