THE BILLIONAIRE STILL WANTS HER!
Chapter 47: Come outside

Chapter 47: Come outside

Dressed in his robe, Tryson stepped out of the room, water dripping from his damp hair as he ran a towel through the strands.

The cool air sent a shiver down his spine, but something else felt off.

A strange emptiness. His eyes scanned the space, and that’s when he noticed—Angel was gone.

"Angel?" His voice was rough, almost uncertain as he called out, stepping farther into the suite.

Silence. A gnawing unease twisted inside him. Then, his gaze landed on something near the dining table—a note.

His pulse quickened as he strode toward it, plucking the paper between his fingers. The elegant curves of Angel’s handwriting danced across the page:

"Decided to take some fresh air. Just wandering about. I don’t know... but you could call me if you want to."

Tryson exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

She always had a way of making him chase after her, even when she wasn’t trying.

Running a hand through his damp hair, he let out a small chuckle.

His feet carried him toward the mini fridge, his mind elsewhere—somewhere tangled in memories.

His gaze landed on the milk carton inside, and suddenly, he wasn’t just staring at it.

He was back in that moment. The morning. The way Angel’s lips had tasted of something sweet, the soft, breathless moan she let slip between kisses.

He could almost hear it now, a whisper of desire echoing in his mind.

A deep warmth spread through his chest, his fingers tightening slightly at his side. She was out there somewhere, and Tryson could feel it—this magnetic pull drawing him toward her.

And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to resist it.

"Get a hold of yourself, man," Tryson muttered under his breath, the words laced with a teasing edge, though his pulse betrayed a deeper unrest.

As his gaze drifted downward, he caught sight of the undeniable strain against the fabric—his arousal pressing boldly, insistently.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from his throat, a sound thick with the weight of temptation.

His senses tangled in the intensity of the moment, his body betraying him in ways he wasn’t sure he could control.

With a sharp inhale, he snapped the fridge door shut, resting his forehead against its cool surface as if the chill could temper the fire coursing through him.

How much longer could he endure this?

The raw, electrifying tension clawed at his resolve, threatening to undo him piece by piece.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the ache of anticipation, gripping onto the fragile hope that he could survive these days at the resort—with Angel so dangerously close.

Eventually, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was indulging in some kind of sweet, merciless torment.

He had originally arranged for two separate rooms—one for himself and one for Angel—but fate had played a cruel hand.

Due to unexpected circumstances at the resort, space had tightened, and now, there was only one undeniable reality: they had to share a room.

He had planned this getaway with the purest intentions—to give Angel a safe haven, a place where she could escape the chaos and simply breathe.

But now, he had unwittingly walked straight into his own undoing. The atmosphere was charged, suffocating in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Now, he had to live with her, move around her, exist beside her in the very suite he had booked—all without giving in to the temptation clawing at his every nerve.

He was a reckless fool, a man walking a tightrope with no safety net.

And if he wasn’t careful, these thoughts—these dangerous, consuming thoughts—might just drive him to do something utterly insane.

He’d been here before—this agonizing crossroads where desire and restraint waged war inside him.

He could still remember the sting of it, the way pain had crept through every inch of his soul, drowning him in a chaos he couldn’t control.

Back then, he had turned to alcohol, letting it numb the ache, hoping it would wash away the torment that clung to the air like a haunting specter.

With a sharp slap, his palm met the fridge door, the sound cutting through the silence like a gunshot.

His eyes darkened, cold and unreadable, as if he were staring down an old enemy—one he wasn’t sure he could conquer this time.

His breath came uneven, his pulse unsteady, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a vice.

"Have mercy on my soul, Angel," Tryson muttered, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, his gaze locked on the floor as though the very ground beneath him held the power to shatter his resolve.

*

Stepping out of the room, Tryson adjusted the linen shirt draping over his frame, the loose fabric revealing just enough of his chest to catch the soft morning breeze.

His sharp gaze swept the surroundings as he searched for Angel, a quiet intensity settling over him.

With steady, unhurried steps, he made his way down the hallway, the muted hum of the resort filling the air.

He barely noticed the glances thrown his way as he moved, his focus razor-sharp—until he crossed the threshold of the kitchen.

A sudden movement caught his attention.

The head chef approached, her expression warm yet respectful as she offered a slight bow.

"Mr. Tryson," she began, her voice laced with admiration, "the meal you prepared last night was nothing short of a masterpiece. The guests were stunned by the flavors—you wouldn’t believe the number of rave reviews we received."

For a moment, Tryson simply stared, processing her words.

Then, almost involuntarily, the corner of his lips curved into a faint smile—a rare expression that carried more meaning than he cared to admit.

"It’s nothing," Tryson said, his tone effortlessly composed. "I just hope you managed to deliver the meal to the room I requested."

The head chef nodded without hesitation. "Yes, we did," she confirmed.

Tryson observed her for a moment, then let a small, almost teasing smile ghost across his lips. "I’ll have to leave you an extra review then."

The woman’s face brightened with gratitude. "Thank you so much, sir."

He gave her a curt nod before turning away, his mind already elsewhere.

As he strode forward, he pulled out his phone, dialing Angel’s number while his sharp eyes swept across the resort’s surroundings.

But just as the call began to ring, a sudden sensation sent a jolt through him—soft hands, warm and featherlight, covering his eyes from behind.

Tryson slowly lowered his phone, his fingers gliding over the screen as his other hand instinctively reached up.

His touch was deliberate, grazing over the warm, soft skin of the one who had dared to steal his sight.

A knowing smirk tugged at his lips as a deep, velvety chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"Angel," he murmured, his voice low, rich with certainty.

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