The Untouchable Billionaire's Last Night

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Malcolm

I learned a long time ago that people don’t stay.

They make promises, talk about forever, and then they disappear.

Foster families, caseworkers, even the kids I shared rooms with—none of them lasted.

At sixteen, I had stopped counting how many beds I had slept in, how many houses I had been in and out of, and how many times I had been told I wasn’t a “good fit.” The truth was, I was just another file in the system, another teenager too old and too unwanted to be adopted. I had stopped hoping for anything else.

I sat in the common room of Westbridge Foster Home, my usual spot, back against the worn-out couch, feet propped up on the coffee table as the rest of the house bustled with noise.

The younger kids were arguing over the TV remote.

Some of the older ones were playing cards at the table, swearing under their breath when they lost. I ignored them all, my eyes fixed on the muted screen as some random sitcom played.

It wasn’t interesting, but it was better than engaging with anyone.

Then she walked in.

I noticed her immediately. It was hard not to.

The girl didn’t belong here. She had this energy about her—bright, almost out of place in a room like this, where everything felt dull, lifeless.

Her floral dress stood out against the faded beige walls, and she carried herself like she didn’t have a care in the world.

I recognized the woman beside her instantly—Miriam Adkins, one of the social workers assigned to a few of the kids here. But I had never seen the girl before.

She must have felt me staring because, suddenly, her gaze landed right on me.

Most people looked away when I stared at them.

Either intimidated or uninterested, they always averted their eyes, moving on without a second thought.

But not her. She tilted her head slightly, like she was trying to figure me out.

Then she nudged her mother’s arm, saying something I couldn’t hear.

Miriam shook her head, probably telling her not to bother, before stepping away to talk to the house director.

I figured that was the end of it. It wasn’t.

She walked straight toward me.

I tensed immediately. People didn’t approach me unless they had a reason. Either they wanted something, or they were about to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. I braced myself, waiting for the usual introduction, the small talk, the inevitable pity.

She sat down next to me like she had every right to be there, pulling her legs up onto the couch and crossing them under her. “Hey.”

I didn’t respond.

“You look bored.”

I kept my eyes on the TV.

She sighed dramatically. “I’m Summer, by the way.”

I still didn’t answer.

“You are...?”

Silence.

She exhaled, tapping her fingers against her knee. “You’re really gonna make me guess?”

I had no idea why she was still talking to me. Most people gave up after the first minute.

“Alright, let’s see... Daniel? No, you don’t look like a Daniel. Jake? Maybe? No, not a Jake. You look too serious for that.”

I ignored her, but she wasn’t done.

“What about... Xavier? Ooh, or Maximus! That sounds like some mysterious guy from an action movie.”

A snort escaped before I could stop it.

Her eyes widened. “Ah-ha! He reacts!” She grinned like she had just cracked some impossible code. “Come on, what is it? I have to know now.”

I sighed, realizing she wasn’t going to drop it. “Malcolm.”

Her smile grew. “Malcolm. Strong name. Broody, but cool.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So, do you live here?”

What kind of question was that? Of course, I lived here. Did she think I just visited foster homes for fun? I didn’t bother answering.

She didn’t seem fazed by my silence. “My mom’s a social worker. She visits places like this a lot. Sometimes I come with her, but I don’t usually go inside. This place is... um, different.”

I finally glanced at her. “You mean depressing.”

She hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Kinda.”

At least she was honest. Most people tried to sugarcoat things, act like places like this weren’t as bad as they seemed.

“I bet it’s not all bad, though,” she said, stretching her legs out. “Do you have any cool friends here?”

I almost laughed. Friends? The closest thing I had to a friend was Trevor, the kid I shared a room with, and he snored so loud I had considered suffocating him with a pillow more than once.

“I don’t do friends,” I muttered.

“That’s kinda sad.”

“No, it’s smart.”

“Or lonely.”

Her voice was softer now, and for some reason, it made me shift uncomfortably. People didn’t look at me the way she was looking at me. They looked at me like I was trouble, like I was broken or dangerous. She was looking at me like she actually saw me.

She checked the time on her phone and sighed. “I have to go soon.”

Good.

“Well,” she continued, standing up, “it was nice meeting you, Malcolm the Mysterious. I’ll see you around.”

I highly doubted that. People didn’t come back.

She walked away, heading toward her mom, her ponytail bouncing slightly with every step. I should have gone back to watching TV, gone back to pretending I didn’t care, but instead, I found myself watching her.

I didn’t understand why she had bothered talking to me. No one ever did unless they had to. But she had come over, sat next to me, and talked to me like I was just another kid. Not a foster kid. Not a problem. Just... a person.

And for some reason, that annoyed me.