Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

Chapter 39

39

KAIRA

I had the house to myself. Well, as much to myself as it could be with a full staff roaming about. I spent most days alone. I caught up with Carla a lot more these days but she was working. I wasn’t lonely, but I was a little bored. The estate was huge and there always felt like there was more to explore.

“Kaira?”

I turned to see Marilyn gesturing for me to come into the kitchen.

“What’s up?” I asked.

She held up a deck of cards. “We finished early for the day. You asked if we had time to play cards earlier. Now, we do.”

I grinned. “Yeah!”

We settled at the large table in the dining room. A few of the other staff members joined us, bringing in a coffee service to keep us nice and caffeinated. Marilyn shuffled with the expertise of a Vegas dealer, her fingers deftly mixing the cards in a rhythmic dance.

“So, gin rummy?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I nodded, eager to dive into the game. It was one of those old comforts from my childhood, something my grandmother had taught me on rainy afternoons. My parents and I still played the game when I went home for the holidays.

As we played, the conversation flowed easily. It felt nice to connect with the staff on a more personal level. They shared stories about working for Roman over the years, giving me glimpses into sides of him I hadn’t seen yet.

“He’s changed since you came, you know,” Marilyn said casually as she discarded a card.

I had heard that several times. “Good. That makes me happy.”

She nodded. “He smiles more. Laughs even. It’s nice to see that side of him again.”

I felt my cheeks flush slightly at her words. “He’s been really great. I’ve enjoyed getting to know him better.”

“We’ve all noticed,” Marilyn replied knowingly. “You’ve been good for him, Kaira. He seems… lighter. More at peace.”

Part of me wanted to downplay her comments, to dismiss them as exaggerations. But I knew Marilyn wasn’t the type to just say flowery things. She was very blunt. And I knew she had a huge soft spot for Roman.

“I’m glad you think so. He really is a wonderful man, even if he tries to hide it sometimes.”

Marilyn chuckled. “That he does. He’s had his walls up for so long, it’s been hard to get through to him at times. But you’ve found a way in.” She gave me a fond look. “I don’t know what the future holds for you two, but I hope he doesn’t let this slip away.”

We finished playing cards when it was time for them to get back to their own lives and responsibilities in the house. I made my way into the library to work on my manuscript, jotting down ideas until my wrist started to ache. I was hitting a bit of a wall. My story was falling flat. I needed to get my creative juices flowing again.

I set my notebook aside and leaned back in the plush armchair, letting my mind wander. As my gaze swept over the towering bookshelves lining the library walls, an idea began to form. Maybe I just needed a change of scenery to reignite my inspiration.

I left my notebook and laptop and headed outside to the sprawling gardens. The fresh air and sunshine instantly lifted my spirits as I strolled along the winding stone paths. I found a quiet, secluded spot near a burbling fountain and settled onto a wrought iron bench. I closed my eyes and let my imagination drift.

At least I tried.

It was stuck. The characters were hiding behind a brick wall in my mind. I sighed and opened my eyes, frustrated by my sudden lack of direction. The vibrant garden around me should have been the perfect setting to spark my creativity, but my mind remained stubbornly blank.

Giving up for the moment, I decided to simply enjoy the beautiful day. I tilted my face up toward the sun, letting the warmth wash over me. It was cool, but not cold. I listened to the bubbling fountain and found my thoughts drifting to Roman. I wondered what he was doing in that moment—probably sitting in his office and talking about money. I truly had no idea what he did at work. He always told me he was meeting this person or that one. It was reports and profit this and profit that.

To distract myself and hopefully give me some ideas for a scene I wanted to write, I indulged in the wardrobe Roman had generously stocked for me. I tried on different outfits just for fun. I finally settled on a sleek, fitted black dress that hugged me in all the right places. I styled my hair and did my makeup, imagining the look on Roman’s face when he walked through the door. I wanted him to see me and stop in his tracks, to let the stress of his day melt away as soon as he laid eyes on me.

We didn’t have any plans for the evening, but I wanted to keep him guessing. Dressing up would certainly make him wonder. Feeling daring, I took off my panties. I left them on his bed. When he came up to change out of his suit, he was going to see them. While we ate dinner, he was going to wonder if I was wearing anything underneath my dress. The thought made me smile.

On my way back from his room, I found myself pausing in front of what I had come to think of as the forbidden doors.

