Page 76 of The Billionaire's Accidental Legacy

They are not your family.

The only family you ever had died.

You are nothing but tragedy and poisoned blood.

And so he would leave Jessie to her isolation.

No matter how hurt she looked.

Because he was protecting her.

Whether she understood that or not.

She crept out into the main part of the house late that night.

She was starving.

It was true; her room contained everything she could possibly want.

There was a computer, and there were books. There were soft, silken pajamas, and she had put them on, then climbed into bed and read for several hours.

It was strange, to be so well taken care of. She had been grappling with that feeling ever since she had won the estate. Ever since she’d had enough. And hadn’t had to work to keep herself comfortable.

But this was different still. A level of luxury she had yet to enjoy.

But now she was starving.

She walked back across the bridge, down the stairs, into the main part of the house.

The kitchen was a couple of levels higher than the living area, and she went inside and admired the beauty of it. More plants everywhere, and concrete countertops gave it a natural cave-like feeling.

But mostly, she was headed right for the overlarge fridge. She opened it up and saw platters of prepared foods, and took one out eagerly, uncovering it and taking some fruit off of the board while she continued to look inside.

“I see that you found what you require.”

She turned around and saw him standing there. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants, low on his hips, and no shirt. There was sweat beaded there on his muscles and she thought he might’ve been working out.

Hunger was what kept her up. And missing him. She wondered what kept him up.

“I skipped dinner. And I don’t skip meals. Not right now. Not ever.”

“When you were with your father did he make sure you had plenty to eat?”

She shrugged. “I suppose so.”

Her gaze kept going back to his chest as if it was a magnet. And she tried to cast her mind back to living at her father’s compound. That was not a sexy thought. Not in the least.

“You don’t sound definitive.”

“It wasn’t about us. It was, at best, about my father and his wants and needs. He had a private chef that provided him with whatever he wanted. His favorites.”

She rooted around the fridge, looking for something specific; she just wasn’t sure what. She only knew she would know when she saw it. “I remember when Maren and I escaped and we had our first win. We went and bought a whole bunch of things from the grocery store, and tasted them all. And we went out to a restaurant and we ordered everything. Trying to figure out what our favorite foods are.”

“And what did you decide?”

“I love breakfast sandwiches. Eggs and bacon and cheese. On a croissant. Maren prefers cereal. I love pasta of all kinds. Though specifically ravioli. I think it’s delicious. I love Caesar salad.”

“I think you might find one of those in there. And some pasta.”

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