42 Chapter 44
Chapter 44 – The Billionaire’s Secret Care and a Birthday Confrontation
I woke up feeling like someone had taken a jackhammer to my skull. The light filtering through my curtains felt like daggers stabbing my eyes, and my mouth tasted as if something had crawled in and died there overnight. Groaning, I rolled over, trying to piece together fragments of memories from the night before.
Dancing. Drinking. Victoria laughing. Julian appearing. And then… Damien.
Damien Sterling.
My eyes flew open despite the pain. Had I really kissed him? Had I actually accused him of having ulterior motives before throwing myself at him like some desperate,
drunk fool?
I sat up too quickly, causing my stomach to lurch dangerously. Taking deep breaths, I glanced down at my rumpled clothes from last night. So someone had brought me home–but was it really him?
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stumbled toward the kitchen in desperate need of water and painkillers. That’s when I saw it—a handwritten note on my counter in elegant, confident handwriting:
“There’s hangover tea and congee in the kitchen. Eat something when you wake up. Don’t go hungry. Damien Sterling”
My heart skipped a beat. So it wasn’t a dream. He had been here, in my apartment, taking care of me after I’d made a complete fool of myself.
I lifted the lid on the pot on the stove to find perfectly prepared congee, still warm. Beside it sat a teapot and cup, the scent of herbs wafting up–some kind of traditional hangover remedy, I guessed.
As I poured myself a cup with trembling hands, something glinted on the counter. I nearly choked when I realized what it was–Damien’s watch. The ridiculously expensive one that probably cost more than my car. He’d left it behind.
“What the hell?” I whispered, lifting it carefully. Why would he leave something so valuable?
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I took my phone and snapped a quick picture, sending it to Victoria.
Me: Please tell me I didn’t steal this from Damien Sterling last night.
Within seconds, her reply came through:
Victoria: OMG IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS? No, honey, you definitely didn’t steal it. He was taking care of you. Did you check your fridge?
Frowning, I walked to my refrigerator and pulled it open. Inside were containers neatly labeled with dates and contents–enough meals for the next few days.
He had cooked for me. The powerful, enigmatic Damien Sterling had not only brought me home and put me to bed, but had also prepared meals for my hungover self.
I slid down against the kitchen cabinets until I was sitting on the floor, clutching my phone, feeling utterly confused. This was exactly why I’d been avoiding him–because he made me feel things I wasn’t ready for, made me want things I shouldn’t want.
“I kissed him,” I groaned aloud, covering my face with my hands. “And then I threw up. Perfect.”
After forcing myself to eat some congee (which was admittedly perfect–not too thick, gently flavored with ginger and scallions), I took a scalding shower, trying to wash away both my hangover and my embarrassment.
Today was my actual birthday, and I had important business to attend to–no time for dwelling on mysterious billionaires and drunken kisses.
Three hours later, freshly dressed in a power suit that made me feel far more confident than I actually was, I strode into the boardroom of Ashworth Industries. My father’s company–or rather, my maternal grandfather’s company that my father had stolen through manipulation and backdoor dealings years ago.
“Hazel,” my father said coldly as I entered, his face a careful mask of neutrality in front of the other board members. “I wasn’t aware you were attending today’s meeting.”
“As a major shareholder as of today, I thought it appropriate,” I replied smoothly, taking a seat directly across from him.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? You hold no shares in this company.”
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I smiled, savoring the moment I’d been planning for months. “Actually, I’ve been quietly acquiring shares through various channels over the past year. And this morning, I completed a significant purchase from Mr. Howard Jenkins.”
The color drained from my father’s face. Howard Jenkins had been one of his closest allies on the board, holding 17% of the company.
“That’s impossible,” he hissed. “Howard would never sell to you.”
“He would when his gambling debts caught up with him,” I replied calmly. “I now control 26% of Ashworth Industries, making me the second–largest shareholder after
you.”
The boardroom erupted into murmurs. My father’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table. For years, he had kept me away from anything related to my grandfather’s legacy, denying me what should have been partly mine by birthright.
“Let’s proceed with the meeting, shall we?” I suggested sweetly. “I have several proposals regarding the company’s direction.”
For the next two hours, I methodically laid out issues with current management practices, highlighting areas where my father’s leadership had failed. I had done my homework, prepared detailed analyses, and presented alternatives that had several board members nodding in agreement.
By the end, my father looked ready to explode.
As the meeting concluded and board members filed out, he grabbed my arm, waiting
until we were alone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, his public façade crumbling.
I removed his hand from my arm. “I’m reclaiming what you stole from my mother and her family. This is just the beginning, Harrison. Your days of control are numbered.”
“You ungrateful little-”
“Save it,” I cut him off. “I’m not that frightened little girl anymore. Today marks the beginning of your downfall. Consider it my birthday gift to myself.”
I walked away, his rage–filled curses following me out the door. My hands were shaking, but not from fear–from exhilaration. I had finally taken a concrete step
toward justice for my mother.
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That evening, I arrived at my maternal grandmother’s home in a much better mood. The modest house in the suburbs was decorated with streamers and balloons, and the smell of my favorite dishes wafted through the air.
“There’s my birthday girl!” Grandma exclaimed, pulling me into a warm embrace. Her familiar scent of lavender and vanilla enveloped me, instantly soothing my still–slightly–hungover nerves.
“I did it, Grandma,” I whispered in her ear. “I got the shares. I’m on the board now.”
She pulled back, eyes glistening with tears. “Your mother would be so proud of you, sweetheart. So proud.”
My uncle Mark, my mother’s brother, raised his glass when I entered the dining room. “To Hazel–finally getting a seat at the table that should have been hers all along!”
“To Hazel!” echoed my cousins and Victoria, who had arrived early to help with
preparations.
As we gathered around the table laden with home–cooked comfort food, I felt a contentment I hadn’t experienced in a long time. These people were my real family- not the toxic mess of my father’s household with Eleanor and her children.
After dinner, Grandma brought out a small chocolate cake decorated with fresh raspberries–my childhood favorite.
“Make a wish, dear,” she said as she lit the candles.
I closed my eyes, thinking about all that had happened in the past few weeks. The betrayal, the pain, but also the unexpected support and new beginnings. As much as I tried not to, Damien’s face appeared in my mind. What exactly was I wishing for?
Taking a deep breath, I blew out the candles, leaving my wish undefined but hopeful.
We were just cutting the cake when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Victoria said, jumping up.
A moment later, she reappeared in the dining room doorway, her expression a mixture of disbelief and fury. “Hazel… it’s Julian.”
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My stomach dropped. The knife I was holding clattered against the plate.
“What is he doing here?” my uncle Mark demanded, already rising from his chair.
I raised my hand to stop him. “It’s okay. I’ll handle this.”
Walking to the front door felt like moving through molasses. There he stood on my grandmother’s porch–Julian Grayson, the man who had tossed away six years of our relationship for my stepsister’s “dying wish.” The man I had once thought I would spend my life with.
“Happy birthday, Hazel,” he said softly, holding out a small wrapped package.
My happy mood instantly evaporated. “What are you doing here, Julian?”
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43 Chapter 45
43 Chapter 45
