Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

Chapter 19

19

KAIRA

T he next morning, I woke to the sound of a vacuum. It took me a second to remember where I was. I stretched my arms wide and stared up at the ceiling of my new room. The massive bed was beyond comfortable. I felt like I was being cradled in a cloud.

Despite the opulence surrounding me, there was a heaviness in my heart that even the plush comfort couldn’t erase. Last night’s confrontation with him had left me shaken. I said things I wasn’t sure I should have. Was I too harsh? Did I cross a line? Was he going to tear up the contract and send me packing?

I wouldn’t blame him. In fact, that might be the best thing for both of us. My rent wouldn’t get paid but my heart wouldn’t get twisted into knots either.

I sat up and wrapped the silky sheets around me, catching sight of myself in the ornate mirror across the room. The woman staring back seemed stronger than I felt—the same woman who had stood her ground against him. But under it all lay an undercurrent of fear and uncertainty. What would happen next? Could there be any coming back from what was said?

I got out of bed and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtains to let in the light. The sun was up, casting a warm glow over the sprawling estate grounds. It looked peaceful and so inviting. If I wasn’t kicked to the curb in the next hour, I wanted to take a walk and check out all of the plants and that little nook in the back of the property.

I had thought about everything said and done for most of the night. I wanted to be stubborn and tell him to kiss my ass, but I needed to be a realist. The truth was, I needed this job. Not just for the money, although that was crucial, but because this role, this environment, were supposed to be stepping stones for me. I wanted to study the rich and famous in order to accurately write them.

There was a soft knock at the door. I didn’t think it was Roman. I didn’t think he knew how to do anything softly. “Yes?” I called out.

“Ms. Foster, there’s a delivery for you downstairs. And a visitor.”

I frowned, unsure who or what that would be. And then it hit me. Oh, shit.

“I’ll be right there,” I said.

Last night, I had texted Carla and asked her to pack up more of my things and bring them over. I had been pissed and wanted to stick it to him by adding my cheap throw pillows, candles, and my own worn clothes to his big fancy house.

I didn’t know why I texted her. That had been stupid. If she really brought it over, I was just going to have to pack everything up and take it home when he kicked me out.

I climbed out of bed and was about to go to the bathroom when I saw a note sitting on a table near the door. I picked it up, my heart stopping as I realized Roman had been in my room without me even knowing it. I read the brief note.

Stay. Went to office. Be back later.

I guess that was a good thing. I wasn’t kicked out. Yet .

I quickly washed my face, piled my hair on top of my head, and pulled on a pair of jeans I had brought with me. I wasn’t interested in wearing any of the new clothes from yesterday. The bags were haphazardly tossed in the corner of the room, waiting to be unloaded. That could wait.

I rushed downstairs just as several staff members carried in boxes. Carla walked in behind them.

“Kaira!” she squealed, running toward me.

“You’re here,” I said with relief.

“Of course, I’m here. Are you okay? I texted you back when I got home but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

Her eyes widened as she looked around, taking in the grandeur of the foyer. “Oh my God, girl. You’re living in a palace .”

I gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure I’m even allowed to have people over.”

Carla rolled her eyes, grabbing my hand. “Screw that! You’re not spending six months in solitary confinement in this oversized dollhouse.”

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked.

“Do you have a bell you ring?”

She was joking, but she had no idea just how close to the truth it was.

“Honestly, there probably are little bells all over this place. Let’s go to the kitchen and see what we can find. Roman left me a note and said he would be back later. We are on our own.”

She gave me a dry look. “On our own minus the twenty or so staff.”

“Miss, do you want these things in your suite?”

I turned to see an older man that had no business hauling boxes up and down those stairs. “Just leave them here,” I said. “I’ll take them up later.”

He looked horrified. “We can’t leave them in the foyer.”

A little rebellious side of me bubbled up. “I live here, and I say it’s fine.”

He nodded, clearly torn between following my instructions and tidying up the clutter. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now coffee,” I said to Carla.

She followed me as I made my way to the kitchen, barely remembering my way. When I walked in, I was not surprised to see an older woman cleaning what was already an immaculate kitchen.

Just then, a staff member approached us, his eyes flickering between me and Carla. “Ms. Foster, will your guest be staying for breakfast?” he asked, his tone impeccably neutral yet somehow still managing to convey a hint of judgment.

“Yes!” Carla answered.

“Will you be taking your breakfast in the dining room or breakfast room?” he asked.

I felt like Alice in Wonderland. “Uh…”

“The breakfast room, clearly,” Carla answered. “We’re not savages.”

“Can I make some coffee?” I asked the man.

He looked insulted. “I will bring in coffee service.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to walk away.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Where is the breakfast room?” I asked sheepishly.

Carla laughed.

He gave a small, patient smile, the kind reserved for a teacher talking to a particularly slow student. “It’s just next to the conservatory, madam. I can have someone guide you there if you wish.”

“No, that’s alright. We’ll find it. Thank you.” I nodded, trying to mask my growing embarrassment with a weak smile.

“Kaira, this place is insane.”

“I know,” I said with a small laugh. “They need to put up maps like at the mall.”

We sat down at the small table that was in a room flooded with sunlight. A coffee service was brought in seconds later.

“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes,” the man said and glided away.

“You’re being waited on hand and foot,” she said.

“I didn’t ask them to do that,” I said defensively.

“This is their job. Don’t look down on them or try to be independent. They are earning their paychecks.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

“So, I saw the pictures of you two yesterday. Let’s see the ring.”

I raised my left hand to show her the sparkling ring that Roman had slipped on my finger. The diamond caught the morning sun, throwing specks of light across the pristine walls of the breakfast room.

“It’s gorgeous,” Carla breathed, her eyes wide as she leaned closer to inspect it. “Roman really did go all out, didn’t he?”

