The Billionaire's Discarded Heiress: Crawling Back to Her

Eliana

The freezing rain outside the luxury shopping center pounded against the massive glass panels.

I didn't have a coat. I didn't have a bag. All I had was my phone clutched in my trembling hand and the few dollars left in my digital account. I just needed gauze. I needed extra-strength painkillers. I needed to stop the bleeding before I collapsed on the floor.

I turned the corner too quickly, my foot slipping slightly on the floor.

Thud.

I collided directly with a solid, broad chest. Two powerful, steady hands caught me by the upper arms, holding me upright with immense care.

"I’m so sorry," I gasped out, my voice cracking as I fought for breath, desperately trying to pull away out of sheer panic. "I’m so sorry, I didn't see you, I"

"Steady, child.”

I forced my eyes up. The man holding me was older, perhaps in his late fifties, dressed in a charcoal suit that screamed old money and absolute authority.

He didn't let go. Instead, his gaze froze on the right side of my neck, where my soaked sweater had stretched down, exposing my collarbone.

"Sir?" I whispered. "Please, I need to get to the chemist..."

The man didn't seem to hear me. His fingers tightened on my arms.

"The birthmark on your neck... how did you get it?"

I blinked through my tears, entirely confused. "What?"

"The crescent-shaped mark," he demanded.

"Right below your ear. How long has it been there?"

"I... I was born with it," I stammered.

"Please, sir….I…”

“What's your name, dear?"

"Eliana," I breathed, barely conscious.

"My daughter... my daughter had that exact mark. The identical shape.”

"I have to go," I whispered, panic rising again. I couldn't deal with a stranger's delusion right now. I was bleeding out.

"Please," the man said, his voice instantly turning from a command to a desperate plea. "Are you in a hurry? Can we talk outside for just a moment? I am not going to hurt you. I swear it on my life."

He didn't wait for me to answer. He kept a supportive arm firmly around my waist, absorbing most of my weight as he guided me toward the private, VIP exit of the shopping center. The security guards at the doors didn't look at us; they bowed deeply as we passed.

We stepped into the covered, private driveway.

"I know this is incredibly rude, and I promise I have a valid reason," the man said, turning me gently to face him.

Before I could protest, He waved his fingers through my damp hair, brushing a stray lock behind my ear. It felt like a paternal gesture, something I hadn't experienced in a lifetime. But as his hand pulled away, I noticed his fingers subtly retain a few strands of my hair that had caught in his signet ring.

He didn't hide it. He turned slightly toward a towering man dressed in a black suit standing precisely two steps behind him.

"See that you run it right away. Direct priority to the lab."

"Yes, Mr. Rekho," the guard responded instantly, bowing his head.

"Please, can we sit in the car?" the older man Rekho asked, turning back to me, his eyes searching my face with a terrifying intensity. "You are pale, Eliana. You are shivering."

"I shouldn't..." I began, turning my head toward the driveway.

And then, I gasped.

Standing in the center of the VIP lane was a vehicle that didn't look real. It was a sleek, midnight-black Macgrovani hyper-luxury sedan, custom-built, its carbon-fiber body gleaming under the security lights. A coach-built masterpiece worth about 500 million dollars. There were only three in existence globally.

What the hell? Who the hell was this man?

Before my brain could process the sheer absurdity of the wealth standing before me, my legs gave out completely.

"Eliana!" Rekho caught me before I hit the pavement.

Without a word, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms, ignoring the fact that my wet, blood-stained sweater was ruining his multi-thousand-dollar suit. He carried me directly into the back seat of the Macgrovani.

The moment the tension left my body, the dam broke.

A sob tore from my throat, violent and uncontrollable. I curled into myself on the wide leather seat, burying my face in my hands. The betrayal, the slaps from Carmen, Miguel's cold eyes, Henrietta’s bloody arm, the fact that I had given up a piece of my own body for a man who viewed me as a spare part it all crashed down on me at once.

Rekho simply pulled a thick, cashmere blanket over my shoulders and drew me into his side. He wrapped a strong, protective arm around me, letting me cry into his chest.

Somehow, unreasonably, I felt entirely safe in his arms.

"Let it out, child," Rekho murmured, his hand gently resting on my shoulder, deliberately avoiding my stomach as if he already knew I was fragile. "You're safe now. No one is going to touch you."

I told him about Miguel.

I must have drifted into a state of semi-consciousness, because the next thing I knew, the car had stopped. The door opened, and Rekho helped me step out.