I stared at the double doors. They loomed there, tantalizing and mysterious, like the answer to a riddle I hadn’t figured out yet. I had been given free rein of the house.

But not this one room.

Roman had been clear. “That’s my space,” he’d said when I asked about it. “Please don’t go in there.”

I respected his boundaries—well, most of the time. Just a peek. What could it hurt?

Curiosity was gnawing at me. I’d tried to rationalize it, telling myself it was just a man cave. Maybe a gym with expensive equipment or a movie room with leather recliners and a healthy porn collection. It wasn’t really something to be ashamed of.

My imagination ran wild, like it did.

What if it was something darker? In some of the books I read, rooms like that held secrets—a mafia lord’s torture chamber or a shrine covered in pictures of the unsuspecting heroine. It could be a sex dungeon or a room filled with monitors streaming hidden camera feeds throughout the house. It could be his serial killer lair or his secret scrapbooking workshop.

I laughed under my breath. Okay, Kaira, let’s be real. He’s a vampire and that’s where he keeps the coffin. He’s not at work all day. He’s slumbering in Transylvanian soil.

The mystery tormented me. My hand hovered over the handle.

Don’t.

But lord help me, I wanted to. The curiosity was eating away at me. Just a quick peek surely wouldn’t hurt anything. He’d never know.

With a sharp inhale, I twisted the handle and pushed the door open, bracing myself for something freaky.

The room wasn’t what I expected.

There were no whips, chains, or leather. No surveillance feeds and no vampire nests.

Sunlight streamed through a massive stained-glass window, casting colorful patterns across the hardwood floor. The air smelled faintly of oil paints and varnish. Several easels were positioned around the room. Some of the easels held half-finished works. Paintings lined the walls—landscapes, portraits, abstract explosions of color and emotion. They were breathtaking.

I stepped inside, my heels clicking softly against the floor. I had no idea Roman was an artist. These pictures were so… soft. So full of emotion. I felt love in these paintings. I had gotten to know Roman a little better, but I could not get my head around the idea he had created these masterpieces.

But then I noticed the plaques and framed articles scattered around the room. All of them bore the same name: Rowena Kelly.

His mother.

This was not his work. Part of me was relieved it wasn’t Roman’s artwork. I didn’t want to think I didn’t know him well enough to know he possessed this kind of passion and talent.

Rowena’s work was stunning, alive with passion and joy. Each brushstroke seemed to hold a piece of her soul. As I moved through the space, I felt her presence—her warmth, her love, her unshakable spirit. It was as though the room itself was steeped with her essence. I had never met the woman, but I felt like I was getting to know her through her art.

I moved to stand in front of a particularly vibrant piece. It was a meadow bathed in golden light—I felt a lump form in my throat. Rowena had poured so much of herself into these works, only to be gone far too soon. I felt the weight of her absence and I had never met her. There was a hollow ache that wasn’t even mine but Roman’s. My heart hurt for him. How terrible for him that he lost such a beautiful soul at such a young age. I knew he would have been a very different man if his mother would have been able to finish raising him. Ruby was a great lady, but she didn’t have the heart of a mother.

I was so lost in the art, I didn’t hear him walk in behind me.

“What are you doing in here?” His voice was full of accusation and anger.

I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Slowly, I turned to find Roman standing in the doorway. His suit jacket was off, his tie loosened, and his expression was anything but welcoming. His eyes burned with fury, his jaw tight.

I stammered, fumbling for words. “I was curious. I wanted to see what you were keeping in here.”

“And you thought that gave you the right to invade my space?”

The anger in his voice made me flinch. “Roman, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade anything. I just… I couldn’t help myself.”

“That much is obvious,” he snapped, stepping into the room. “I told you this was off-limits, Kaira. What part of that wasn’t clear?”

Shame burned through me, hot and stinging. His silence was worse than his anger. He stood there, his chest rising and falling with barely restrained emotion. The room felt heavy, the warmth I’d felt earlier replaced by red-hot fury. I could feel his anger radiating off him in waves.

He ran a hand through his hair. The pain in his eyes was undeniable. It cut me deeper than any harsh word could. That look of betrayal on his face was brutal. I wanted to go to him. To wrap my arms around him and tell him everything was going to be okay. But I stayed put. The look on his face told me that was best.

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. He stared at me for what felt like an eternity.

My heart ached for him. I took a tentative step closer, reaching out. He stepped back, acting like I had some horrible disease. I realized he was more than just angry. He was hurt.

I did that.