Page 104 of The Billionaire's Redemption

It makes me feel funny inside, this warmth and tingling sensation. And then there is that contract. I can’t wrap my head around it. He’s going to give up three-quarters of his wealth to keep me with him?

I feel dazed as I take out a bunch of T-shirts and stuff them in the suitcase. It’s all there in the contract. His net wealth and what he’s giving me. Or at least, our child now. Being desired so much feels strange. The sensation makes me nervous. Part of me doesn’t want to believe that my brother cheated him, but then what do I even know of Lucas?

If I put my brother and this man side-by-side, Ethan has protected me, cared for me, valued my opinion and presence. My brother has never done any of those things.

I idly fold my jeans before putting them inside the suitcase, listening to the distant wail of sirens somewhere on the streets below.

A year. I don’t know what will happen in this year, but anticipation fills me. My life is changing, and while I’m nervous, the idea of living with Ethan isn’t all that bad. My heart flutters inside my chest. I made this decision with my baby in mind, but these past two weeks have given me a new perspective.

The hurt over what he did five years ago still lingers, but that anger is beginning to fizzle away. Maybe it’s the knowledge that he got me a ring. I don’t want the ring, but knowing he did care lessens the pain and anger. Knowing he made a mistake and came back makes my heart ache for a different reason. I am no longer the same girl I was back then, and he’s no longer the same man. Yet I like these versions of ourselves. I can meet him on equal ground, on equal footing. I can look him in the eye and speak with confidence.

I don’t want his money.

My hands hesitate, lingering in midair as I reach for my undergarments. I stare blindly at the scraps of clothing.

I don’t want his money, but I want Ethan.

I want to be loved the way he claims to love me. I want to give him a chance to prove how he truly feels.

He got that contract made before he knew about the child. He says he’s going to let me go if things don’t work between us. He’s making all the concessions.

I can meet him midway.

I want to meet him midway.

“What do you want to do with these?” Ethan holds up a couple of envelopes. “There’s no return address on them and no sender information. They’re all addressed to you.”

I walk over and realize that there are 4 to 5 similar envelopes. I check them. “There’s no stamp on them either. Somebody put them in the mailbox themselves.”

I tear open one of them. “We do get some pamphlets delivered this way. But so many at the same time? Even for a month, that’s too much.”

“They can’t be pamphlets. They are addressed to you.” Ethan opens the other envelope. He’s faster than me, and he takes out a piece of paper. Something else falls out of the envelope as well. He picks it up, staring at it. “Is this a parrot feather?”

The other envelope I was opening contains a similar feather. Only this one is stained with red paint. There’s another note attached to it.

‘Whore. Remember TeeTee? Should I pluck out your eyes, too?’

I stumble back, my blood running cold, the contents of the letter dropping from my hands.

“Natalie!” Ethan grabs me before I fall. “What’s?—?”

I snatch the letter he’s just opened.

‘Rip off your legs. One by one. Watch you squawk and scream.’

“What is this?” Ethan takes the paper from me. His grip on me tightens when he reads the words. Without uttering a singleword, he picks up the other note from the ground and reads it. “Who is TeeTee?”

I swallow, struggling to speak, feeling the room close in around me. “A—She was a parrot I rescued. Lucas—Lucas came back from college, and he was mad that I didn’t clean his room. He-he killed her.”

That’s the only way I know how to put it. I don’t want to remember what he put my precious bird through. Or how I screamed and cried, and how my mother told me to get over it and apologize to him for not cleaning his room.

It was a memory I buried a long time ago.

Ethan reaches for the other envelopes, and I stop him, my voice shaking. “No. Please, don’t. I don’t want to see what’s in there.”

His voice is gentle. “I won’t show you. But I have to see.”

I rushed out of the room, unable to bear it.