Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire novel Chapter 25

Finn’s POV

I followed the servant’s footsteps, counting each turn until we

reached the massage room. The air shifted as we approached-

warmer, infused with lavender and eucalyptus oils.

“Here we are, Mr. Sterling,” the servant said, his voice tinged with

nervousness. “The massage room.”

“Leave me,” I commanded. Once the sound of his retreating footsteps

faded, I entered silently, using the subtle air currents to navigate the

space.

I found a chair against the wall and sat down, orienting myself by the

sounds in the room. The soft music playing from hidden speakers.

The gentle splashing of water as Lillian prepared her oils. And

Hannah’s voice–there was something about it that soothed the

constant rage burning inside me. Something I couldn’t explain and

didn’t want to acknowledge.

“You’re carrying a lot of tension,” Lillian was saying. Not just from

last night, I’d guess.”

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“It’s been an… intense few days,” Hannah replied carefully.

I listened as they talked, gathering information. The thought of her

curled up on the hard floor, keeping vigil like some misguided

guardian angel, twisted something in my chest.

*Mr. Sterling rarely arranges massages for others,” Lillian commented.

“You must be special to him.”

I clenched my jaw. Damn Lillian and her loose tongue. I’d requested

this massage purely out of practicality. If Hannah was stiff and sore,

she’d be less efficient. That was all.

“I doubt that,” Hannah replied, her voice soft and uncertain.

Good. At least she wasn’t deluding herself into thinking I cared.

Lillian’s hands continued working, and the room fell silent except for

the occasional instructions and soft background music. I was about to

announce my presence when a sound froze me in place.

Hannah let out a low, throaty moan as Lillian hit a tight spot in her

muscles. The sound shot straight through me, igniting a fire in my

veins. My body responded instantly, heat pooling low in my abdomen.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to regain control.

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I cleared my throat, announcing my presence before my body

betrayed me further.

The room went silent. I could practically feel the tension radiating

from the massage table.

“Who–who’s there?” Hannah’s voice was small, embarrassed.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said coldly, forcing indifference into my

tone. “I was rather enjoying the… performance.”

“Mr. Sterling,” Lillian said calmly, unsurprised. “I wasn’t aware you

were joining us.”

Of course she wasn’t surprised. Nothing surprised Lillian after twenty

years in this house.

“I asked the staff to bring me here,” I explained, keeping my voice

neutral. “I wanted to ensure Miss Lancaster wasn’t being… roughly

handled.”

I heard Hannah’s quick intake of breath. Good. Let her be

uncomfortable. It was better than the alternative–the hunger that

had surged through me at the sound of her pleasure.

“Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible.

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“You’re welcome,” I replied, unable to keep a hint of amusement from

my voice. “Please, continue. I’ll wait.”

The silence that followed was thick with tension.

“Perhaps we should reschedule,” Lillian suggested diplomatically.

“No need,” I said, enjoying Hannah’s discomfort perhaps more than I

should. “I’m sure Miss Lancaster is perfectly comfortable. Aren’t you,

Hannah?”

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice strained.

Just as Lillian resumed the massage, my phone rang. The distinctive

tone told me it was my grandmother. Perfect timing as always.

“Excuse me,” I said, standing up. “I need to take this. Grandmother is

summoning me.”

I left without waiting for a response, relieved to escape the lingering

effect of Hannah’s moan. Outside in the hallway, I answered the

phone.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” I said before Victoria could speak, then

hung up.

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I navigated the familiar path to her wing of the mansion, my fingers

trailing along the wall to count doorways. When I reached her sitting

room, the scent of her signature perfume–roses and sandalwood-

confirmed I was in the right place.

“Finn,” Victoria greeted me. “Sit down.”

I found my way to the chair across from hers, the one she always had

positioned for me.

“I have information about Peter Johnson,” she said without preamble.

My body tensed. “What about him?”

“He’s not dying,” Victoria stated flatly. “He’s a drug addict who’s been

stealing money from his father for years.”

The revelation didn’t surprise me.

“I tested Miss Lancaster,” Victoria continued. “Asked her if she would

have accepted our arrangement if not for Peter’s medical bills. She

admitted she wouldn’t.”

Something cold settled in my chest. So Hannah was here solely for

the money. The memory of her in my bed, whispering that she wanted

me, twisted into something ugly.

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“She’s being deceived,” Victoria said. “Johnson’s son is using her.”

“And you think I should care?” I asked coldly.

“No,” Victoria replied. “I think you shouldn’t tell her. She’ll leave if

she discovers the truth. And you need an heir.”

I laughed bitterly. “Of course. It’s always about the heir.”

“Don’t be emotional, Finn,” Victoria chided. “You know what’s at

stake.”

I stood abruptly. “We’re done here.”

I left Victoria’s room, my anger building with each step. In the

hallway, I heard Jack’s footsteps approaching.

“Mr. Sterling,” he said. “I have your cane, as requested.”

I held out my hand, feeling the weight of the cane as he placed it in

my palm. The material was high–quality carbon fiber, perfectly

balanced.

“What color is it?” I asked.

Jack hesitated. “It’s… well, sir…”

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“Just answer the question,” I snapped.

“It’s pink, sir,” Jack admitted reluctantly. “Pastel pink. As you

requested–matching Miss Lancaster’s dress color.”

Rage surged through me like wildfire. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, sir!” Jack’s voice rose in panic. “You specifically said to match

Miss Lancaster’s dress. It was pink, sir.”

With a roar of fury, I slammed the cane against the floor. The sound

echoed through the hallway, but the cane didn’t break—a testament

to its quality craftsmanship.

“Sir, I-” Jack began.

I cut him off, my anger suddenly shifting. The image of Hannah’s face

-how she’d feel if she knew I’d thrown away her childish color choice

-flashed in my mind.

“Pick it up,” I ordered.

“Sir?”

“Pick. It. Up.” I extended my hand, waiting.

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Jack placed the cane back in my palm, his hand trembling slightly.

I tapped it against the floor, testing its sound. The hollow click was crisp, distinct. Despite my hatred for what it represented, I couldn’t

deny it was a well–made tool.

“Take me to Miss Lancaster’s room,” I commanded.

If she wanted to play games, I’d show her who really made the rules

in this house.

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