Mr Billionaire's Heart

Stories

### Chapter 1: Chapter 1 LIFE

Eternity pov

The faint buzz of the city outside filtered through my half-cracked window, mixing with the muffled honking of a taxi somewhere far below. My bed, warm and cocoon-like, held me hostage in a haze of comfort. I buried my face into the pillow, inhaling the soft scent of fabric softener and the faint trace of last night’s lavender lotion. For a moment, I considered pulling the covers over my head and pretending the morning didn’t exist.

But the sun had other plans. Bold, golden rays pushed through the blinds like nosy intruders, landing directly across my eyelids. With a groggy groan, I surrendered.

“Ughhh…” The noise that left my throat was halfway between a yawn and a complaint.

My eyes blinked open, adjusting slowly, like a cat forced from its nap. I stretched one arm out, then the other, my fingers brushing the cool air. The stretch grew into a dramatic performance—arms over my head, back arching, toes curling against the cold floorboards. If anyone were watching, they might think I was auditioning for a ballerina role, except with messy bedhead and a T-shirt two sizes too big.

At last, I swung my legs off the bed, wincing at the chill of the hardwood beneath my bare feet. My toes curled instinctively as if they could retreat back to warmth. “No turning back now,” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes until little bursts of color danced across my vision.

Living alone in New York—my very own corner of the Big Apple—still felt surreal sometimes. Twenty-one years old, out of my parents’ house, steering my life exactly the way I wanted. Sure, rent was a pain, and instant meals sometimes doubled as dinner, but freedom tasted better than any five-star meal.

Eternity apartment

My bedroom was small, but it was mine, and that was what mattered. The bed dominated the space, piled high with mismatched pillows and my favorite chunky blanket. I liked it that way—it felt like the heart of my tiny sanctuary. A single window spilled sunlight across the cream-colored walls, sometimes turning them a soft peach in the early morning.

Above the closet was my not-so-secret “secret stash”—a collection of shoeboxes stuffed with old journals, ticket stubs, and trinkets I couldn’t bring myself to throw away. Under the bed, organized chaos reigned: spare clothes, storage bins, and at least three pairs of sneakers I swore I’d wear again someday.

The room reflected me in little ways. The black shoe organizer by the door looked sharp against the pale walls, while a chic mirror hung above the dainty vanity table I barely used. My tall white dresser bulged with folded shirts and thrifted finds, and my nightstand carried the essentials—alarm clock, rosy lamp, and the blue Bluetooth speaker that usually played late-night playlists when sleep wouldn’t come.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home.

After a quick scroll through social media, I sighed. Everyone else seemed to be out there traveling, posing with friends, documenting their perfect lives. Meanwhile, I was just… me. But I reminded myself, not for the first time: even ordinary days can become extraordinary if you chase them with passion.

Morning Routine

Dragging myself up, I padded toward the bathroom, taking care of the essentials. A splash of cold water across my face jolted me awake, followed by brushing my teeth with my favorite minty toothpaste that always stung just enough. I threw on my comfy uniform: sweatshirt and shorts—low effort, high comfort.

But before anything else, food. My stomach growled in protest as I opened the fridge and rummaged for breakfast, already picturing the crunch of cereal or the buttery warmth of toast.

That’s when the door creaked open.

“Surprise, Eter!”

I nearly dropped the milk carton. Olivia’s voice—bright, teasing, and so unmistakably her—rang out like a bell through my apartment.

“Olli?!” My grin spread faster than I could stop it. I clapped a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sudden squeal of joy. “You sneaky minx, you’re back!”

She appeared in the doorway, grinning ear to ear, her travel bag dangling from her shoulder. The sight of her standing there—my best friend since elementary school, my partner-in-crime—flooded me with an instant rush of warmth.

“You didn’t think I’d stay in London forever, did you?” she teased, kicking the door shut behind her.

Before I could answer, we were hugging, wrapped up in that rare kind of embrace only true friends can give—the kind that squeezes the air out of you and somehow fills you at the same time.

“God, I missed you,” I said, pulling back only to give her a playful swat on the arm. “You could’ve warned me though. I look like a half-dead raccoon.”

“You always look like a raccoon,” she shot back with a smirk, her British trip clearly not dulling her sass.

Olivia’s Tea

We flopped onto the couch like no time had passed. Olivia launched into stories about her trip, her voice animated as she painted vivid pictures of chaotic airports and even more chaotic meetings with her branch manager.

“Seriously,” she said, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “The man has the patience of a toddler and the charm of a wet sponge.”

I snorted into my cereal bowl. “Did you Hulk out on him?”

“Almost,” she admitted, flexing her fingers like claws. “But I restrained myself. Barely.”

“Good. The last thing London needs is an Olivia-shaped hole in Big Ben.”

