That does it. Her spoon stops again.
I glanced up, my heart sinking at the blank look on her face. I was prepared for her sadness, disappointment, or even anger. Nothing could have prepared me for the complete lack of emotion in her eyes.
“I know this sounds like something I made up,” I said quickly, trying to somehow salvage the situation. “It could be a chapter in a badly written book or a scene in a bad movie, but it is true, and I'm so sorry I roped you into this.”
My apology stood between us like a forgotten song, unacknowledged by her. She sat there, still expressionless, still not saying a word.
“I know this is a lot,” I continued, my voice rougher now. “And I know I probably should’ve told you earlier, but I think we have something here”—I gesture vaguely between us—“and I didn't want to ruin that.”
She hummed softly, noncommittal, and took another bite. My stomach twisted the longer she went without saying. The silence wasn't like before, where I felt calm and at ease; now I was overly anxious and desperate for noise.
I shift in my seat. “Say something,” I blurted.
She didn’t look at me.
“Please,” I add, hating the edge of desperation creeping into my voice. “Anything. You can yell. Hit me. Tell me I’m insane. Just do something.”
She finally glances at me, spoon poised in midair. She sighed softly and set the bowl down on the table. Then she asked, completely straight-faced—
“Are you really a billionaire?”
9- Evania
I stared at him.
Not for drama—I just froze. My brain stalled between disbelief and reckless hope, and my body hadn’t moved on. Callahan sat beside me, impatience etched on his face, as if he hadn’t just dropped news that could upend everything I understood.
A billionaire.
His words echoed again, refusing to settle.
And the more he spoke, the more excited I became.
That realization made me clamp down hard on my reactions. Excitement was dangerous. Excitement led to mistakes, to telling on yourself, to letting dreams get too loud too fast. I’d learned that lesson early. Wanting too much only ever ended in disappointment.
So I swallowed it down.
I forced my face into a neutral expression, keeping my reactions minimal. If this was real and he was telling the truth, I wasn't going to ruin it by acting like a girl who'd spent too many nights with romance novels and cheap wine, imagining impossible lives.
Because that was felt. Impossible.
And yet, it was happening to me.
My chest buzzed with anticipation and suspicion; excitement gave way to confusion. Nothing about Callahan matched my expectations. He was handsome, but there were no bodyguardsat the door, no sleek black cars outside, no paparazzi waiting with cameras raised.
It was just him.
If he were a billionaire, where was the proof of it in the world around him?
Romance novels had taught me that wealth announced itself. That men like him couldn’t walk into places unnoticed, couldn’t exist quietly. They were followed, photographed, and whispered about. Their lives were public property.
Unless the books were lying.
Or he was.
I studied him again, slower this time, cataloging details as if I were building a case. His clothes were simple. Well-made, sure—but not flashy. No obvious designer logos. No jewelry that screamed that he was rich. His phone looked like everyone else’s phone. Aside from his otherworldly good looks, he looked ordinary.
He shifted in his seat, the longer I stared at him. "Say something," he blurted.
