The Forbidden Billionaire

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by Lexi Aurora


  “How is your daughter, my lord?” I asked Markwell.

  “She’s well,” said the man, in a short, clipped tone. I was relieved then when the attendants brought the food out to the table, serving each of us before disappearing from the room. For a moment, we ate in silence, before Markwell spoke up.

  “Have you thought of marriage, my lord?” asked Markwell, looking at Jason.

  “I haven’t,” said my brother. “It’s been the last thing on my mind.”

  “You’ll want an heir,” said Markwell. “As soon as possible.”

  “Thank you for the recommendation,” my brother said in a dry voice.

  Markwell nodded. I watched the two of them as they stared each other down. There was a bizarre dynamic in the room, an obvious power struggle despite the fact that my brother outranked Markwell in every way. There was no question as to who was more powerful, yet Markwell was challenging my brother as I watched.

  “When was the last time you talked to my father?” Jason asked. I watched Markwell’s face for any hint of something suspicious, but his features were a blank mask.

  “It was a couple of days before he passed,” said Markwell. “We were talking about expanding my properties beyond the river.”

  “Are you still interested in doing so?” my brother asked him curiously.

  “I am,” said Markwell, nodding. “I was hoping that it was something you and I could discuss tonight over drinks.”

  There was a pause. I looked between them, waiting for someone to say something.

  “Not tonight, I’m afraid,” said my brother. “Maybe some other time.”

  “Yes,” said Markwell. “Some other time, then.”

  It was quiet for the rest of dinner. Every moment that passed felt like agony to me, felt awkward and wrong. I didn’t know what to say and so I kept my mouth shut. By the time dinner was over, nobody had said anything else. There was a chill in the room, one that I felt in the pit of my chest. Markwell stood up when he was finished eating and adjusted his clothing.

  “Thank you for dinner, my lords,” he said in a polite, stiff tone. Then he left before either of us could say anything, disappearing through the dining room door. I heard him leave the house with a slam of the front door and stared at my brother over the table, looking him in the eye.

  “Did that answer any of your questions?” I asked him.

  “It must have something to do with the properties,” said Jason. “Perhaps father didn’t want to go through with the plan.”

  I shook my head, sighing and pinching the bridge of my nose with my eyes closed.

  “I think you need to drop this, Jason,” I said to him softly. “This isn’t good for you.”

  “Do you not care?” asked my brother. I opened my eyes and regarded him carefully, my mouth agape to answer his question. I had to think for a moment, really consider the answer to his question.

  “I do care,” I said, realizing that it was true. “I know that you think he was poisoned, but there’s nothing to suggest that—“

  “—Markwell’s behavior suggests that he had something to do with it,” he interrupted me. “Couldn’t you tell he was hiding something?”

  “The only thing he was hiding was the fact that he wanted to leave in the middle of dinner,” I said to him. “That was excruciating.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to make you suffer through it,” my brother said, his face growing angry. “I thought you’d help.”

  “What was I supposed to say?” I asked him, exasperated.

  “You could have chimed in,” Jason said. “Asked him more questions.”

  I shook my head again. Jason stared at me with hard eyes. Then he walked away. I watched him disappear through the dining room door without saying anything, bewildered and irritated all at once.

  Chapter 6: Fiona

  I awoke to a knock at my door. It startled me out of my sleep and I sat straight up, glancing out the window to see that it was still full-dark outside. The knock sounded again, sharper than the last time, and I slid out of bed and padded carefully down the stairs so that whoever was outside couldn’t hear my footsteps. I approached the door and peered out the window right next to it, opening the curtains just enough to get a look outside. It was Lord Castellano himself, standing on the front step, shivering visibly. I opened the door to him and hurried him inside, shutting it behind him to keep out the rain. He was soaking wet and his eyes were wild and frantic. He looked pale and like he hadn’t slept in days, but still he was filled with energy, fidgeting as he stood in front of me.

  “My lord, what’s the matter?” I asked him, too concerned to have any regard for the fact that a high-ranking gentleman of nobility was in my home alone with me at night.

  “I—I have been having these dreams,” he said, his jaw trembling. I guided him into the living area and gestured for him to sit down in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. I quickly lit a fire, watching as it blazed to life. Jason stared into the fire, then looked at me with wide eyes.

  “You have to see something,” he said, and stood up. He turned around and untucked his shirt from his trousers, pulling it up above his waist. At first, I looked away, uncomfortable with the display from a stranger. But after a moment I realized that he was trying to show me something, and I looked at his back to see four long scratches along the length of his spine, crossing from his right shoulder down to the left side of his back. The scratches were deep, like claw marks, and a vivid red that looked like they’d just happened. He put his shirt back down and turned around to look at me.

