The Billionaire’s Secret Heirs (Celine and Hunter) novel Chapter 49

-HUNTER-

The office smells like fear. Good. It should.

“Mr. Reid, please reconsider…”

I cut him off with a cold stare. “You had six months to meet targets. You failed.”

The man…Johnson? Jackson?…visibly trembles. Pathetic. His tie is crooked, and sweat darkens the underarms of his shirt. I hate weakness.

“Clear your desk by five,” I say, already looking at my phone, dismissing him. “HR has your severance paperwork.”

He leaves without another word. Smart move. Begging would have gotten him nothing but my contempt.

Vincent drops into the chair across from my desk the moment the door closes. “That’s the third executive this month, Hunt. The board’s starting to talk.”

I laugh, short and humorless. “Let them talk. The expansion plans for The Aurelia are finalized. Three new locations in the next eighteen months. When they see the projections, they’ll shut up fast.”

Vincent studies me, eyes narrowed. “You look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Sleep is overrated.” Ishuffle the papers on my desk, avoiding his concern. Vincent has been my friend since college, the only person who calls me on my bullshit. It’s annoying.

“It’s that maid, isn’t it?” he asks, leaning forward. “The one with the kid.”

My pen freezes mid–signature. “Don’t.”

Vincent raises his hands in surrender, but his smirk says everything. “Just saying, you’ve been different since she started working for you.”

“Drop it,” I warnice in my voice.

He shrugs, changing the subject to the Tokyo deal, but his knowing look lingers

Hours later, I walk into the mansion, loosening my tie. The house is quiet. It’s past eight–most of the staff are gone for the day.

Good. I need the silence.

In my room, I drop my briefcase, kick off my shoes, and strip naked. My muscles ache from tension.

The bathroom mirror reflects a man I barely recognize sometimes–hard eyes, harder mouth, not a hint of softness anywhere.

The shower hisses to life. I step under the spray, letting scalding water pound my shoulders. Steam fills the glass compartment as close my eyes, trying to clear my mind of balance sheets and profit margins.

But instead of emptiness, her face appears.

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Celine. With those wide, innocent eyes that somehow see too much. The gentle curve of her lips when she smiles at her son. The way she moves–efficient, graceful, always slightly guarded around me.

“Fuck,” I mutter, pressing my forehead against the cool tile.

My cock hardens painfully, betraying me. I’ve wanted women before–taken them, enjoyed them, forgotten them. But this… this constant, nagging hunger for a goddamn maid is driving me insane.

I wrap my hand around myself, gritting my teeth. It’s just the release I need. Nothing more..

I stroke once, twice, imagining her pressed against this wall. Would she be shy? Or would passion burn away that careful restraint she always shows? Would she moan my name or bite her lip to stay quiet?

My pace quickens. In my mind, she’s under me, her hair spread across my pillows, her eyes darkened with desire as I push into her.

She’d be tight–I know it. Perfect. Her hands would clutch my shoulders, leaving marks. Her legs would wrap around my waist, drawing me deeper.

“Christ,” I growl as release hits me hard and fast. For a few seconds, my mind goes blissfully blank.

Then reality crashes back, cold and unwelcome. I’m alone in my shower, fantasizing about an employee–a single mother who needs her job.

A woman who probably hates me for how I’ve treated her. A woman whose son has blue eyes just like mine.

Islam my fist against the tile. “Get it together, Reid.”

Tomorrow’s my appointment with Dr. Maxwell. Another pointless check up to confirm what I already know–that the Reid bloodline likely ends with me.

My father’s disappointment. My mother’s barely hidden pity. The whispers among business associates wondering who will inherit the Reid fortune.

Dr. Maxwell keeps pushing experimental treatments, and new specialists. I keep going to shut him up, but the diagnosis hasn’t changed in three years.

Low sperm count. Almost non–existent motility. The irony that I, who excel at everything, should fail at the most basic biological function isn’t lost on me.

I shut off the water with more force than necessary and stepped out, not bothering with a towel Water dri the marble floor as I stare at my reflection again.

Hard. Cold. Alone.

Exactly how I want it. How I need it

I push open the bathroom door, steam billowing around me as I step into my bedroom,

And freeze.

om my body onto

Celine stands by my bed, a basket of laundry in her arms. Her eyes widen in shock, fixed on my lace for a split second before traveling downward.

To my still semi–hard cock.

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Her mouth forms a perfect “0” of surprise. A blush flames across her cheeks, spreading down her neck to disappear beneath her uniform. The laundry basket trembles in her hands.

“Fuck,” I say, turning away sharply, but not before noticing how her gaze lingered. Not before seeing something flash in her dyn that wasn’t just embarrassment.

“I–I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I thought you were still at work. Sally asked me to collect your laundry and-”

“Get out,” I bark, the words harsher than intended.

I hear the basket hit the floor, clothes spilling. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Reid, I didn’t-”

“NOW!” I roar, not daring to look at her.

Her footsteps are quick, panicked. The door opens and slams shut.

Alone again, I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist, cursing under my breath. My heart hammers against my ribs–from anger, from embarrassment, from something else I refuse to name.

I kick the scattered clothes aside and drop onto the edge of my bed, rubbing my face with both hands. This is getting out of control. I need to get her out of my house. Out of my head.

But then I remember Caesar’s drawing. The “big one protecting the little ones.” The boys smiled when I sat with them at breakfast.

The way Celine looked at me when I offered to spend time with her son–surprise mixed with something softer, something that made my chest tight.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

“What?” I snap

“Sir,” Sally’s voice, muffled through the wood. “Is everything alright? Celine seemed upset when she came downstairs.”

Iclench my jaw. “Everything’s fine. Tell Celine-“I stop, unsure what to say. Fire her? Apologize? Pretend nothing happened?

“Sir?”

“Tell her to finish her duties,” I finally say. “And in the future, make sure she knocks,

“Yes, sir.”

I hear Sally’s footsteps fade away. I stand and walk to the window, looking out at the darkening grounds. this. Set clear boundaries. Remind me and her of our positions.

arrow, I’ll deal with

But as I turn away, my gaze catches on the laundry scattered across the floor. Among the dress shirts and ties lies a small t–shirt- Caesar’s

It must have been mixed in with my things.

I pick it up, frowning at the cartoon dingsaur on the front. So small in my hands. Before I realize what I’m doing, I fold it carefully and set it on my dresser.

My phone buzzes with a text from Dr. Maxwell’s office, reminding me of tomorrow’s appointment. I ignore it, walking to my closet instead.

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Chapter 49

As I dress in sweatpants and a t–shirt, my mind keeps replaying the moment Celine sees me naked.

Not just her embarrassment–that would be easy to dismiss. No, it was the flicker of heat in her eyes before shame took over The way her breath caught. The slight parting of her lips.

She wanted me. For a heartbeat, maybe less.

And God help me, I want her too,

I grab my laptop, determined to lose myself in work until exhaustion claims me. But instead of quarterly reports, I find myself typing a name into the search bar

“Caesar Brown”

I stare at the cursor, finger hovering over the enter key. If I press it, I’m acknowledging the question that’s been haunting me since 1 first saw those blue eyes–so like my own.

But that’s impossible. The doctors were clear.

Weren’t they? My finger presses down. The search begins.