I couldn’t help but smile, despite the whirlwind of emotions I had been feeling since arriving at Roman’s mansion. “He did. It still feels surreal.”

Before we could say anything more, two plates covered with silver domes were delivered.

“Can I get you anything else?” the man asked.

“Can I know your name?” I asked him.

“Tony.”

“Tony, I’m Kaira and this is Carla.”

“Very well, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Kaira,” I said.

He nodded and walked away. Carla eagerly lifted her dome and gasped when she saw the fluffy omelet and a side of golden hash browns laced with fine herbs. Beside it, slices of ripe avocado and a vine-ripened tomato salad completed the picturesque breakfast.

I lifted my own dome and found a similar dish. The aromas mingled in the air, creating a delightful scent that seemed almost too luxurious for an early morning meal.

“This is like eating at a gourmet restaurant every day,” Carla exclaimed, forking into her omelet with a pleased sigh. “You could get used to this.”

I took a bite of my own meal, the flavors rich and perfectly balanced. It was delicious.

“So, what happened yesterday?” she asked. “Don’t say nothing, because I can tell there is definitely something.”

I took a deep breath and gave her the rundown, skipping over the most salacious details.

“Are you going to stay?” she asked.

“Yes. For now. But we can’t cross the line. I don’t want this to get confusing.”

She nodded. “I think that’s a good rule. You don’t want to fall in love with the guy and have him dump you in six months, which is the plan.”

“Exactly. It feels so real sometimes, it’s hard to remember the ticking clock hanging over our heads.”

“Just keep your eyes on the prize,” Carla said, shoveling up more hash browns. “In six months, it’s payday.”

I knew she was right. This was a business deal, a transaction. My heart wouldn’t get broken if I kept my head on straight and didn’t let myself fall under his spell.

We finished our breakfast and then took ourselves on a tour of the mansion. Carla and I giggled and twirled around in the ballroom. After finishing our impromptu dance number, we were greeted with a round of applause.

Several of the staff were leaning against the wall and watching us.

“It’s nice to have laughter back in the house,” one of them, a middle-aged woman named Marta, said with a kind smile.

That caught my attention. “Back in the house?”

She nodded, her expression softening. “It’s been a long time since this place felt warm. Or like a home.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded and followed Carla as she dragged me toward the next room.

The library was easily my favorite. Carla’s jaw dropped when we walked in.

“Okay, this is where I’m living now,” she declared.

“It’s amazing, right?”

After exploring the shelves in depth, we found ourselves in one of the sitting rooms. Carla threw herself onto one of the oversized sofas and leaned back.

I laughed and joined her, sinking into the plush cushions. The kitchen staff brought us a tray of snacks—fresh fruit, cheese, crackers, and some kind of fancy sparkling water. Carla immediately dove in while pulling out her phone.

“So,” she said around a mouthful of cheese, “let’s Google your fiancé.”

“Carla,” I groaned, but she ignored me, her fingers flying across her screen. “The less I know, the better.”

It didn’t take long for her to find a treasure trove of information.

“Roman Kelly,” she read aloud. “Billionaire entrepreneur. Started his first company at eighteen. Forbes 30 Under 30, blah blah blah. Ooh, listen to this: ‘Known for his sharp business acumen and ruthless approach to deal-making.’” She paused, raising an eyebrow at me. “Ruthless, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea.”

She kept scrolling, her expression shifting from amused to curious.

“Oh no,” she said softly, her voice losing its playful edge. “Oh my gosh.”

I looked at her, my stomach twisting. “What?”

She glanced up at me, her eyes full of sympathy. “His parents were killed in a car accident when he was twelve.”

The air seemed to leave the room. “What?” I whispered.

Carla handed me her phone to read the article. His parents had died in a head-on collision, and Roman had been in the car when it happened. He was the only survivor.

My heart ached for him. I couldn’t imagine how horrifying that must have been, how it must have scarred him. Suddenly, so many things about him made sense—his need for control, his aloofness, the way he kept people at arm’s length.

“It doesn’t excuse him being a jerk,” Carla said, as if reading my thoughts. “But it explains a lot.”

I nodded, giving her the phone. “Yeah. It really does.”

“Can you imagine growing up in a house like this?” Carla said. “The games of hide and seek?”

The darkness of the conversation shifted. We talked about our own childhoods and found ourselves laughing. A couple of the staff added their own stories. I felt like I was finally settling in.

A while later, the staff, who had been chatting and laughing with us, suddenly scattered like leaves in the wind. Like they could sense a change in the air. The sunlight that had been streaming through the windows seemed to dim, and a heavy silence settled over the air.

Carla and I were still lounging on the sofa when I saw him.

His presence was like a physical force. He filled the room with it, his broad shoulders and sharp suit commanding attention. His gaze landed on Carla, and his brow furrowed.

“Who is this?” he asked, his tone even but carrying an edge.

Carla sat up straight, her usual bravado faltering under his scrutiny. “I’m Carla,” she said, holding out her hand. “Kaira’s best friend.”

Roman didn’t take her hand. Instead, he looked at me, his expression unreadable.

“Did you invite her here?”

“I didn’t think I needed permission,” I said, crossing my arms.

His jaw tightened. “This isn’t a college dorm, Kaira. It’s my home.”

“And I’m living here,” I shot back. “Which means I should be able to have a friend over without being interrogated like a criminal.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Carla cleared her throat.

“Maybe I should go,” she said, standing up.

“No,” I said firmly, grabbing her arm. “You’re staying. Roman, if you have a problem with that, we can discuss it later.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but then his eyes flicked to Carla, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. He exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he said, his voice clipped.

With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

Carla let out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s intense.”

I sighed, sinking back onto the sofa. “I told you so.”