Chapter 8
RAYNE
This is it. I’ve never hated Monday as much as I do right now.
I carefully slide out from under Ronan’s arm and slip into his discarded dress shirt, breathing in his scent as I grab my phone and pad barefoot toward the kitchen. Thank goodness his staff are just on-call or else I wouldn’t be this comfortable walking around his mansion.
The coffee maker is a far cry from my instant coffee. After some fumbling, I manage to brew myself a cup, cradling the steaming mug as I wander to windows overlooking the backyard.
Fresh snow blankets everything, pristine and untouched. The Christmas lights strung along the trees twinkle despite the daylight, creating a winter wonderland that seems almost magical. I press my forehead against the cool glass, exhaling slowly.
In just a few days, my entire life has changed.
The weekend is almost over. I came here with a clear goal: make enough money to help my mother. Go back to my life. Move on. Instead, I’ve been thoroughly, irrevocably changed.
I should feel nothing but relief. Mom’s treatments are secure.
The next round of hospital bills won’t send me spiraling into panic.
But instead of relief, a hollow ache spreads through my chest. I’m mourning something I never really had, never expected to have—a fairytale ending with a man like Ronan Ward.
Men like him don’t end up with women like me. Not long-term. Not really. Especially not someone they essentially won at an auction.
My phone buzzes on the counter where I left it. Probably the hospital with Mom’s morning update. I reach for it, unlocking the screen with my thumb.
My coffee cup nearly slips from my fingers.
A bank notification. A transfer.
One million dollars.
The numbers blur as my eyes fill with tears.
This can’t be real. We agreed on three hundred thousand—an obscene amount already.
This ... this is life-changing. Life-altering.
This is my mother’s full treatment, rehabilitation, a safe place for her to recover.
This is freedom from Lucian King, the loan shark whose calls I’ve been avoiding for almost a week. This is—
“Sweetheart, let’s talk.”
I spin around, nearly sloshing coffee all over my pajamas. Ronan stands by the kitchen with nothing but a poor excuse of a pajama bottom. His chest is bare, marked with faint scratches I left last night. He crosses his arms, flexing those biceps, his expression unreadable.
“What is this?” I whisper, holding up my phone with the notification still glowing on the screen.
“Exactly what it looks like.” He moves closer, bare feet silent on the polished floor. “A payment.”
“This isn’t what we agreed on.”
“No.” A slight smile curves his mouth. “It’s what I decided your weekend is worth.”
My defenses rise automatically. “You don’t know me that well. You don’t even have any idea about my favorite color, my favorite movies, or whether or not I like pumpkin spice, or give a damn.”
“Then tell me about you.” He stops just inches away, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Let me in, Rayne. Because I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
“This was supposed to be a weekend,” I insist, but my voice lacks conviction. “That was the deal.”
“The deal has changed.” His hand comes up to cradle my face, thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “You’re mine. I knew it the moment I saw you.”
His certainty is staggering. No hesitation, no doubt. Just absolute conviction that I belong with him. My walls—the careful barriers I’ve built to protect myself—begin to crumble.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
“Because I can’t let you go. Because whatever’s haunting you, whatever brought you to that auction—I want to face it with you.” His eyes, usually so hard, soften. “Let me help you, Rayne.”
Oh God. I’m actually considering it.
But…
Maybe it’s time. Maybe I don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.
“I want to show you something,” I say finally. “Someone, actually. The most important person in my life.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpens. “Your mother?”
“Yes.”
His thumb traces my lower lip. “When do we leave?”
I glance at the clock. “Visiting hours start in an hour.”
“I’ll have the car ready in thirty minutes.” He kisses me softly, briefly. “And Rayne? Thank you for trusting me.”
He turns to leave, but I catch his wrist. “Ronan? Thank you. For everything.”
His smirks. “We’re just getting started, baby.”
The hospital parking lot is always busy on a Monday morning. As Ronan’s sleek black Bentley glides into a space near the entrance, I feel a flutter of nervousness in my stomach.
I have never introduced anyone to my mother.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Hospitals aren’t exactly fun Monday activities.”
He cuts the engine and turns to me, expression serious. “I want to be wherever you are. And I want to meet the woman who raised you.”
The simple sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. I nod, unable to speak.
The hospital corridors are adorned with modest Christmas decorations—garlands along the nurses’ station, a small tree in the waiting area. The holiday cheer feels forced against the backdrop of antiseptic smells and beeping machines, but I appreciate the effort.
Outside Mom’s room, I pause. “She’s been really sick for a long time. The treatments make her tired, and she’s lost a lot of weight. Just ... be prepared if she’s not that nice.”
Ronan’s hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with mine. “I understand.”
I take a deep breath and push the door open. “Mom? I brought someone to meet you.”
Mom sits propped against pillows. Her face lights up when she sees me, then her gaze shifts to Ronan. Her eyes widen slightly.
“Well,” she says, her voice soft but amused. “This is unexpected.”
I move to her bedside, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Mom, this is Ronan Ward. Ronan, this is my mother, Elena.”
Ronan approaches, his usual commanding presence somehow gentled. He takes my mother’s frail hand in his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Silva. Rayne speaks very highly of you.”
“Elena, please.” Mom’s eyes are shrewd as they take in Ronan’s expensive watch, the cut of his casual but clearly designer clothes. Then they flick to our joined hands, and a smile curves her lips. “So you’re the reason my daughter is glowing today.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Mom!”
