The Billionaire I Kept

"Tired?"

Henry Windsor's husky voice, still thick with lingering heat, brushed against her ear like velvet.

Sophia Brown barely managed to lift her eyelashes. Her auburn hair, disheveled like rumpled silk, spread across the silk pillowcase, a few strands clinging to the sweat-dampened curve of her neck.

As Henry's palm pressed against her waist, she couldn't help but arch her neck, revealing the graceful line of her jaw, a soft sigh escaping her throat.

"Let's take a break," she murmured, her voice equally hoarse. Her fingertips traced lightly across Henry's chest, where red marks from her earlier loss of control still lingered. "If we keep this up, I won't be able to walk tomorrow."

Henry chuckled low, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair, his gaze settling on her flushed earlobe with playful mischief. "Who was it that was breathlessly begging me not to stop just now? And here you are, already surrendering."

Sophia shot him a glare, though her cheeks burned hotter.

After maintaining this arrangement for two years, she should have been used to his stamina, yet he still managed to leave her completely undone every time.

Henry looked down at her, the light from above casting shadows across his already sharp features, making him look like a sculptor's most prized creation.

Just as she was about to retort, her phone shrieked from the nightstand, the bright display showing "Husband" – like a bucket of ice water thrown in her face, instantly shattering the intimate atmosphere.

Henry's fingers stilled, the smile fading from his eyes as his voice dropped. "Is this why you wanted to end things tonight?"

"Not end – stop this arrangement," Sophia corrected, sitting up to silence the call, but Henry caught her wrist gently.

He didn't apply pressure, just enough warmth to make her notice the complex emotions swirling in his eyes – more complicated than usual, something she couldn't quite read.

Before she could pull away, Henry had already swiped to answer.

Oliver Miller's impatient voice immediately filled the room. "Sophia, where the hell are you? Grandfather's still waiting, what are you stalling for?"

A softer female voice quickly chimed in from the background – Clara Garcia. "Oliver, don't be so harsh. Maybe Sophia just hit traffic."

After a pause, she continued sweetly, "Sophia, Oliver's grandfather wants to talk with you. If you're free, you should come home soon – we've all been waiting for you all evening."

Her tone was soft as cotton, but with a needle hidden inside. That last sentence was a blatant reminder that she and Oliver were currently in what used to be Sophia's marital home.

Two years later, and Clara's tactics were still this pathetic.

On Sophia and Oliver's wedding day, Clara had convinced Oliver to take her abroad. They'd been gone for two years, indulging themselves while completely ignoring that Oliver's grandfather Gavin Miller had been hospitalized from the stress, and the Miller family had become the laughingstock of high society.

For Sophia, this marriage was a joke. If not for Gavin, she would never want anything to do with Oliver again.

Sophia's fingertips went cold, but her voice remained steady. "Oliver, two years ago I waited for you at our wedding until midnight. What I got instead was news that you'd taken Clara abroad. Funny how you didn't worry about whether I could handle the wait then."

"Sophia!" Oliver's voice exploded. "I don't have time for your petty grievances! Get home now – Grandfather can't handle waiting much longer!"

Sophia frowned, her attention shifting entirely to Gavin's health. She didn't notice that Henry had released her wrist, his fingertips now resting gently on her back in a comforting gesture.

Gavin's health had been deteriorating lately. She couldn't let the old man suffer any more stress – even if it meant facing Oliver and Clara, she had to go.

"I understand. I'll be right there," she replied.

The moment she spoke, she felt warm breath against her neck – Henry had leaned down, his lips barely grazing her ear as he whispered hotly, "Tell him you're not going."

Sophia stiffened, spinning around to warn him with her eyes.

But it was too late.

Oliver's voice shot up an octave, cutting through the speaker. "Whose voice was that just now? Sophia! Is there a man with you?"

"You heard wrong." Sophia immediately hung up, switching her phone to silent and tossing it aside, her chest tight with frustration.

She wasn't afraid of Oliver knowing about Henry – he had no right to control her.

But she couldn't ignore Gavin. When the Brown family had used her as a pawn, Gavin had been the one to give her the warmth of family again.

If Gavin's health wasn't deteriorating so rapidly, he wouldn't have urgently called Oliver back.

She turned to face Henry. He was leaning against the headboard, the sheet fallen to his waist, revealing his defined abs. The playful look was gone from his eyes, replaced by an intense stare.

Sophia took a deep breath, straddling his lap and placing her fingers lightly on his throat, her tone carrying helpless reproach. "You did that on purpose?"

Henry's gaze darkened. His voice was low and rough. "Whether I did it on purpose or not – don't you already know?"

She fell silent for a moment, then said softly, "You crossed a line. We..."

Henry didn't want to hear the rest. He pulled her down, capturing her lips with his, as if trying to stop her from saying anything more heartless.

Sophia sighed inwardly.

Fine. One last time.

Meanwhile, Oliver stared at his disconnected phone, his face thunderous.

Clara sat beside him, offering a glass of water with gentle concern. "Oliver, don't overthink it. Maybe it was just a waiter or driver? It's so late – it can't be easy for Sophia, a woman alone out there."

"Not easy?" Oliver slammed the glass down, water splashing everywhere. "If she really had it hard, she wouldn't still be out this late! I heard that voice clearly – it was a man!"

He stood up, pacing back and forth, the fury in his chest burning hotter. "If she dares betray me, I'll never forgive her!"

Oliver forced down the growing sense of dread in his gut.

Back in the hotel room, the lingering warmth of their passion still hung in the air.

Sophia lay against Henry's chest, her finger tracing patterns on his skin, her voice tinged with exhaustion. "I have to go. Gavin is waiting for me."

Henry didn't try to stop her. He simply rose in silence, lifting her in his arms with gentle authority, carrying her toward the bathroom.

This routine had been repeated for two years, as practiced as a ritual.

Henry bathed Sophia tenderly, wrapped her in a plush towel, and carried her back to bed before seeing to himself.

But when he emerged, he found Sophia holding out a bank card.

"This is where we end things. This card is your compensation."