Page 55 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“Carla,” I groaned, but she ignored me, her fingers flying across her screen. “The less I know, the better.”

It didn’t take long for her to find a treasure trove of information.

“Roman Kelly,” she read aloud. “Billionaire entrepreneur. Started his first company at eighteen. Forbes 30 Under 30, blah blah blah. Ooh, listen to this: ‘Known for his sharp business acumen and ruthless approach to deal-making.’” She paused, raising an eyebrow at me. “Ruthless, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea.”

She kept scrolling, her expression shifting from amused to curious.

“Oh no,” she said softly, her voice losing its playful edge. “Oh my gosh.”

I looked at her, my stomach twisting. “What?”

She glanced up at me, her eyes full of sympathy. “His parents were killed in a car accident when he was twelve.”

The air seemed to leave the room. “What?” I whispered.

Carla handed me her phone to read the article. His parents had died in a head-on collision, and Roman had been in the car when it happened. He was the only survivor.

My heart ached for him. I couldn’t imagine how horrifying that must have been, how it must have scarred him. Suddenly, so many things about him made sense—his need for control, his aloofness, the way he kept people at arm’s length.

“It doesn’t excuse him being a jerk,” Carla said, as if reading my thoughts. “But it explains a lot.”

I nodded, giving her the phone. “Yeah. It really does.”

“Can you imagine growing up in a house like this?” Carla said. “The games of hide and seek?”

The darkness of the conversation shifted. We talked about our own childhoods and found ourselves laughing. A couple of the staff added their own stories. I felt like I was finally settling in.

A while later, the staff, who had been chatting and laughing with us, suddenly scattered like leaves in the wind. Like they could sense a change in the air. The sunlight that had been streaming through the windows seemed to dim, and a heavy silence settled over the air.

Carla and I were still lounging on the sofa when I saw him.

His presence was like a physical force. He filled the room with it, his broad shoulders and sharp suit commanding attention. His gaze landed on Carla, and his brow furrowed.

“Who is this?” he asked, his tone even but carrying an edge.

Carla sat up straight, her usual bravado faltering under his scrutiny. “I’m Carla,” she said, holding out her hand. “Kaira’s best friend.”

Roman didn’t take her hand. Instead, he looked at me, his expression unreadable.

“Did you invite her here?”

“I didn’t think I needed permission,” I said, crossing my arms.

His jaw tightened. “This isn’t a college dorm, Kaira. It’s my home.”

“And I’m living here,” I shot back. “Which means I should be able to have a friend over without being interrogated like a criminal.”

The tension in the room was palpable. Carla cleared her throat.

“Maybe I should go,” she said, standing up.

“No,” I said firmly, grabbing her arm. “You’re staying. Roman, if you have a problem with that, we can discuss it later.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but then his eyes flicked to Carla, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. He exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he said, his voice clipped.