Chapter Seventeen
Since the billionaire had only lived in hotel suites and rented apartments over the past ten years, he had feared that looking for a house to buy would make him feel suffocated.
But just as it was with all things that involved Ilse, the process turned out to be the opposite of what he expected.
House hunting turned out to be as easy as it was exciting, with the billionaire feeling a strange desire to finally put some roots down.
Every night, he would find himself watching Ilse sleep, and these were the moments he would allow his greatest fears to crawl into his heart. What if she needed him, and he failed her? Should he leave her before that happened? Should he disappear before he ended up hurting her even more?
But then she would wake up, and he would see in her sleepy brown eyes that he had nothing to worry about.
He could love her. He could need her. He could trust her.
Because Ilse was Ilse, and she was strong enough not to need him.
It only took a week for Ilse and the billionaire to come to an agreement over what would be the perfect house for them: an 18th century historic mansion that offered canal views, a fountained garden bordered by tall ivy-covered hedges, and a central location in Mokkum.
On their initial visit, it had been obvious to the billionaire that Ilse had fallen in love with the place at first sight, and when he had murmured huskily in his very best Queen’s English voice, “The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor—-”
Ilse had spun around to face him, so fast she had almost lost her balance, and the sight of the stars in her eyes had made him laugh.
And then she had breathed, “Pemberley,” and the billionaire laughed harder. She was looking at him like he was a god, something he knew she would probably regret later on, and the thought was both amusing and arousing because there were few things that looked lovelier than an irritated Ilse.
It had him closing the deal on the spot, and after getting rid of the real estate agent, he had Ilse in his arms and he was kissing her hard.
“Mmph!”
Then he had her turn around, her breasts flat against the wall, her skirt up to her waist, her panties falling around her ankles.
“Oh my God—-aaaah!”
Entering her from behind, he had pounded into her while playing with her clit, and when she began to cry out, the erotic sound had spurred him to move faster while rubbing her clit furiously.
The sex had been fast and furious, and afterwards he had whispered wickedly to her, “Let’s christen the rest of the house.”
An outrageous suggestion, but they had actually managed to accomplish it in just one week.
It was a milestone that the billionaire arrogantly took in stride, but it was one that had Ilse wanting to hang her head in shame.
She had never imagined she would be the kind of girl to be so governed by sexual passion, but the billionaire had proven to her she was exactly like that, with her body ready to accept his cock with just one heated look from his brilliant blue eyes.
And that was just one of her many problems.
Jan had adjusted to their now-pampered lifestyle with ease, and it was as it should be. But for Ilse to have it similarly easy was wrong, and every day was a constant struggle to make herself remember that she mustn’t let herself get used to such luxuries.
The new life the billionaire had given her and Jan reminded Ilse too much of their old lives, and it terrified her, so much so that she found herself doing the opposite of what she wanted. Instead, Ilse forced herself to do what she believed she needed to do.
Continuing to put off her studies was one of them, never mind if it broke her heart to do so.
Every day, she would pray that she would not be weak again. Every day, she lived with the quiet fear that life was so good – too, too good, just like how it had been when her parents were alive.
But even as terror continued to eat at her, neither could Ilse help thanking God every day. She had always thanked Him for Jan, and now, she had another reason to thank Him for, and that was Jaak.
Life might not be perfect, and even when there were still words that had to be said, life was still unbelievably good, and she told herself there was no need to hurry.
She had all the time in the world to make Jaak realize how extraordinary he was.
All the time in the world.
But she was wrong.
IT WAS ON CHRISTMAS Eve when everything fell apart in an instant.
A drunk driver, a rainy night, and an unconscious, bleeding woman falling out of the backseat of the limousine that had crashed into the trees lining the sidewalk because of the collision: all the elements were there for a perfect whodunit mystery.
It would have made a good story...if only it wasn’t reality, and reality didn’t have a way of turning bad to worse.
For three nights, the billionaire and Ilse’s brother kept a bedside vigil while Ilse remained pale and unconscious on the hospital bed.
Perhaps if he had been given to wreak vengeance, the billionaire would’ve felt just a bit better.
But that opportunity was lost to him forever.
The driver of the other car had died on the spot, and a part of the billionaire wanted to rage at the injustice.
Death was too kind for such a man, so why the fuck did God let that man’s suffering end so quickly while Ilse lay trapped in a coma, a cage that could stay keyless for the rest of her life?
A week went by, and the billionaire ceased to care about anything and everything. His mind was completely consumed by the need to pray for just one damn thing.
That Ilse would wake up.
Let Ilse wake up, and everything would be okay again.
Let Ilse wake up, and the worst would be over.
But he was wrong.
On the eighth day of her confinement, Ilse’s eyes fluttered open, and an excruciating sense of joy gripped the billionaire at the sight of Ilse coming to life.
“Jaak?”
“I’m here, babe.”
Her head slowly turned towards him. “Jaak?”
He gripped her hand tightly. “I’m here, babe.”
Her eyes blinked. And blinked and blinked.
“Jaak.” Her voice broke. “I can’t see you.”
And that was when he realized that God had only traded one cage for another. That was when he realized he had been fooling himself all along, thinking he would never have to choose between keeping Ilse...and letting her go, before he failed her.
“Jaak?”
His hand tightened around her, but the moment her fingers started clutching his just as tightly, he had the wildest urge to pull away.
Why, God?
Why?
Ilse wasn’t supposed to fucking need anyone this way.
“Jaak,” she whispered brokenly. “Say something, please.”
But he couldn’t say a fucking word.
Even knowing she was waiting for him to speak—-
Even knowing she needed him to speak—-
Terror consumed him at the thought of how much she would need him, and how he was fucking guaranteed to fail her...just like the way he had failed Willem.
“Jaak. Please.”
Beautiful, strong, kind Ilse.
Why did this have to happen to her?
Why not him?
Why was it never him?
Why did it always have to be his loved ones that ended up hurt and never fucking him?