Chapter 25 Richie Rich
TWENTY FIVE
Richie Rich
April
“Let's find you somewhere more comfortable." Mateo was already on his feet, glancing at Killian, who didn't need the prompt.
"There's a better room. Follow me." He was already moving toward the door.
April tried to sit up straighter. Her body had other ideas. Boneless, heavy, unwilling. Liam stepped toward her, hands already out. "Here, let me—"
Arthur moved between them with quiet finality.
Liam raised his hands, took a half-step back. "All yours, big guy."
Arthur didn't respond. Just looked at him for a breath too long. Then he turned to her and lifted her with practiced ease, one arm under her knees and the other behind her back.
April curled into him. He was warm and solid and smelled clean. Cotton and pine, maybe. Or safety. His heartbeat thudded steady under her ear.
Plastic water bottles crinkled somewhere behind them.
"There are some where we're going," Killian called back without turning.
"Just in case," Mateo murmured, barely loud enough to register.
The others fell in step around them. Killian led the way, his stride easy and certain.
To her left, Jax and Caleb talked in low voices.
Jiro brushed her ankle once with his fingertips, still close.
Killian reached the end of the hall, grabbed a key fob off a hook by the side entrance, and opened the door.
They stepped onto a massive stone patio. Maybe a driveway, maybe both.
Killian clicked a key fob. Two massive golf carts rolled up on silent motors. Eight-person, but upgraded past the point where "golf cart" felt accurate. Upholstered benches. Real headlights. Cupholders that probably had temperature control.
Dante looked them over. "Impressive."
Liam ran his hand along the upholstery. "These are custom."
"Why do you have two eight-person golf carts?" April asked.
"There are nine of us," Killian said. "Two seemed sufficient."
Sufficient. Which implied there were more.
Jax was already in the first cart's driver seat, fingers hovering over the dashboard. "Oh, this has a console."
"Don't—" Killian started.
Jax pressed everything.
The cart lit up—headlights, running lights, underglow that turned the concrete purple—and music started playing.
Killian closed his eyes.
"You bought golf carts with underglow." Jax said, delighted.
"Came with it."
Arthur set April down, moved Jax to the passenger seat without comment, and took the wheel.
Caleb claimed the second cart. "I'm driving."
Liam appeared at April's elbow. "This side," he said, guiding her toward the first cart with his hand warm at her back.
Mateo was already there, grinning.
April grabbed Mateo's wrist and Liam's hand and pulled them into place on either side of her as she sat. Shoulder against hers. Thigh along her leg. Mateo pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Liam's hand squeezed hers once, his smile small and just for her.
Behind them, the others climbed in, shifting seats, trading comments.
The carts rolled forward, purple underglow spilling across the stone.
Wind skimmed her bare legs. Mateo's thumb traced idle circles at her hip. Liam's knee stayed pressed to hers. The house slid past in warm-lit sections: grass, columns, too much money.
The carts slowed. Stopped. Arthur was already stepping out. Liam stood. Mateo didn't move until she did.
They followed Killian through a side entrance and into a hallway that curved instead of doing the reasonable thing and going straight. She slipped her hand into Liam's without looking. A few steps later, Jiro appeared on her other side, his fingers threading through hers.
Doors stood open as they passed.
The first was a theater. Stadium seating, velvet, screen bigger than April's living room.
"This is nicer than the cinema I go to," Jax said.
"Yes," Killian said, not stopping.
Caleb called after him. "What do you watch?"
"Earnings calls," Killian said over his shoulder. "Occasionally a documentary."
Everyone stared.
Jax raised his voice. "You're banned from choosing movies."
Killian kept walking.
Mateo's hand closed around April's wrist. He pulled her backward through the doorway into the theater. He didn't stop until they reached the back row.
Then his mouth was on hers—urgent, a little messy, like he'd forgotten how to be smooth and didn't care. She laughed against his lips, breathless, and his hands found her waist, pulled her closer. His fingers pressed into the fabric at her hips. Her hand curled into the front of his shirt.
It was fast and clumsy and she didn't want to stop.
When they broke apart, both breathing harder than they should've been, he was grinning.
"Always wanted to do that."
She laughed and grabbed his hand, pulled him back toward the hall.
The group was maybe twenty feet ahead, bunched near another doorway.
Jax glanced over his shoulder, saw their faces, and wagged his eyebrows.
April's laugh burst out. Mateo dissolved beside her, shoulders shaking, and that made it worse—both of them trying to muffle it and failing completely.
The next door opened onto a room that made April go still.
Toys. Expensive toys. The kind of collection that looked pristine and untouched.
Slot car tracks wound across tables. A vintage pinball machine stood in one corner, chrome gleaming.
And on a large desk by the window, a half-built Lego Death Star sat in careful progress, sorted pieces in labeled containers beside it.
The group spread out naturally. Mateo paused by the slot cars, running his fingers over the pristine tracks. Caleb investigated the pinball machine. Jax made a beeline for what looked like a model train setup.
April found herself drawn to the Lego Death Star. The pieces were organized with precision that spoke to someone who actually used this room. Killian appeared beside her, closer than she'd expected.
"You didn't finish this," she said.
"I'm still working on it."
Jiro looked up from examining the train set. "You actually come back here?"
"Sometimes." Killian's hand rested on the edge of the desk, and April caught the small, unconscious smile. "It's... meditative."
"That's sweet," Mateo said.