“What? A mother notices these things, and I’m too old to keep my thoughts to myself.” She pats the chair beside her bed. “Sit, both of you. What do you do, Ronan?"
“I run an investment firm.” His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “Boring stuff, really.”
“He’s being modest,” I interject. “He’s actually quite successful.”
“I can see that,” Mom says dryly, glancing again at his watch. Then her expression softens. “But success isn’t everything. Are you kind to my daughter? Do you treat her well?”
“Mom,” I protest weakly.
“It’s a fair question,” Ronan says. “I try to be. I want to be. She deserves nothing less.”
Mom studies him for a long moment, then nods, apparently satisfied. “Good. Rayne gives everything to others. She needs someone who gives back.”
“I’m right here,” I remind them, but I can’t help smiling.
The conversation flows surprisingly easily after that. Ronan sits comfortably at my mother’s bedside, asking about her treatments, telling her stories that make her laugh. When he mentions his son, Ryan, Mom beams.
“A little boy! How wonderful. I must meet him when I get home next time.”
Next time. The casual assumption that there will be a next time makes my heart squeeze.
“I’d like that,” Ronan says, and I can tell he means it.
I watch them together, this billionaire tycoon and my sick mother, chatting like old friends. He’s not doing this out of obligation or pity. He’s genuinely engaged, asking about her favorite Christmas traditions, teasing me when Mom reveals embarrassing childhood stories.
Something cracks open in my chest—a door I’ve kept firmly closed. For the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t temporary.
When Mom begins to tire, I notice immediately. “We should let you rest.”
She squeezes my hand. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
“Of course.” I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.” Her gaze shifts to Ronan. “It was lovely meeting you, Ronan.”
He surprises me by leaning down and kissing her cheek. “The pleasure was mine, Elena. Get some rest.”
In the hallway, I turn to him, overcome with emotion. “Thank you for that. She liked you.”
His smile is gentle. “She’s remarkable. Like her daughter.”
The elevator doors close behind us, and I lean against him, suddenly exhausted. His arm comes around me, strong and secure.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah. Just…” I look up at him. “You were amazing in there.”
“It wasn’t hard.” His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face. “She matters to you. That makes her matter to me.”
The simplicity of his statement steals my breath.
We exit through the main doors into the crisp December air. Christmas lights twinkle along the hospital entrance, and a wreath adorns the security guard’s station.
I’m about to comment on the beauty of the lights when I notice them—shadows moving at the edge of the parking lot. My steps falter as recognition dawns.
Oh God. No, no, no.
Lucian King steps forward, flanked by three men in dark coats. His smile is thin, bordering on sleazy.
“Well, well. Rayne Silva.” His gaze slides to Ronan, narrowing slightly. “And company. How ... convenient.”
Ronan’s arm tightens around me. “Can I help you?”
“Not you.” Lucian’s eyes fix on me. “Ms. Silva and I have unfinished business. Don’t we, darling?”
Fear curdles in my stomach. “I have your money. All of it. I was going to call tomorrow—”
“Interest accrues daily.” He steps closer, and I can smell his cologne, cloying and too strong. “And I’ve been so patient.”
“Step back,” Ronan says, his voice deadly quiet.
Lucian’s eyes flick to him, assessing. “You look familiar.”
“I’m not concerned with whether you know me. I’m concerned with you bothering Ms. Silva.”
Lucian smirks, lifting a hand as if to touch my face. “We go way back, don’t we, Rayne? Your mother’s treatments aren’t cheap. Someone had to help when the banks wouldn’t.”
It happens so fast I barely register the movement. One moment Lucian is reaching toward me; the next, Ronan has him by the throat, lifting him slightly off the ground. Lucian’s men move forward, but suddenly they freeze.
I glance around and realize why. Four men in suits have materialized from seemingly nowhere, hands inside their jackets in a clear threat.
“Listen carefully,” Ronan says, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “You will stay away from Rayne. You will stay away from her mother. If I see you within a hundred yards of either of them, you will regret it.”
He releases Lucian, who stumbles back, rubbing his throat. For the first time, I see fear flicker in the his eyes.
“You don’t know who you're dealing with,” Lucian rasps.
“No.” Ronan's smile is terrifying. “YOU don’t know who you’re dealing with. But you will. Expect my call.”
Lucian’s jaw works, but he takes another step back. “This isn’t over.”
“It is.” Ronan places a hand at the small of my back. “Leave.”
Lucian hesitates, then signals to his men. They melt back into the shadows, and Lucian follows after one last venomous glance.
My heart pounds against my ribs. “Ronan—”
“Let’s get you home.” His voice is gentle again, all the steel reserved for Lucian is gone.
As he guides me to the car, I look around at the men in suits, still standing at alert. “Where did they come from?”
“They’re always around.” He opens the passenger door for me. “You just don’t see them.”
The drive back to the mansion passes in a blur. My mind spins with the events of the day—the million-dollar transfer, my mother’s warm acceptance of Ronan, and now Ronan standing between me and my worst nightmare.
Everything feels surreal, dreamlike. But as Ronan’s hand finds mine across the console, I realize one thing with perfect clarity: For the first time in years, I feel safe. I feel happy.
And I’m going home with Ronan.