Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire novel Chapter 50

Wandering Petals Beneath Crysta

Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire

Chapter 50

Hannah’s POV

My heart nearly stopped. Just as I was facing Emily and Jennifer’s mockery, the entire room suddenly fell silent, all attention drawn to a commotion at the

entrance.

I turned to look, and there he stood. Finn Sterling.

He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, his tall figure commanding attention among the crowd. Though dark sunglasses hid his eyes, I would recognize that chiseled jaw and stern expression anywhere.

Olivia’s attitude underwent a complete transformation. The woman who had been condescending to me moments ago now rushed toward Finn like an eager puppy: “Mr. Sterling! I had no idea you would grace our little charity auction with your presence! What an honor!”

Finn didn’t even slow his pace or acknowledge her enthusiasm. He walked straight through the crowd as if Olivia didn’t exist. I watched her smile freeze on her face, embarrassment leaving her nowhere to hide.

Instinctively, I wanted to avoid being seen by Finn. Edward and I quietly retreated to a corner of the room as I watched Finn make his way to a seating area on the opposite side of the hall. He sat down gracefully, his back perfectly straight, emanating an unapproachable aura. Even in this social setting, he remained isolated, keeping his distance from the world around him.

Finn’s POV

I sat in the corner of Grant’s overpriced ballroom, observing the charity auction through dark sunglasses. I kept the glasses on–they provided a barrier between me and the prying eyes of New York’s elite.

The clink of poker chips from Hawkins’s game, the nurmur of conversations, the occasional false laugh–the cacophony washed over me like a familiar

blanket.

I’d positioned myself strategically, far enough from the crowd to avoid small talk, but surrounded by enough noise to feel comfortable. Years in the underground fighting circuits had conditioned me to find safety in chaos. Silence made me uneasy; it was always in the quiet moments that attacks came.

‘He just likes to feel the sounds around him,” I heard Hawkins tell someone who must have been staring at me. “Trust me, now is not the time to disturb

him.”

I smirked slightly. Hawkins understood my habits well–how I preferred the background noise, how I functioned best in environments that would overwhelm

others.

That’s why he always ensured things stayed lively whenever I was around, keeping his poker game loud enough with chips clacking and cards shuttling. A decent sidekick, if I had to evaluate him. Useful enough to keep around, smart enough to fear me appropriately.

Nearby, a group of women were gossiping, their voices carrying just enough for me to catch fragments.

“Is she really coming?” one asked, her voice high–pitched and grating.

Absolutely. I just saw her name on the guest list. God, I need to see what she looks like now

Hawkins’s voice cut in, curiosity evident “Who are you talking about?”

Olivia Grant’s perfume–too strong, too sweet signaled her approach before she spoke. Hannah Lancaster, duhing. The only survivor of the Lancaster inruly

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that went bankrupt three years ago. And she had arrived.”

Lancaster. The name triggered something in my mind, a fleeting memory I couldn’t quite grasp. I sat up straighter, my attention sharpening.

‘Lancaster? Hawkins sounded impressed. “One of the oldest families on the East Coast?”

‘Once upon a time, Olivia replied, malicious pleasure dripping from every word. “Now there’s just one fallen heiress left, teaching at some special education center. Pitiful, isn’t it?”

A strange tension built in my shoulders. Something about this conversation felt personal, though I couldn’t place why.

“There she is,” someone whispered, followed by a sudden hush in the room.

I remained perfectly still, my eyes behind dark lenses fixing on a point across the room. A young woman sat there, her posture defiant despite the obvious humiliation being heaped upon her.

Hannah Lancaster–the woman currently living in my home as my supposed wife. Despite my suspicions about her gold–digging intentions, there was something intriguing about her. The way she carried herself with dignity even as whispers surrounded her. The way she’d look at me each morning with those earnest eyes, pretending to care.

I’d caught myself observing her more than necessary these past days, watching for the mask to slip. It hadn’t yet, and her consistent warmth was becoming… unsettling. Annoying, even. No one maintains such a convincing act without slipping. Yet somehow, she did.

“Poor girl,” an elderly woman commented loudly. “From the clouds to the dust.”

Hawkins approached me, his cologne announcing his presence. He leaned down close to my ear. “That’s the Lancaster girl? She looks decent enough.

My lips curved into a cold smile. “A woman without backbone,” I said, watching as she simply sat there absorbing the whispers and mockery. The Lancaster girl didn’t even attempt to confront those gossiping about her, didn’t throw a drink in Olivia’s face or storm out with dignity.

Instead, she was just taking it, chin up but essentially passive. Pathetic. In my world, you either fight back or remove yourself from the situation–standing

there like a martyr only invites more abuse. If she lacked the power to silence them, she should at least have the self–respect to walk away.

Probably looking for a new meal ticket,” Hawkins continued. “Some people at these auctions are just looking to showcase themselves.”

“You think she’s a gold digger?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Women like that only care about their sugar daddy’s bank account, not their age or appearance.”

Something about Hawkins’s assessment irritated me profoundly. By Hawkins‘ definition, wasn’t I essentially this Lancaster woman’s sugar daddy. ? Our arrangement was financial at its core–my family’s money for her services. I turned toward him slowly. “Your head seems quite firmly attached to your neck.

Hawkins.”

1 felt the immediate change in Hawkins’s body temperature, saw the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Fear has a distinct look when it’s genuine,

1. TI. Il bid on that Monet as your birthday gift. You know I’ve always appreciated:

I was just complimenting you, don’t be nervous. I cut him off, allowing my lips to curve upward. The effect was precisely what I intended – Hawkius practically ran back to his poker game.

The auctioneer announced the iminent start of proceedings. Around me, chairs scraped against the Door as people took their seats. I remained where f

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was, my gaze fixed on the Lancaster woman.

For a moment, I had the strangest sensation that I should know more about this Hannah. That her name should mean something significant to me. But the feeling passed, leaving only a hollow irritation in its wake.

I adjusted my sunglasses and settled deeper into the sofa. Let the auction begin. Perhaps something interesting would finally happen in this tedious evening.

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