Caleb looked up from the pinball machine. "This is extremely elaborate for meditation."
"He was a lonely child," Jax observed, pressing buttons on the console until it lit up.
"I had tutors," Killian said.
"That is not what he asked," Caleb replied.
Killian huffed, the sound escaping like laughter caught him off guard.
The sound made April look at him properly. Not CEO Killian. Just Killian, standing in a room full of expensive toys, laughing because eight people were touching everything. She nudged him with her hip and kept moving.
"These are actually beautiful," Mateo said, still examining the slot cars with genuine appreciation.
Dante had found the pinball machine and was studying it like it was art. "Original?"
"Yes."
"Excellent taste."
He passed by her a moment later and kissed her hand without fanfare—courtly, brief, gone before she could react.
Liam stood near Killian, looking at the Death Star with that analytical attention. "How long have you been working on it?"
"Three years."
"That's commitment."
Killian shrugged, but April caught the pleased expression before he smoothed it away.
"Come on," Killian said, already moving. "There's more."
Caleb bumped her hip as they moved into the hallway. April hooked a finger into his belt loop and kept walking.
A golf simulator booted automatically as they passed, projecting a sunlit course onto a massive screen.
Liam stopped. "You play?"
Killian paused, glanced at the screen, then stepped inside.
He picked up a driver, tested the weight, and swung without hesitation.
Perfect arc. The ball sailed across the virtual fairway and landed exactly where it should; the screen flashed digital applause.
Killian smiled—small, pleased, genuine. "There it is."
"Oh," Caleb said. "You do have hobbies."
"I like winning quietly," Killian said.
"That tracks," Mateo murmured, grinning.
Arthur made a small sound that might have been approval.
Liam looked at the screen, at Killian, back at the screen. "Your handicap must be obscene."
"It's adequate."
"That was a perfect drive."
"Like I said. Adequate."
Jax had already found the console, changing the course to a tropical island. "Can you play this one?"
"Jax," Killian said, but there was no heat in it.
"Operational question."
Killian took another swing—this time on a beach course, palm trees swaying in digital wind. Another perfect shot. He set the club down, still wearing that small, satisfied smile.
April filed it away with the Death Star and the laugh in the toy room.
Killian was already moving, heading back into the hallway.
The group exchanged looks and followed. Jiro appeared on her other side, his fingers threading through hers without asking.
The next door stood open.
The library rose two stories. Every inch of wall was books—leather spines in burgundy and forest green and deep navy, gold lettering catching the afternoon light that slanted through tall windows.
Dark wood shelves, brass ladders on rails.
A balcony circling the second floor with carved railings.
The smell wrapped around her, leather and old paper.
The kind of library that made her chest ache with something between longing and recognition—like seeing a place she'd dreamed about but never quite believed existed.
Dante appeared beside her at the threshold. He took her hand, lifted it, and pressed his mouth to her knuckles. He released her hand and pushed the door wider, gesturing her through first. The group followed. Their voices dropped without anyone asking.
The men scattered into the stacks without coordination, each drawn to different sections like the room itself was pulling them. She could hear them moving through the space—the soft whisper of pages turning on the upper level, someone's quiet exhale of discovery.
April turned slowly, trying to take it all in. The way the light hit the spines in gold. The weight of all these stories in one space.
One chair that didn't match the rest. Leather worn soft from actual use, not display. Angled to catch the light from the window. Beside the chair—a stack of books. Not shelved, not organized with the rest of the pristine collection, piled like someone had meant to come back.
She crossed to it without thinking, crouched down.
Business books. Strategy. The Art of War.
Never Split the Difference. Reading that made sense for Killian Blackwood, CEO who thought earnings calls were entertainment.
Wedged between the corporate weapons: Unsouled.
by Will Wight. Dog-eared, spine creased, pages soft from being read and reread and loved.
April stared at it longer than she meant to. Killian was beside her watching where her eyes landed.
She picked up the Cradle book, felt the weight of it, the softened spine.
"Can I borrow this?"
"Yes."
She looked up at him. "I might not return it."
"That's fine."
His hand found hers where it held the book, thumb brushing across her knuckles. He bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Whichever book you want," he said. "It's yours."
April took a breath to speak—
Jax glided past on one of the brass ladders, feet dangling, grinning like he'd found the fun button.
April laughed before she meant to. She looked at Killian, still crouched beside her, his hand wrapped around hers.
"You're a secret bibliophile," she said.
"Hardly secret."
"You hide it behind earnings calls."
"Strategic misdirection."
Mateo appeared on the upper level, leaning over the railing with a massive cookbook. "Does this stay here or can I borrow it?"
"Take it," Killian said, not looking away from her.
The group drifted back toward the door, reluctant but moving. April clutched the book, worn soft from Killian's hands, and followed.
Jiro appeared at her elbow. He held out his hand without a word. April looked at him, then at the book.
"I'll keep it safe."
She handed it over. He tucked it carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket—Safe.
Jax slung an arm over her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they walked.
Killian was already halfway down the hall, moving with purpose that suggested he had a destination and would prefer they didn't notice anything between here and there.
"The lounge is ahead."
Mateo slowed. "Is that a bowling alley?"
Through an open doorway stood two pristine lanes, polished wood, the whole setup.
Killian kept walking. He didn't slow. Didn't glance back.
The group didn't.
Caleb veered left through the doorway. Jax followed. Then Mateo.
April let herself be pulled along.