I looked up, and my breath caught again.Miguel’s mansion look like a guest house. It was a massive, historic villa surrounded by high stone walls, towering gates, and immaculate gardens.

"Come," Rekho said softly, keeping his arm firmly around my waist as he led me through the grand double doors into a sprawling, marble-floored foyer.

A young man was sitting on a sofa in the center of the living room.

He was devastatingly handsome the kind of sharp, aristocratic beauty that looked straight out of a high-fashion luxury magazine. He had thick, dark hair brushed back, a sharp jawline covered in a shadow of stubble, and intense, grey eyes that were currently glued to a sleek silver laptop resting on his lap. He wore a crisp white shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest.

Rekho stopped abruptly in his tracks, his brow furrowing as he looked at the young man.

"Aren't you sick?" Rekho asked, his tone a mix of stern authority and genuine fatherly concern. "Why are you working?"

"I’m fine, father.”

His voice had a flawless british accent. He stood up, and I realized he was incredibly tall easily six foot three, with a powerful, athletic build that commanded the entire room.

Rekho let out a soft sigh, turning slightly to me. "I’m so sorry, dear. That is Craig, my son."

Craig finally turned his grey eyes toward us. He looked at his father, then his gaze slid over to me. His expression didn't change. It remained completely aloof, cold, and entirely unbothered. He looked at my soaked sweater, my pale face, and my blood-stained hands as if I were a piece of stray luggage his father had picked up on the road.

He completely ignored me. He didn't say hello. He didn't ask who I was.

"The security detail said you went to the commercial center," Craig said to his father, his British accent clipping the words perfectly. "I didn't realize you were bringing home company."

"We will discuss it later," Rekho said firmly. He turned to a head maid who had quickly appeared in the hall. "Martha, get her settled into the master suite immediately. Run a warm bath, prepare the finest linen, and have the doctor come up to check her side. She is injured."

"Right away, sir," Martha said, bowing.

"No, please," I protested weakly, taking a step back from Rekho. "I can't stay here. I don't even know you. I just need a cab to a motel"

"Eliana," Rekho said, his voice incredibly soft but unyielding. "Look at me. You are bleeding through your clothes. You have nowhere to go. Let my staff care for you tonight. You don't have to worry about anything. I promise."

"Thank you," I whispered.

.

The maid brought me to a room that was larger than my entire apartment. A massive king-sized bed with silk sheets sat in the center. A fire was already crackling in the hearth. Martha helped me into the adjoining marble bathroom, where a deep, steaming tub filled with lavender oils was waiting.

"I can handle it from here, thank you.”

She smiled warmly and left a pair of silk pajamas on the counter before stepping out.

I cleaned myself as best as I could without submerging the wound, the warm water soothing my aching muscles. After drying off, I wrapped a fresh, clean bandage from the medical kit Martha had left, then pulled on the oversized silk pajamas. They were incredibly soft against my bruised skin.

I stepped back into the bedroom, intending to climb into the bed and disappear into sleep.

Instead, I froze.

Craig was standing by the French doors leading to the balcony. He had a glass of amber liquid in his hand, swirling it slowly. The firelight cast long, sharp shadows across his aristocratic face.

My heart skipped a beat, a sudden rush of heat hitting my cheeks. "What... what are you doing in here?"

"My father told me everything.” I swallowed hard, clutching the silk fabric of my shirt tightly over my chest. "He shouldn't have. It's none of your business."

“Are you okay?”

"I don't need your pity, Craig," I said, my voice shaking as he got closer. I backed up until the back of my legs hit the edge of the mattress.

He didn't stop until he was standing directly in front of me. The scent of his expensive woodsmoke cologne and high-end liquor filled my senses, making my head spin. Up close, he was even more intimidating. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with a strange, simmering anger.

"I don't pity you, Eliana," Craig whispered, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned down slightly, bringing his face inches from mine."I find it utterly pathetic that a man was stupid enough to let a woman like you go."

"You don't know anything about my husband," I whispered, my voice barely a breath.

Bang.

Craig stepped back instantly, his mask of cold indifference slipping back over his face in a split second.

Rekho stood in the doorway. He was panting, his silver hair slightly disheveled, his hands trembling violently as he held a piece of white paper.

"Father?" Craig asked.

"The lab just called back," Rekho choked out, his voice breaking completely as he looked into my eyes. "The DNA test... it's a ninety-nine point nine percent match."

"You're my daughter," he cried. "Eliana... you're my long-lost daughter."