Chapter 9 – A Billionaire’s Request

The silence inside the executive suite was thick, like the pause between lightning and thunder. Elena stood by the window, her back straight but her hands tense at her sides. She hadn't expected him to say that—"Stay for dinner." Those words didn't belong in her world.

She slowly turned to face Damon Sterling, unsure if he was joking or just being kind. But the look in his eyes was serious. He wasn't smiling. He meant it.

"Dinner?" she repeated, as though maybe she hadn't heard him right.

"Yes," he replied, stepping closer. "Just dinner. Nothing more."

"I can't," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I have to go home. My little sister is waiting for me."

He didn't argue. Instead, he nodded. "Lily, right?"

Elena blinked. "How do you know her name?"

"You mentioned her once, when we spoke outside the staff office. I remembered."

She hadn't thought he was even listening that day. Most people never did.

"That's kind of you," she said carefully, "but I really do need to get home. She doesn't like being alone for too long."

He looked down for a moment, then back up at her. "I understand. But before you go… thank you. For helping me tonight, and for being honest with me."

Elena didn't know what to say. No one ever thanked her. People only noticed when she messed up.

"I'm just doing my job," she replied.

"No," he said, taking another step closer. "You go beyond that every single day. And people like you deserve to be seen."

Her throat tightened. She wasn't used to praise. Definitely not from someone like him.

"I should go," she whispered, breaking the eye contact.

He nodded again, not stopping her. As she walked to the door, she heard him say, "Elena… if you ever need anything—anything at all—just ask."

She didn't look back. She couldn't. If she did, she might cry.

—

By the time she got home, Lily had fallen asleep on the couch. Her schoolbooks were scattered around her, and the remains of a simple dinner sat half-eaten on the table. Elena smiled sadly and walked over to tuck her in.

Their apartment was small. Too small for two people. But it was home. It was all they had.

She changed into her worn nightdress, made a cup of tea, and sat at the table with her phone. She scrolled through missed messages—nothing important. Then one came in.

Unknown Number:

Did you get home safely? — D.

Her breath caught.

She stared at the message for a long time, heart racing. Should she respond? Should she ignore it?

In the end, she replied:

Yes. Thank you.

And though no other message came, she slept with a faint smile on her lips.