Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire novel Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Hannah’s POV

I felt my heart squeeze painfully in my chest at his words. The casual

way he mentioned spending ten years in fighting pits, as if that was a

normal childhood experience instead of a horrific nightmare. What

struck me wasn’t anger at his dismissive tone, but a profound sadness

that washed over me in waves.

This man before me–with his perfect features and commanding

presence–should have grown up cherished and protected like I had

been. He should have had the chance to explore any interest that

caught his fancy, whether music or art or sports. Instead, he’d been

thrown into a world of violence and survival while other children

were taking piano lessons and playing in backyards.

“Do you like it?” I asked softly, the words slipping out before I could

stop them.

Finn’s brow furrowed. “What?”

I swallowed, but pressed on. “Do you like music? Is there any

instrument you might have wanted to learn, if things had been

different?”

Chapter 21

His face darkened with impatience. “What does it matter? I like it

fine. But after I came back, I was too busy learning how to run a damn

company. No one cared about childish hobbies or-”

“I do,” I said, reaching out and gently taking his hand in mine.

“What?” The word came out softer this time, tinged with confusion.

I stood up, still holding his hand, and tugged gently. “I said I care.

Besides, you’re not exactly managing the company right now anyway,

are you?” I began guiding him toward the piano, my steps measured

and careful. “Let’s try this.”

He resisted at first, but then allowed me to lead him to the piano

bench. I helped him sit down, positioning his hands over the keys.

“Here,” I said, showing him where to place his fingers for a simple C

scale. “Try this first.”

To my surprise, his fingers moved across the keys with surprising dexterity. After just one demonstration, he repeated the scale nearly perfectly. My breath caught in my throat–there was something so incongruous yet beautiful about watching those hands that had known so much violence create something so delicate.

“Now try this melody,” I said, playing a simple tune.

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What happened next left me speechless. Finn not only repeated the

melody, but elaborated on it, adding harmonies I hadn’t played. His

fingers danced across the keys with the confident touch of someone

who had played before.

“You’ve played piano,” I said, unable to keep the wonder from my

voice. “You’re not just learning–you’re remembering.”

A shadow passed over his face. “I don’t have many memories from

before I was five,” he said quietly. “Even if I did learn, it was beaten

out of me long ago.”

His words cut through me like ice. I imagined a small boy with tiny

hands reaching for piano keys, that memory lost in violence and

darkness. The thought made my eyes sting with unexpected tears,

which I quickly blinked away.

I played another, more complex piece, and watched in amazement as

he repeated about three–quarters of it after hearing it just once,

“You have an incredible ear,” I whispered. “You’re the most naturally

gifted student I’ve ever seen.”

I continued guiding his hands, showing him chord progressions and

helping him feel the different keys. My voice took on the same gentle,

encouraging tone I used with the special needs children at the center,

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Chapter 21

patient and warm.

“Feel how this key is slightly different from this one?” I guided his fingers between two black keys. “The space helps you orient yourself

without seeing the keyboard.”

His fingers were warm beneath mine, and I couldn’t help but notice

how they trembled slightly as they touched the keys. Not from

nervousness, but from something that looked almost like longing. A

strange protective feeling washed over me–I wanted to shelter this

moment, to create a safe space where he could explore this talent

without fear or judgment.

“You have a natural talent for this,” I said softly. “Most of my students

take weeks to develop the finger memory you’ve shown in minutes.”

Suddenly, Finn’s hands stilled on the keys. The moment of connection

shattered as he stood abruptly, jerking his hand away from mine.

“You really think I’m a child, don’t you?” His voice had that dangerous edge again, caught somewhere between annoyance and something I couldn’t quite identify.

I shook my head, meeting his gaze steadily even though he couldn’t

see it. “No. But before I leave, let me spoil you a little. Like you should

have been.”

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“We have more than two days,” I continued, trying to coax him back

to the piano. “Taking two days off from brooding won’t hurt your

reputation as the most terrifying man in New York—”

I didn’t get to finish my sentence. In one swift movement, Finn pulled

me against him, his arm snaking around my waist with startling

precision for a blind man. Before I could process what was happening,

his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding.

The kiss wasn’t gentle or tentative–it was hungry and fierce, full of

pent–up emotion. My head spun as his lips moved against mine, and I

found myself responding without thinking, my hands reaching up to

steady myself against his chest. My pulse thundered in my ears,

drowning out any rational thought. There was only this moment, his

touch, the warmth spreading through me like wildfire. It felt different

from our night together–less calculated, more raw and honest.

“Hannah? Is that you in here? I heard the piano and–Oh!”

We broke apart at Amy’s voice. I felt my face flame with

embarrassment as I turned to see her standing in the doorway, eyes

wide with shock. My lips tingled, and I fought the urge to touch them,

suddenly hyper–aware of how we must look–disheveled and caught in

an intimate moment.

I felt Finn’s body go rigid against mine. He turned toward Amy’s

voice, his expression murderous.

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Chapter 21

“Had enough of a show?” he snarled. “Get the hell out!”

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