She laughed, shaking her head, before her gaze landed on the framed photo I kept on the side table.

“Peek-a-boo,” she said, lifting it. “What do we have here?”

It was us—two scrappy kids with missing teeth and too-big smiles, arms linked like we’d already known we were in it for life. My chest tightened with nostalgia.

“You kept this?” she asked softly.

“Of course I did. You’re basically family.”

Her grin returned, brighter than ever. “Then it deserves prime display.” She placed it carefully back, giving me a wink. “But enough sappy stuff. Starbucks?”

I laughed, grabbing my jacket. “Vanilla Bean Frappuccino has my name on it.”

Starbucks

The Eternity Outfit and hairstyle

The streets of New York hummed with energy as we walked out, Olivia flapping her arms dramatically like she was about to take flight. “Let’s hit the road, hag!” she shouted, drawing a couple of strange looks from passersby.

“That’s Ms. Hag to you,” I shot back, shoving her shoulder.

The café was buzzing when we arrived, the rich aroma of roasted coffee beans wrapping around us like a blanket. My stomach growled again, this time loud enough for Olivia to hear.

“Sit. I’ll order,” she said, already fishing out her card.

I chose a cozy corner table by the window, watching her charm the barista with her effortless smile. By the time she returned, drinks in hand, we were already laughing again—old jokes, new gossip, and the kind of banter that could only come from years of friendship.

But all too soon, her phone buzzed, slicing through the moment.

“Work emergency,” she muttered, frowning.

“Ugh. Don’t they know you’re off the clock?” I asked, sympathetic.

“Apparently not.” She sighed, grabbing her jacket. “Come on, I’ll drop you off before I head in.”

The Bike

Back at my place, we hugged goodbye, promising more adventures soon. As her car pulled away, I found myself restless. On impulse, I pulled out my phone and rented a bicycle from a local app.

Minutes later, I was flying down the streets, the city blurring around me. The wind tangled my hair, cool against my flushed cheeks, and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on pavement filled my ears. There was nothing like this—the freedom, the speed, the escape from everything else.

I pedaled harder, grinning like a kid, weaving past traffic. Cars crawled along, honking in frustration, while I soared past, light and unbothered. This—this was power.

Until it wasn’t.

Up ahead, a looming wall of concrete appeared faster than I expected. My chest tightened. My mouth dropped open, but no sound came out—just a surge of fear. My hands gripped the handlebars so tightly my knuckles turned white.

And then—impact never came.

Instead, strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me backward. The bike screeched against the ground, skidding to a halt as I stumbled into those arms, breathless and shaken.

I gasped, heart hammering. The world tilted, my legs shaky beneath me.

For a long moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Only the rough pavement under me and the lingering feel of those hands around me seemed real.

Whatever just happened—it wasn’t part of an ordinary day anymore.

Hello my beautiful readers how is this first chapter please tell through comment and vote.

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### Chapter 2: Chapter 2 MEETING WITH MR JERK

Eternity POV

The city was alive, pulsing like a restless heartbeat. Skyscrapers glistened with the morning sun, each window catching the light and flinging it back at me in sharp flashes. The air carried that New York cocktail: a mix of roasted coffee beans wafting out of a corner café, pretzel carts steaming near the sidewalks, and faint car exhaust that clung stubbornly no matter where you walked. And there I was, riding my rented bicycle like some protagonist in an indie film, hair tugged back by the wind, heart soaring higher than the pigeons fluttering overhead.

For me, biking wasn’t just about getting from point A to point B. It was freedom bottled into a frame of steel and wheels. It was the chance to slip away from the crush of subway commuters and the screech of taxis. Each push of the pedal was like telling the world: I don’t need you to drive me around. I’ve got this.

I tilted my head slightly, feeling the rush of air tickle my cheeks. The hum of the tires against the pavement became a rhythm, a private beat I kept time with. My body swayed naturally with each turn, my arms guiding the handlebars as if they had a mind of their own. I grinned. For a moment, I felt untouchable.

Cars honked, drivers shouted, someone whistled at a friend across the street. But none of it mattered to me. In my little biking bubble, I was the main character. I leaned forward, pumping harder, just to feel that delicious burn in my calves.

And then—like fate mocking me—my eyes snagged on it. Parked half a block ahead, gleaming like a dark diamond, was a Lexus LC. My heart practically leapt out of my chest. The curves, the lines, the pure arrogance of its design—it was the kind of car that didn’t just sit on the street. It owned it.

I slowed my pedaling just a fraction, unable to stop my eyes from drinking it in. “Well, hello there, beautiful,” I whispered under my breath, probably sounding like a creep but too smitten to care. The sunlight slid across the hood, highlighting every angle like it was posing for me. I wasn’t even ashamed of the way my mouth watered over machinery. Cars were my guilty pleasure, and this one? This one was art.