  “Ever since the séance, things have been happening to me,” he said. “These scratches. I’ve been having dreams of an old woman, I—she’s the most horrible thing. I saw my father for a moment, or I thought I saw him, but now I don’t know.”

  He was rambling. I put my hand on his shoulder to guide him to sit back down in the chair. He dragged his hands over his face.

  “What is happening to me?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure,” I told him, my hands wringing in my lap. The air in the room had changed the moment he’d walked in. It felt thick and heavy, like he’d brought something with him. “This has never happened before, I—“

  “Is he trying to tell me something?” Jason asked. “I should have talked to him. I should have tried to make contact when I saw him, but I was shocked, terrified.”

  “Are you sure it was your father?” I asked him. He shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “It could have been something else, a shadow.”

  I peered at him for a moment, studying the frantic, panicky look on his face. He truly was frightened and he had every reason to be; I felt the same way.

  “We need to try it again,” he said, leaning forward to peer at me intently. “Try to contact my father. He’ll have answers.”

  “My lord, that’s not a good idea,” I told him. Whatever was happening, I had a feeling in the pit of my gut that it would be a bad idea to press the issue. I didn’t remember anything like this ever happening to my grandmother—her séances had always been benign when I listened in on them, with simple clicks and whistling noises along with the soothing sound of her soft voice. “I don’t think we should open up that channel again. Something has gone wrong.”

  “That is why we need to find answers,” he said, his eyes flashing with desperation. “To stop all of this. Before it’s too late.”

  I sighed, shaking my head. “I really don’t think—“

  He took my hands with both of his, staring into my eyes. “Please, Ms. Temple,” he said.

  I stared back at him for a moment and then nodded, unable to say no. He seemed so desperate, like the séance was something he needed to do. I thought about the scratches on his back and shuddered, sitting down at the table. He sat down across from me and I lit the candle in front of us, then took his hands.

  “Close your eyes, my lord,” I said. I watched him do so, but kept mine open. I was afraid to close them f
or some reason, afraid that if I did, I would lose control of the situation.

  I cleared my throat, but before I could speak, the candle blew out. I lit a match and held it to the wick to reignite it, but just a second later, it blew out again. I looked around for a sign of an open window, to find out if there was a breeze in the room. The window that had been broken had been replaced that morning, and I hadn’t felt a draft in the house since then. I lit the candle one more time and then clasped Jason’s hands in mine.

  “My lord, why don’t you…” my voice faded off when a palpable coldness entered the room, like the immediate feeling one gets when stepping outside from a warm house in the winter. The chill was terrible and fierce; no draft could have explained it. Jason opened his eyes and looked at me, shivering in his seat. It was then that the candle went out again, as did the fire behind Jason. The flames hadn’t even faded out—they were gone in the blink of an eye, as if they’d been doused with water.

  Jason picked up the matches and tried to light the candle himself, but every time he tried, the flame went out before he could bring it to the wick. Frustrated, he cursed, then apologized for it.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” I told him, speaking freely. I stood up from the table, pushing my chair in. The cold was seeping in through the fabric of my clothing, affecting my very bones. “You must go.”

  He shook his head and began to speak, but I cut him off.

  “Please, Lord Castellano, I don’t want to do this.”

  I saw him study my face and recognize the obvious fear on my features. I had never been as afraid as I was then, shivering in the cold, my breath visible in the air in front of my mouth.

  He nodded, looking down at his hands for a moment. The only thing I wanted to do was to get rid of him, go upstairs and curl up under the covers on my bed and go back to sleep without a worry.

  “Goodnight, then,” he said, and his voice was that of a defeated man, one who was desperate but stuck. I watched him leave and glanced into the living area, at the barren fireplace and the candle that wouldn’t light. I could still see wisps of my breath in the air and I wrapped my arms around myself as I made my way upstairs. The higher I climbed, the less I felt the cold, and by the time I got up to my room, it was warm again. I undressed again and crawled under my covers, still shivering despite the warmth of the room. Though I tried desperately to fall asleep again, it seemed that I couldn’t. I felt haunted and afraid, unsafe in my home for the first time.

  Chapter 7: Julian

  It was the middle of the night when I heard the shouting; I knew instantly that it was my brother, could recognize his voice even through the incoherent sound of his cries. I flew out of bed and slipped into trousers before leaving the room, running down the hall to my brother’s room. I threw the door open to see him thrashing around in his bed, tangled up in the covers. I rushed to his side and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Jason,” I whispered softly, trying not to jar him awake. I shook his shoulder gently and he groaned in his sleep, flipping over so that his back was to me. I nudged him again and he woke up in a panic, scrambling backward away from me and almost off the bed. I put my hands out to calm him.

