Page 93 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

“It was always just us before,” I found myself saying, my voice quiet in the steam-filled air.

“Me and Mia against the world. When things went wrong, we only had each other.” I traced a pattern in the water.

“This time, when she needed help, I wasn’t alone.

You were there. James, William, everyone… I’ve never had that before.”

Matt’s arms tightened around me. “Get used to it, pet. You’re stuck with us now.”

“Yeah?” I tried for teasing, but it came out more vulnerable than intended.

“Yeah.” He turned my face toward his, kissing me softly. “Both of you.”

We stayed in the bath until the water started cooling. Matt helped me out, wrapping me in what had to be the softest towel in existence. As if on cue, there was a discreet knock at the suite’s door.

“That’ll be lunch,” Matt said, securing a towel around his waist. “And hopefully clothes.”

He returned moments later with several bags and what looked like enough food to feed a small army. “The kitchen’s sending up more in an hour,” he added at my raised eyebrow.

“Planning to fatten me up?” But I was already reaching for what looked like a gourmet burger, my stomach reminding me that protein bars and coffee weren’t a sustainable diet.

“Planning to take care of you.” Matt handed me soft sleep pants and a t-shirt. “Eat what you want, sleep as long as you need.”

We settled on the ridiculously large bed, surrounded by various dishes. I ate more than I thought possible, the food somehow both comforting and exquisite. Matt’s phone buzzed occasionally with updates about Mia, each one reassuring.

Eventually, even keeping my eyes open became too much effort. Matt cleared the bed while I fought a losing battle with consciousness.

“Sleep, pup.” His voice seemed to come from far away as he pulled me against his chest. “I’ve got you.”

For the first time in two days, I let myself fully relax, safe in Matt’s arms. My last coherent thought was how different everything was now, having someone to lean on when things got rough.

Then sleep claimed me, deep and dreamless.

T he hospital corridor smelled like industrial-strength disinfectant and bad coffee. Not exactly the aromatherapy package I’d choose. Three days since we’d found Mia, and the nurses had already learned to dodge my daily invasion of their territory.

I pushed open Mia’s door, armed with contraband Starbucks and a smile that only slightly resembled a grimace. “Your favorite dealer is here.”

Mia perked up in her hospital bed, looking better than yesterday—which, granted, wasn’t hard considering she’d looked like she’d gone ten rounds with a meat tenderizer. “Please tell me that’s a real coffee and not this hospital sludge.”

“Venti caramel macchiato, extra shot, extra sweet, just like your darling baby brother.” I handed it over with a flourish. “Though if James asks, I brought you hospital-approved green tea.”

“My hero.” She took a grateful sip, then narrowed her eyes. “Did Matt let you drive here?”

I snorted, settling into the chair beside her bed.

“Please. I had to promise my firstborn child just to get the keys to his precious car. Then Bruno and Tyrone insisted on playing chauffeur anyway.” I rolled my eyes.

“I swear, between Matt’s overprotectiveness and James’ security detail, I’m starting to feel like a state secret.

Though with significantly less nuclear codes and way better hair. ”

“Poor baby,” Mia cooed mockingly. “Such a hard life, being pampered by a hot billionaire.”

“How’s the food here? Still trying to poison you with mystery meat?”

She gestured to her untouched tray. “Want to find out?”

“I value my life too much, thanks.” I poked at what might have been meatloaf. “Though I hear James is having his personal chef prepare your meals once you’re home.”

“Home,” she echoed softly, and I caught the wonder in her voice.

“Yeah, well, beats our old apartment where the hot water worked maybe three days a year.” I kept my tone light, but I meant it. James’ mansion was exactly where Mia belonged—safe, protected, loved.

Mia laughed, wincing slightly. “Still hurts to laugh but worth it. So, how many times has Matt texted you since you left?”

I checked my phone. “Only seventeen. He’s showing remarkable restraint today.” The screen lit up. “Make that eighteen. Oh, and look who just sent a selfie from The Maxwell’s casino floor?”

“Finley?” Mia brightened. “How is he?”

“Living his best life as usual. Says he nearly crashed into another palm tree, but Ethan saved both the tree and his dignity.” I showed her the picture of Fin’s dramatic pout.

“He’s threatening to come visit, by the way.

I told him there’s no way in hell I’m letting him drive in LA traffic. The palm trees have suffered enough.”

“You’re terrible.” She swatted at me but laughed anyway. “Speaking of terrible, this Jell-O is an offense to desserts everywhere.”

