Page 13 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

Leaving my shoes off to avoid making any noise, I pad down the steps to the lower level and gape at my surroundings. Dark exposed beams crisscross the tall ceiling and draw the eye to the many trophies that line the walls in the foyer.

In the sitting room, a huge stone fireplace reaches all the way to the ceiling, and a portrait of a man who looks like a much-older Garrett stands sentry over the mantel.

Behind me, someone clears their throat, and I whip around to find an old man in slacks and a sweater standing by the front door.

I swallow. I know what he must be thinking. But who is this man? Is this his house?

“Uh, good morning,” I rasp, wishing I’d had the chance to grab a drink of water.

“Good morning.” The man’s tone is stiff and formal — not exactly friendly.

“Are you —”

“My name is Henry, miss. I work for the Von Hortons.”

“Oh.” My eyebrows go up. I’ve never known anyone who had their own live-in butler . . . or whatever he is.

“May I offer you some breakfast, miss?”

“No, thank you,” I say, flushing from the roots of my hair all the way down to my toes. I’m sure Henry can guess why I’m here. I certainly look like someone about to take the walk of shame. Technically, I suppose that’s what this is. “I-I should be going.”

“Then allow me to pull the car around, miss. Our chauffeur can take you anywhere you’d like to go.”

“Uh . . . no thanks,” I say. “I already called a car.”

It feels extremely rude to refuse, but I can’t bring myself to use Garrett’s chauffeur — not when I’m sneaking out of his house while he’s still sleeping.

“Then perhaps I could offer you a jacket?” Henry’s gaze travels pointedly to the short hem of my dress, and I shift my weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“A jacket would, uh, be nice,” I mumble.

I know the butler’s motives aren’t purely altruistic — he doesn’t want the neighbors to see me sneaking out of Garrett’s place looking like a prostitute — but it snowed a few inches during the night, and I’m not at all dressed for the weather.

Henry produces a long wool coat, and I gratefully slip it on. It’s a man’s jacket and reaches all the way to my knees, but it’s extremely warm and covers all the scandalous bits.

As I pull the front closed, Garrett’s scent wraps around me, and I feel an unexpected pang of remorse. I’m not proud to be sneaking out like this, but it’s what I have to do.

My phone dings to tell me my car has arrived, and I’m grateful that I don’t have to prolong this awkward interaction with Henry. I thank him for the coat and flash a quick smile before rushing out into the snow.

GARRETT

For the first time in a long time, I don’t wake up with that familiar pit in my stomach. For the first time in forever, my life doesn’t feel like one long death march to the day I take over the Von Horton oil empire. For the first time in a long time, my life has meaning.

Her.

The sheets are cold on my side of the bed. I reach over to pull Ava closer, but my hand just brushes soft Egyptian cotton.

I sit bolt upright in bed, looking around the room. The sun is shining, and there’s fresh snow on my balcony, but Ava is nowhere in sight.

I jump out of bed and grab my jeans off the floor, not bothering to hunt for my underwear. Ava’s dress and shoes are missing, which means —

Swearing to myself, I throw open my bedroom door and thunder down the staircase. I storm into the kitchen and look around, but there’s nobody here. Dragging a frustrated hand through my hair, I stride back down the hallway — looking for something I know is already long gone.

“Where is she?” I snarl as soon as Henry emerges from the dining room.

“To whom are you referring, sir?”

It should be noted that, over the years, I’ve come to appreciate Henry’s aloofness. He’s cleaned up more of my messes than I can count, and the man has the uncanny ability to pretend that I’m not a man-whore.

---