  “It’s just me,” I said in a hushed voice. “It’s just me, Jason.”

  My brother blinked at me sleepily, taking a moment to register who I was.

  “Julian,” he said, “you’re here.”

  “I’m here,” I told him, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t say anything, but looked at me with his lips pressed in a tight line. It was then that I noticed the blood on the white sheets, a large stain in the middle of the bed. My eyes widened and I looked at Jason, looking him over for signs of injury.

  “What happened?” I asked him. His eyes were wide and frantic now that he was awake. He turned around and showed me his back, which was covered in scratches that looked painful and red. His skin was smeared with blood from the scratches and some of them were still bleeding even as he sat in front of me.

  “It was the old woman,” Jason said, speaking the words so quickly that they almost slurred together. “She attacked me in my sleep, she—“

  “Who attacked you?” I asked him, alarmed. “An old woman?”

  Jason nodded, putting his hands on my arms. He dug his nails into my skin as he spoke, squeezing me more and more tightly.

  “The old woman wants me to stop looking for answers,” he said. “She wants me to stop searching. And Father—I saw Father, he showed me into his office but I…”

  His voice trailed off. He was looking over my shoulder, his eyes wide. I looked behind me but saw nothing, then turned to look at his face, furrowing my brow in concern.

  “Jason,” I said. “You’re not making sense.”

  “I went to Fiona Temple,” he said, and just the sound of her name made my heart feel light. The spiritualist had been on my mind for days; the way she’d touched my hand, I could almost feel her skin again if I focused hard enough on the memory. “She contacted Father. The window broke—I think he’s angry.”

  “Angry at who?”

  “At me,” said Jason, dragging his hands over his face. “Because I can’t fucking figure out what happened to him.”

  The sound of his words shocked me. I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Jason,” I said to him slowly. “Our father is dead.”

  “You weren’t there, Julian,” he said, staring at me. “You didn’t see what happened with Fiona Temple.”

  “Fiona Temple is a performer,” I told him. “Nothing more.”

  Jason shook his head. “She’s real. But now this old woman—she’s haunting me. I can’t get her to go away.”

  “What old woman?” I asked him again.

  “I don’t know who she is,” he said miserably. He seemed to be winding down, like his exhaustion was hitting him all at once. Instead of wide and frantic, his eyes were tired and sad. He stared at me for a long moment before he slid back into bed, wrapping the covers around him and staring at the ceiling.

  “Shouldn’t we tend to your back?” I asked him. “Shall I call the doctor?”

  “They’re just scratches,” he said without looking at me. “They’ll heal.”

  I stared down at him in bed and then stood up, watching as he closed his eyes and shut me out of the room. I sighed and left him, shutting the door behind me and going back to my own room. My worry for him was almost overwhelming—my brother was a level-headed person, calm of manner. He didn’t get caught up in hysteria and never had. But this was different; something had been triggered in him when my father died and he wouldn’t get rest until he got the answer he wanted, even if it wasn’t the right answer. I thought about Markwell and what he might have to do with it. To me, he hadn’t seemed suspicious when he was at our manor for dinner, but Jason had apparently seen right through him.

  I laid down in my bed and thought of Fiona Temple. Part of this was her fault—she was feeding his delusions, entertaining his fantasies while no doubt taking a large sum of his money. Though I knew it was a bad idea, I decided that I would go to Fiona tomorrow. I had to tell her to stop seeing my brother and going through with these séances so that his mind could be saved. Thinking about seeing her made my heart race, though I knew that I could do nothing but ask her to stay away from Jason. It had been deeply inappropriate to flirt with her as I had done at the party, and I swore to myself that I’d keep my attraction under control long enough to warn her away from Jason.

  Chapter 8: Fiona

  I was sitting in my living area reading through my grandmother’s old séance journals when there was a knock at the door. I looked up at the clock on the wall, noting that I didn’t have an appointment for another two hours. I forced myself off of the sofa and went to the door, opening it to reveal Julian Castellano on the other side. I looked at him in surprise and for a moment we just stared at each other, our eyes locking as they had the first time we’d met. He
cleared his throat after a moment.

  “Miss Temple,” he said politely. “I have something I wanted to talk to you about. Do you have time?”

  “Of course,” I said, gesturing him inside. He brushed past me on the way inside and I took in his scent, subtle and masculine, with a slight hint of some rich cologne that was almost intoxicating. I followed him into the living area, where he stood with his back straight and regarded me with a polite gaze that did little to hide his interest. Though he was acting stiff and appropriate, the look in his eyes told me that his thoughts were anything but. I blushed deeply just wondering what he must be thinking to make his expression so suggestive and inviting. I turned my face from him to hide my reaction.

 

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