Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 22: Our Marital Home

>Mallory

I kissed the crown of Asher’s head. His warm breath brushed against my skin, and I felt the faint rise and fall of his small chest beneath my hands. He was so little and looked so fragile, and yet so stubborn.

Every time people asked about his age, I could feel the sudden shift in their tone, then it turned into a whispered judgment from people who didn’t know him. I may have tried my best to ignore them, but I can’t help thinking about it. There was no reason to explain his age to a stranger who had nothing to do with us. My kid had suffered enough already.

He’s barely six himself.

"He’s just turned five years old. Why do you ask?" I said casually, forcing my voice into neutral territory. I didn’t want to give too much away.

His face stiffened. The quiet tapping of his fingers on his knees stopped abruptly. His lips pressed into a thin line, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. Then he sighed.

I frowned, confused.

"I see," he said finally, flat and short. Then he turned toward the window, staring at the blur of lights in the street as if the world outside could answer the question he apparently couldn’t.

The driver’s eyes flicked to our reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked like he wanted to say something, but hesitated, glancing at the man with an apologetic expression before looking straight ahead again.

My brows furrowed. Confused, the words came out before I could stop them.

"Why do you ask?"

The man shifted in his seat, fingers resuming the light, nervous tapping of his fingers on his knees.

"Nothing," he said, short and final, like shutting the door on a conversation that didn’t belong in the first place. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, the kind that presses against your skin even in a heated car.

I let it be. My hands were already full with my own stuff, and my brain didn’t have room for other people.

Instead, I focused on Asher. I watched his cheeks puff against my chest, the soft warmth beneath my fingers. I pressed another light kiss to the crown of his head just as the car slowed to a stop.

"Young Master, we’ve arrived," the driver said. He stepped out of the car with precision, opening the door for us as if every movement had been rehearsed a hundred times.

I lifted Asher from my lap, cradling him carefully, his head lolling to my shoulder. His small body smelled faintly of baby powder and sleep, and his breaths were slow and steady. I made sure the blanket was tucked snugly around him before stepping out.

The mansion came into view.

If the Bryce Mansion had been classic and elegant, this one was modern, sharp, and impossible to ignore. Glass walls reflected the moonlight like mirrors, sharp geometric lines gave it a commanding presence, and the black-and-white color scheme felt both stark and deliberate. In front, a pool glowed faintly with LED lights. Everything about this house screamed wealth, power, and careful planning.

"Where are we?" I asked, confused.

"In our marital home."

"Uh... you really don’t have to do this. It just doesn’t make sense that we have to be together," I said to the man standing beside me, his expression was quiet as I tried to make my unease sound reasonable.

"I’m afraid that’s impossible," he replied, leaning close enough that the warmth of his breath tickled my ear. "My grandfather wasn’t an easy man."

Before I could reply, he walked to the door and entered the code. I followed him inside, unsure what else to do, feeling small in the space and in the enormity of the situation.

The interior was warm, almost deceptively so. Vanilla and sandalwood lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the subtle scent of polished wood and something faintly metallic, like the leather of the furniture. I adjusted Asher, making sure the blanket stayed snug, and he murmured softly, half-awake, half-dreaming.

"I know this isn’t part of the agreement," he said, brushing a strand of Asher’s hair from his forehead. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, almost tentative. "But you’ll have to stay with me longer if I want to convince my family about this relationship."

"I can pay you monthly if needed," he added.

"Noel," he called before I could respond. The driver appeared instantly beside him.

"Give her a blank document," he said. Noel, who now felt more like an assistant than a driver, produced a thick blue-covered folder from his leather bag and handed it to me.

"Here it is."

I took it with a puzzled glance.

"List all of your conditions in that file. I’ll review it when I return," he explained.

My brows furrowed.

"Hmmm? When you return?" I asked, making sure I hadn’t misheard. So he wouldn’t be staying tonight? That was a relief and yet... not entirely. Could I really handle everything in this strange house alone?

"Yes. I’ll return in two weeks. Give Noel your account number, and I’ll deposit the money," he said, his hand tucked into his pocket. Then he turned to the door. "Think about it."

He left without another word, slipping into the waiting car. Noel came to me and jotted down my account number before he walked back into the car. I followed it with my eyes until the car disappeared around the bend.

Asher stirred again. I carried him carefully to the bedroom, each movement deliberate so as not to wake him fully. I tucked him into the oversized bed, smoothing the blanket over him and brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The pang of helplessness in my chest was familiar, sharper tonight for some reason.

I pressed a light kiss to his forehead. Once he was settled, I sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted, watching him breathe. The mansion was silent, its grandeur almost mocking in contrast to the worn exhaustion of my body.

I looked at the blank document I had placed on the nightstand. A million dollars might not be enough to hire the best doctors. Asher’s condition was more complicated by his facial blindness; it required more than money—it required skill, patience, luck, and perhaps more energy and patience. Even the child psychologist at the hospital in New York hasn’t made progress after 2 years.

I ran a hand over my face, sighing deeply, letting my body sink into the cushion of the bed. My eyes rested on the ceiling, mind racing, spiraling through possibilities and what-ifs, weighing choices I wasn’t ready to make.

Just as I reached for my phone to distract myself, it rang. The name on the screen made my heart skip: Mara. Finally remembered to call, huh?

I pressed the answer button.

"Look at the news," she said, her voice tight, urgent.

"What happened?" I asked, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach before she could answer.