The Billionaire’s Secret Heirs (Celine and Hunter) novel Chapter 44

-HUNTER’S POV

She doesn’t know I saw her watching me.

Or maybe she does.

Celine thinks she’s quiet. Tucking her chin down, shifting her eyes away just in time. But I’m not a stranger to hiding. I know what it looks like when someone is trying not to feel something.

And right now, she’s doing a shit job pretending.

She’s trying to clean, Wiping down the same corner of the banister for the last three minutes. I know because I’ve been watching her instead of the blueprint Vincent’s holding out in front of me.

“Earth to Hunter,“Vincent says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You gonna pretend to care about this support beam, or should we all just stand around and admire the help?”

I look at him, deadpan. “You’re not funny.”

Vincent shrugs with a cocky smirk. “She’s hot, man. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. Right, Fabian?”

Fabian, the new guy I had Cole replace with clears his throat beside me. Doesn’t answer. But I see it–the hint of his gaze toward her. Staying too long

My jaw clenches.

“Can we focus?” I snap

Vincent lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. You don’t see me dragging her into a closet.” He glances at Celine again. “Yet”

Fabian speaks then, low and quiet. “She seems… strong, Like she’s been through shit and didn’t break.”

That makes me freeze. Because he’s right. And I don’t want him to be the one to notice that.

I look back at Celine. She’s kneeling now, organizing something near the bookshelf.

Caesar sits in the corner with Caroline, coloring with one hand and nibbling on a cracker with the other. Caroline doesn’t seem to mind him, which surprises me.

She hates crumbs. Hates noise. But right now, she’s smiling like Caesar is made of magic and she’s never seen light before.

Celine glances up and meets my eyes. For a second, she doesn’t look away.

There it is again. That tight pull in my chest like someone’s twisting something inside me just to see if it hurts

Vincent bumps my shoulder. “Dude. You good?”

I force my attention back to the plans. “Fine.”

But I’m not. Not even close. Because five feet away, Fablan is still watching her. And I’m one second away from making it crystal fucking clear that she’s not a free–for–all

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Even though she’s not mine. Even though I haven’t earned that right.

Later, when the others move toward the patio to argue over material costs and finish dates, I stay back

Watching as Celine leans over Caesar, whispering something that makes him giggle. Her hand rests gently on his back.

There’s something about her like that–unguarded, soft–that hits in a place I’ve kept locked for years.

I step closer. She senses it. Straightens slowly. Doesn’t face me, but I know she knows it’s me.

“You’re a distraction,” I murmur.

She turns her head slightly. “Excuse me?”

I should walk away. I should shut the hell up. But instead, I lean in just enough to feel the heat between us spike.

“To the work,” I clarity. “Everyone keeps looking at you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Including you?”

My throat tightens. I don’t answer. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Then maybe I should stop coming in the room.”

“You do that,” I say quietly, “and I might start going to the room you’re in.”

Her breath catches. Just barely. But I hear it. And I hate how good that makes me feel. Vincent calls my name again from outside. Celine slips away before I can say more.

But as I walk toward the terrace, I glance back. She’s watching me this time. And she doesn’t look away.

Fabian’s leaning against the hood of his car, tapping something into his phone when I find him alone in the driveway.

The others are still inside, debating tile samples like their lives depend on it. I should be in there. I should care about tile. About blueprints. About getting this job done.

But I don’t, Not right now.

“Fabian,” I say, flat.

He looks up, the phone still in hand. “Hey, man, Everything good?”

I nod once. Step closer. Just enough that he has to shift his weight. “You like working here?”

He blinks at me. “Yeah. It’s a good gig. Better than most.”

I stare at him. Long enough to make the silence feel like a third person in the conversation. “Then don’t fuck it up.”

His brows pinch. “What?”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You’re smart. You’ve got a good eye for design. You’re fast with numbers. You keep things moving Apause.

“But you’ve also been looking at the maid like she’s something to unwrap”

He stiffens. “Celine?”

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I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He laughs once, dry. “Wow. Okay. I didn’t realize you…”

“I don’t, I cut in. “She works here. She’s got a kid. She’s been through hell, and she still shows up every damn morning like she doesn’t weigh the world on her back.”

Fabian quiets.

I take a step closer.

“She’s not some side project or a way to kill time between builds,” I say, voice low. “So whatever you’re thinking? Stop.”

He exhales. Not defensive. Just… surprised. “I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

“I know,” I say. “Because I’m telling you now–you’re not going to.”

There’s a long beat of silence. Fabian finally nods, hands raised. “Got it. Loud and clear.” I turn to leave, but he calls out behind me.

-So what is she to you, then?” I pause.

He doesn’t ask it like an accusation. It’s worse he asks it like he wants to understand. But I don’t have an answer for him. Because

I don’t even know myself.

