THE BILLIONAIRE STILL WANTS HER!
Chapter 77: You...

Chapter 77: You...

"You?" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes widening in sheer terror at the sight of the figure stepping into the dimly lit room.

A chill ran down her spine as she instinctively reached for the emergency button beside her bed, her trembling fingers desperate to summon help.

But the moment her hand moved, he saw—his eyes darkened with intent.

In a flash, he lunged forward, crossing the room with terrifying speed.

Before she could react, his hands gripped the pillow beneath her head, yanking it free and pressing it down over her face with brutal force.

She thrashed, her body writhing in a desperate struggle for air. Her nails clawed at his arm in a final, frantic attempt to fight back, raking across his skin and tearing at his sleeve.

For the briefest second, she caught a glimpse of something—a small, sinister snake tattoo coiling around his wrist.

But her strength was failing.

Her movements grew sluggish, her resistance fading as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. A final, strangled gasp escaped her lips before everything went still.

The moment he saw her body go still, her struggles ceasing beneath his grip, he slowly lifted the pillow from her face, his breath steady despite the chilling finality of what he had just done.

Her lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, but he didn’t linger.

Instead, with practiced ease, he straightened his posture, smoothing down his sleeves to conceal the faint scratch marks.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway—nurses approaching.

Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, slipping out just as they entered.

His expression remained calm, his movements unhurried, blending seamlessly into the flow of people in the corridor.

To anyone watching, he was just another visitor, another civilian passing through, leaving behind nothing but the haunting silence of the room he had just exited.

*

A man sat in front of the firewood, the weight of silence pressing down on the dimly lit room.

The only sound was the faint rustle of his coat as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a lighter.

Flick.

A small flame danced to life. Flick. It vanished just as quickly.

Over and over, he ignited and extinguished the flame, his gaze fixed on the unlit firewood before him, his jaw clenched in simmering anger.

His eyes burned with an unspoken fury, the flickering light reflecting the storm within him.

But then—a knock at the door.

The tension in his face evaporated in an instant. He turned his head away from the fireplace, his expression smoothing into something unreadable.

"Come in," he called, his voice composed, almost warm.

The door creaked open, and the moment he saw who had entered, his demeanor shifted completely.

A broad smile stretched across his face as he rose from his seat, stepping forward with open arms.

"Samson!" he greeted with enthusiasm, wrapping the younger man in a firm embrace. "Oh my, it’s so good to see you after all this time."

Samson let out a light chuckle, his voice calm as he responded, "Same here, Uncle Alex."

As he pulled back slightly, Alex let out a soft chuckle of his own, gripping Samson’s arm affectionately before giving it a gentle pat.

The warmth between them was evident, yet beneath the surface, something else lingered—something unspoken.

Alexander Johnson—stepbrother to their father—shared the same mother but had a different father, a twist of fate that never seemed to matter in the grand scheme of their bond.

Over the years, Alex had become more than just family; he was a steady presence, one of the few who had witnessed these young men grow from fragile newborns into the men they were today.

"Oh, my boy, you must have gone through quite an ordeal getting back to the country," Alex said, his voice warm yet teasing, as he eyed Samson knowingly.

The mere mention of the journey stirred memories of exhaustion and endless business dealings, but Samson, despite it all, managed a weary smile.

For a moment, words failed him. He simply nodded, his silence speaking volumes.

"Yeah, Uncle. It’s been a long trip, but I’m finally home. And would you believe it? I haven’t even set foot in my own house yet. You were the first person I wanted to see," Samson admitted, his voice carrying a hint of affection.

Alex threw his head back and let out a deep, hearty laugh—a sound so full of life that it instantly lightened the room.

"Oh my, I’m starting to feel special now," Alex teased, flashing a playful grin. "You know what? Just sit down and make yourself comfortable—I’ll have something brought in for you."

With that, he called for his secretary, instructing her to bring over some drinks to welcome his nephew properly.

As Samson sank into the chair, Alex wrapped up his call and strolled over, his eyes sharp with curiosity.

"So, tell me—how did the business go?" Alex asked, leaning in slightly, eager to hear about Samson’s ventures.

Samson let out a soft chuckle, his smile easy but weary.

"Well, you know how it is with the company—we give it our all. But traveling the world just to push those artworks? It’s exhausting. We had to be on the move constantly, always selling, always negotiating." He exhaled, shaking his head before meeting Alex’s gaze. "Honestly, Uncle Alex, I couldn’t be happier to be back home."

"You know what, Sam? You’re absolutely right," Alex said with a knowing smile. "That’s exactly why I called you here first. I knew this tour must’ve drained you, and I wanted to make sure you had good company to ease back into things."

Just then, the door swung open, and the secretary entered, followed by a few workers carrying an assortment of refreshments.

They moved swiftly, setting down Samson’s order before him with practiced efficiency.

Alex’s eyes immediately landed on the bottle of wine among the spread.

With a smirk, he plucked it from the worker’s hands and turned to Samson, his gaze playful yet expectant. "I hope you’re still up for some red wine?" he teased.

Samson chuckled, shaking his head.

"I think I can take a little—just a sip. I still have to head home," he said, watching as Alex expertly popped the cork.

The rich aroma of the wine filled the air as he poured a modest amount into their glass cups.

They clinked glasses lightly, taking slow sips, when Alex casually leaned back and said, "So, Samson... I was wondering if you’ve heard the news about your brother getting engaged to Angel?"

The moment the words left Alex’s lips, the air in the room shifted.

Samson’s grip on his glass tightened slightly, and his once-relaxed expression darkened.