“Focus, Eternity,” I scolded myself, but it was too late. My attention was already split—half on the bike path, half on the Lexus. That’s when disaster began to creep up on me, sly as a cat.

The sidewalk narrowed, forcing me closer to the curb. I tried to steady myself, but the front wheel wobbled. A taxi swerved past with a rude honk, jolting me further off balance. My pulse spiked. My hands tightened on the handlebars, but my gaze was still snagged on the shiny black Lexus like a moth to flame.

And then—it happened. The world tilted in one horrifying, slow-motion second. The wheel caught on something—maybe a crack in the pavement, maybe fate’s cruel little joke—and the bike jerked sideways. My stomach dropped.

“No, no, no—oh, hell no!” I shouted, but gravity didn’t care. My front tire skidded, and the ground rushed up to meet me. I braced myself for impact, eyes squeezing shut, ready for the kind of pain that makes you rethink every life choice.

But instead of crashing onto concrete, something else caught me.

Strong arms.

I gasped as my momentum was stolen, redirected, controlled. My body was lifted, spun, and before I could even process what had happened, the bike clattered uselessly to the side. I was no longer falling—I was held.

And when I dared to open my eyes… that’s when I saw him.

For a few seconds, my brain completely malfunctioned. The sensation of being caught mid-air wasn’t something I had a file for. All I could register was warmth. Hard muscle pressed against me, steady and unyielding. The faintest whiff of expensive cologne tickled my nose—sharp cedar, mixed with something darker, like smoke curling out of a velvet box.

I blinked up, expecting to see some middle-aged Good Samaritan jogger, but what I got instead was… well.

Let’s just say the universe has a sick sense of humor.

He wasn’t just attractive. He was devastating.

His hair was dark and thick, the kind of tousled that didn’t come from bad sleep but from the kind of genes that magazines paid to photograph. Strands fell over his forehead like they had been perfectly positioned by fate. His eyes—God help me—his eyes were a crystalline, piercing blue that seemed to slice right through me. They weren’t soft. No, they were cold and assessing, like the Atlantic on a stormy day, yet layered with flickers I couldn’t pin down. His jawline could’ve cut glass, his lips were pressed into a firm line, and every angle of his face screamed power.

My heart stuttered, tripped, then tried to pretend it hadn’t just done that.

And yet, before I could even think about saying “thank you” like a normal, civilized human being, he ruined it.

“What the heck, girl?!” His voice was a whipcrack—low, commanding, filled with a heat that didn’t match his cool eyes. “If you can’t handle a bicycle, why risk my car?”

Excuse me? My brain scrambled. This man had literally just caught me mid-fall—saving me from turning into street art—and the first thing out of his mouth was… a complaint? About his precious car?

I rolled my eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of my skull. “Wow. Okay. First of all, you’re welcome for giving you the chance to play hero. Second, your car’s fine. Third, I bike better than half the mess on these streets. So, pardon me for existing.”

His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking dangerously as if I had personally offended his ancestors. “Better than half the mess? You nearly collided with me.”

“Oh please.” I threw up my hands dramatically, still half-balanced in his hold. “Fear not, sir. I will steer clear of your royal chariot. Wouldn’t want to leave a peasant’s fingerprint on its glossy exterior.”

His brows snapped together. “This isn’t a joke.”

I smirked, tilting my head. “Everything’s a joke if you deliver it right.”

That earned me the kind of glare that could probably stop traffic. He released me with a sharp movement, and I stumbled a step back, cheeks burning—not from embarrassment, of course. Nope. Totally just… the adrenaline.

I brushed imaginary dust off my shorts. “Wow, charming. Rescue a girl, then scold her. Do you hand out business cards with that, or is this a one-time service?”

He ignored me, pulling his sleeve back to inspect his wrist. That’s when I noticed the angry scrape bleeding across his skin. Guilt punched me in the gut. My little accident hadn’t just scared me—it had injured him.

“Wait—you’re bleeding.”

“Don’t,” he snapped instantly, his voice sharp enough to draw blood on its own.

I froze. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t act concerned.” His gaze flicked to me, colder than before. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

Okay. Rude. I bit back the immediate retort on my tongue, exhaling instead. “Excuse me, sir, but last I checked, refusing first aid with a bloody hand isn’t exactly… logical. Unless macho pride has a medical license I don’t know about?”

For the briefest second, his lips twitched—like he almost wanted to smile. But then it vanished, replaced by that impenetrable glare.

I crossed my arms. “Look. You caught me, saved me from face-planting into the sidewalk. The least I can do is help you patch up. Otherwise, karma’s going to eat me alive, and frankly, she’s scarier than you.”