𝗕𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗢𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻-My Cold Billionaire Husband

Chapter 17

Arabella

"M-Mr. Riviera, I've already given you a second chance," I complained, my voice barely above a whisper, trying to sound firm but failing miserably. "But that doesn't mean you can keep acting like this."

His lips curled into a smirk, sending a jolt through me. Leaning in closer, his warm breath tickled my ear as he whispered, "Acting like what, Sunflower?" His voice was a low growl, sending shivers down my spine. I instinctively leaned back, pressing myself against the other side of my chair, away from him, but there was nowhere to go.

"Like... like this," I stammered, my cheeks burning. My voice, usually sharp and confident, had a shaky tremor. He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip, the pad rough against the tender skin.

"Like what, exactly?" he purred, his voice a torment. My lips parted instinctively, my breath catching in my throat. I turned my face away immediately and scooted my chair away from him. His gaze locked on me, a spark of something dangerous igniting in the depths. "I-I-”

My phone's shrill cry pierced the air, making me jump like a startled cat. With a surge of adrenaline, I bolted for my bedroom, desperate to put some distance between me and...him. Thankfully, my frantic escape seemed to go unnoticed. Not unnoticed, but he didn't pursue me atleast.

Today's victory: resisting the urge to hit mute! My phone deserves a medal. I felt proud of myself for not silencing my phone. A newfound commitment to staying connected and not actively avoiding everyone bubbled within me.

Safe behind a locked door, I lunged for my phone. "Dad," I breathed, a wave of relief washing over me as I saw his name. Hitting redial, I tossed my tote bag onto the bed in a halfhearted attempt to make it look presentable. The phone barely rang before his voice filled the room.

"Top of the morning to you, my little firecracker!" A genuine grin spread across my face. All the tension I didn't even realise I was holding, seemed to melt away at the sound of his dad jokes. "Morning, WrinkleGram's most esteemed administrator," I replied, he chuckled proudly.

We had barely exchanged a few quick words when the door smoothly creaked open, and there he was, strolling in like he owned the space, casually carrying two big trays like a superhero with two trophies.

My jaw hit the floor again–for like the hundredth time in the hour! Once again, I was stunned by his nerve, not that I should have been. It had only been an hour, and this was already becoming a routine. Seriously, how'd he even get in here?

My genius plan to lock the door with a toothpick failed spectacularly. Dumb me for even pondering—he clearly knew his way around. I gripped my phone tighter like a lifeline, but Dad's voice faded into the background.

I was barely listening to his rambling, as I watched the monster delivering a feast. He tilted his head like a runway model the nerve, adjusting his already perfect hair with a suave twist, even though his hands were full with two trays. I snorted internally imagining him juggling eight balls like a circus act while I throw the ninth one straight at his face.

"Careful with those eyes, Sunflower; they might get stuck on what's already yours." I gasped internally and quickly looked away, avoiding his gaze. "If you want a closer look, just say the word, Mrs. Riviera," he smirked as I fluttered my eyelashes rapidly everywhere except at him.

He thumped the trays down on the table and grabbed a plate, then hovered a spoonful of mystery mush right in front of my mouth. My nose wrinkled, and I tried to inch away.

"Um, I-I'll catch up with you later, Dad," I blurted, words tripping over themselves, as he suddenly appeared before me, insisting I try the food. I whined and attempted to retreat. But before I could escape, he swooped in like a hawk and deposited a full spoon in my mouth. My eyes bulged like a cartoon goldfish.