Married to a Billionaire Stranger

Chapter 14: The House in the Pines

Ella had never been this far from the city since marrying Xavier.

The drive north took three hours. The roads narrowed, skyscrapers melted into mountains, and finally, they turned down a winding gravel path lined with tall pines and silence.

At the end of it stood the house.

No — not a house. A manor.

Stone and wood, aged with time. Not flashy like the penthouse. This place was older. Sturdier. Like it remembered everything.

"You grew up here?" she asked softly, stepping out of the car.

Xavier nodded, hands in his coat pockets. "Off and on. My mother hated the woods, but my brother loved them. He said it was the only place Dad couldn't hear us fight."

The honesty in his voice surprised her.

So did the pain beneath it.

Ella followed him up the stone steps without asking more.

---

The inside smelled of cedar and history.

High ceilings. Leather-bound books. A fireplace that looked like it had seen a hundred winters. Dust had been cleared — clearly prepped for their arrival — but it still felt like they were entering someone else's memory.

Ella wandered slowly through the rooms, fingertips brushing along shelves and photo frames.

Xavier let her.

In the hallway near the stairs, she stopped.

There was a black-and-white photograph on the wall — two boys in matching suits. One of them was unmistakably Xavier. The other, slightly smaller, had softer eyes.

"Is that your brother?" she asked quietly.

He stepped beside her, looked at the photo for a long time.

"Yeah. Julian."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen. He was eleven. That was the last time we came here together."

She turned toward him.

But Xavier was already walking away.

---

That night, the air turned crisp.

They sat by the fireplace in the great room, flames casting warm shadows over the walls. Xavier poured them each a glass of dark red wine.

"Why did you bring me here?" Ella asked.

He stared into the fire a moment, then said, "Because I wanted to know what it felt like to be with you somewhere that didn't belong to our names or our contract."

She tilted her head. "And how does it feel?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then:

"Terrifying."

Ella sipped her wine. "That's not a bad place to start."

They sat in silence, but it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was the kind that stretched between two people beginning to understand each other — not perfectly, but honestly.

---

Later that night, unable to sleep, Ella padded quietly into the study.

She didn't expect Xavier to be there.

But he was — seated on the floor in front of the fireplace, a faded notebook open in his lap, brows furrowed.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

He didn't startle.

"Julian's journal."

Her breath caught.

"I didn't know you kept it."

"I didn't," he said. "Not until last year. My mother had it locked away. Said it would only make things harder."

He looked up at her.

"But harder than forgetting him... that's impossible."

Ella moved closer, kneeling beside him.

"Do you want to read something to me?"

He hesitated.

Then turned the page and read aloud:

> "Xavier thinks no one sees how much pressure Dad puts on him. But I do. He doesn't breathe unless he's earned it. I wish I could make him laugh more. I wish he'd let me."

Xavier's voice cracked.

Ella reached for his hand.

And he didn't pull away.

---

"I wasn't a good brother," he whispered.

"You were a boy," she said gently. "Trying to survive in a house full of expectations."

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, she saw it again — that boy, thirteen years old, forced to become a man too soon.

"I hate who I had to become," he admitted.

"You don't have to stay him," she replied.

---

They didn't sleep in separate rooms that night.

And they didn't sleep right away.

When he touched her — slowly, like he was asking — she answered without words.

Not because the contract said she had to.

Not because the firelight made it feel inevitable.

But because for once, they weren't pretending.

Their mouths met like a question, then an answer, then something deeper. He held her like she was breakable. She kissed him like he was human — flawed, grieving, angry, tender.

It was slow.

It was raw.

And when he whispered her name — not out of habit, but like it meant something — she whispered his back.

Not Mr. King.

Not "my husband."

Just Xavier.

And in that moment, the space between obligation and desire disappeared.

---

In the early morning, sunlight barely touching the edge of the bed, Xavier lay awake.

Ella slept beside him, one hand curled loosely against his chest.

He stared at the ceiling, unsure of how the world felt so changed.

He had planned a quiet weekend.

But now?

Now she knew things about him no one else had seen.

And he wasn't sure if that made him safer.

Or more exposed than ever.

---

Downstairs, the front door opened.

Ava's voice echoed faintly: "Hello?"

Xavier slid out of bed, pulling on a shirt and moving to meet her.

"Ava?" he asked.

She looked breathless. And serious.

"There's a problem."

His chest tightened. "What kind?"

She handed him her phone.

Xavier read the headline and felt his blood run cold:

> "Billionaire Xavier King Spotted with Wife in Secluded Upstate Getaway — But Is It Love or Just PR?"

There were photos.

Of the house.

Of the car.

Of Ella, laughing near the woods.

The article went on to speculate about the contract, the heir rumors, and a mysterious source claiming the marriage was "nothing more than image rehab."

His jaw clenched.

"They followed us."

Ava nodded. "And someone's leaking from the inside."

"Who?"

"We don't know yet. But we're looking."

He handed the phone back.

Then looked up toward the stairs — where Ella still slept, unaware of the storm waiting to follow them home.

He thought of her voice on that stage.

Her laughter by the fire.

Her warmth in his bed.

And for the first time in years, Xavier felt fear.

Not of scandal.

But of losing something that had finally started to feel real.