“Want me to call James? I’m sure he can have Michelin-starred room service here within the hour to personally apologize for this culinary crime.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She pushed the tray away. “Though I wouldn’t say no to some real food when I get out of here.”

“Already handled. Scott’s arranging this whole welcome home feast thing. Apparently, the Maxwell brothers take their dinner parties very seriously.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Eric’s words were, and I quote, If the food doesn’t make you forget you were ever in this hospital, I’m disowning the chef .”

“They’re good people,” Mia said softly.

“Yeah.” I squeezed her hand. “They are.”

I checked my phone again. “Nineteen texts now. I think that’s a new record, even for?—”

The door burst open, and Matt filled the frame like some sort of billionaire-shaped storm cloud. “You haven’t replied to a single one!”

“I was admiring your dedication to filling up my inbox,” I deadpanned. “Though I particularly enjoyed the one about sending a search party if I didn’t respond in five minutes. Very dramatic. Almost as dramatic as certain casino owners I could name.”

Matt’s scowl deepened, but I caught the way his lips twitched. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet here you are, impossibly fond of me.”

Mia made a gagging noise. “Get a room, you two.”

“We have several,” Matt replied smoothly. “Penthouses, actually.”

I felt my face heat up. “And on that note, I think my sisterly duties call. Mia needs her rest, and you”—I pointed at Matt—”need to stop terrorizing the hospital staff with your brooding billionaire act. I saw three nurses practically dive into a supply closet when you walked past.”

“They were being efficient,” Matt defended.

“They were hiding,” I corrected. “Though I can’t blame them. Your resting murder face is particularly murderous today.”

Days passed in a blur of hospital routines and steady recovery until Mia was finally cleared for discharge. The Maxwell mansion would be her new home—a fresh start wrapped in luxury and protected by the most sophisticated security system money could buy.

That evening, the mansion’s grand living room had been transformed into something between a five-star restaurant and an exclusive club lounge. James had spared no expense celebrating Mia’s return, though I was learning that the Maxwells never did anything by halves.

The room buzzed with conversation and laughter.

James hadn’t left Mia’s side all evening, his protective stance softened by the gentle way he kept touching her—a hand at her waist, fingers brushing her arm, like he needed the constant reassurance she was really there.

His brothers, Scott and Eric, had taken over one corner of the room, turning it into an impromptu gourmet tasting station.

William lounged nearby with Savannah, both of them looking impossibly elegant as they sampled the endless parade of dishes.

“Try this,” Eric insisted, appearing at my elbow with a plate of something that smelled divine. “The chef’s signature dish.”

“If I eat any more, you’ll have to roll me back to Vegas,” I protested, but took a bite anyway. “Oh my God. Okay, Matt needs to poach this chef immediately.”

Scott materialized with champagne, his movie-star looks made even more dramatic by the crystal chandelier light. “Don’t even think about it. I already tried. James threatened to have me excommunicated from the family.”

“He did not,” Eric snorted, his half-Asian features dancing with amusement.

“Fine, he just gave me that patented Maxwell death stare.” Scott shuddered dramatically. “The one that makes mafia bosses look like kindergarten teachers.”

“The one that says I’m not angry, just disappointed, and by the way, I know where all the bodies are buried ?” I offered.

“Exactly!” Scott clinked his glass against mine. “I like this one, Matt. He gets it.”

Matt, who’d been hovering nearby like my own personal security detail all evening, actually cracked a smile.

Aria, James’ adorable daughter, bounced over. “Andy! Andy! Come see what Grandpa brought me from Japan!”

“Lead the way, princess.” I let her drag me toward a mountain of presents that would make Santa’s workshop look understocked. “Though I think your uncles might need to build you a new wing just to store everything.”

“Don’t give them ideas,” James called from where he stood with Mia. My sister looked happier than I’d seen her in years, despite the fading bruises. She belonged here, among these people who’d become more than just allies—they were family.

“Too late,” Eric chimed in, joining us by the present mountain. “I already have the contractors on speed dial.”

Aria beamed, pulling out what looked like an entire anime merchandise store worth of plushies. “Look! Uncle Eric helped Grandpa pick them all!”

“Of course he did,” William drawled. “Eric’s basically a kid in a designer suit.”

“Says the man who bought her an actual pony last Christmas,” Scott shot back.

“It was a show horse,” William defended, but his lips twitched.