So I just keep walking,

I was supposed to be working. Tax reports. Property assessments, Contractor agreements. The usual shit that keeps my empire. running

Instead, I’m staring at a three–year–old sitting in my leather chair, his legs swinging freely as he flips through a first–edition art book worth more than most people’s monthly rent.

How the hell did he get in here? My study was off–limits. Everyone knew that. A rule I’d never had to enforce because no one was stupid enough to test it.

Until now

Caesar turns another page, his small fingers tracing over a Rembrandt like it’s a children’s coloring book. I should be pissed. should call for Celine to come get her kid.

Instead, I find myself leaning against the doorframe, watching him.

“You know, that book is worth more than your toys,” I say, expecting him to startle, maybe even cry.

Caesar looks up at me, those blue eyes–my blue eyes–wide but unafraid. Then he grins. “Then it must be boring”

I blink. Once. Twice.

And then something strange happens, I laugh. Not a chuckle or a smirk, but a real laugh that seems to come from some forgotten part of me.

Caesar’s grin widens, showing off a missing tooth I hadn’t noticed before. He seems utterly at ease in my space. No fear, No hesitation. Like he belongs here.

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“Caesar, what the hell are you doing there-“A maid appears behind me, then freezes. Her eyes dart between me and the kid, clearly waiting for the outbreak.

I wave her off. “It’s fine. Eve got him.” Her eyebrows shoot up, but she backs away without comment. Smart girl.

I turn back to Caesar. “I need to work. You should go find your mom.” He nods solemnly, closing the book with unexpected care.

He slides off the chair, his sneakers barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. I expect him to leave. To run off and find Celine or Caroline.

Instead, he disappears for exactly ninety seconds–I count them–before returning with a plastic container of building blocks.

“What are you doing?” I ask as he plops down on the rug in front of my desk.

Caesar dumps the blocks out, creating a small rainbow of plastic chaos on my imported Persian rug. “Building” he says simply like that explains everything.

I should tell him to leave. I should call Celine. I should do a million things that don’t involve watching a toddler construct a wobbly tower on my office floor.

But I don’t.

Instead, I observe him struggle with a particularly stubborn piece, trying to force it where it doesn’t belong

Without thinking, I’m on the floor beside him. “That doesn’t go there, I muttered, adjusting the misplaced piece.

Caesar stares up at me, those eyes–my eyes–full of curiosity. “How do you know?”

“Because I used to build things like this,” I answer, surprised by how easy the words come. How natural it feels to be sitting here

with him.

Caesar beams at me. “You’re smart!”

I let out a small, almost reluctant chuckle. “I suppose.”

We work in silence for a few minutes, his small hands occasionally bumping against mine as we create a structure that vaguely

resembles a castle.

Or maybe a spaceship. It’s hard to tell.

“Why don’t you like Mommy?” Caesar suddenly asks, his voice innocent but his question is anything but. “She’s nice.” I stiffen, caught off guard.

My throat tightens,

“It’s… complicated,” I manage.

“Maybe you should just say sorry, Caesar suggests like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like three words could fix something I’m

not even sure has a name.

I don’t respond. Can’t respond. Because how do you explain to a three–year–old that sometimes saying sorry doesn’t fix what’s broken?

Instead, I reach out and ruffle his hair. It’s soft. Exactly the same shade of black as mine. He looks up and smiles, and something i

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my chest cracks open.

Caesar tilts his head, studying me with an intensity no child his age should possess. “Maybe you can be my daddy?”

I freeze. My hand is still on his head. My lungs forget how to work. “What?”

“Mommy said my real daddy isn’t around.” He says it so matter–of–factly like he’s telling me the sky is blue. “You’re nice to me. So can you be my daddy?”

My mouth goes dry. I study him again–really study him. The way his little brows furrow just like mine do when I’m thinking. The set of his jaw. The shape of his eyes.

It’s like looking at an old photograph of mysell.

“Caesar! What are you-“Celine’s voice cuts through the moment.

She stands in the doorway, cheeks flushed from searching, relief, and something else washing over her face as she takes in the scene before her.

And then she hears Caesar’s question. Her breath catches, and for a moment, our gazes lock. I see it there–the fear. The truth. The secret she’s been keeping since the day I met her.

I stand abruptly, nearly knocking over the tower we’ve built. “I have work to do,” I say, my voice harder than I intended. I brush past Celine without meeting her eyes again,

I can feel her watching me as I walk away, and can almost hear the unspoken words hanging between us. But I keep walking.

That night, as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, I catch myself smiling–remembering the way Caesar had so casually invaded my

space.

The way he’d looked at me without an ounce of the fear or respect or calculation I’m used to seeing in people’s eyes. The smile disappears as quickly as it came.

I scowl in the darkness.

What the hell was this kid doing to me? And worse–what was I going to do about the fact that I was almost certain he was mine?

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