Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire novel Chapter 81

Chapter 81

Hannah’s POV

Finn stood up abruptly, his shoulders rigid with tension. The cold mask I’d grown familiar with slipped over his features,

hardening his expression into something dangerous

“Waiting for you people to worry about me?” His voice cut through the air like a blade. “If that were the case, I would have

started over a hundred times already!”

I flinched at his tone but held my ground. “A person can’t claim something won’t work if they haven’t even tried,” I insisted, my heart hammering against my ribs. “How can you be so sure?”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you implying? That I’m afraid to face reality?”

“Yes.” The word left my mouth before I could reconsider. “You are afraid.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Finn took a step toward me, and I instinctively backed up until my legs hit the edge of the bed.

“You think I’m hiding?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

I swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “You’re the one hiding in your comfort zone, refusing to step out. But the truth is, Finn, you don’t actually like this terrible world you’ve created for yourself.”

His jaw tightened, and I could see anger building behind his eyes. My palms began to sweat, but something pushed me forward. Maybe it was everything Victoria had shared about his past, or maybe it was my own stubborn refusal to let him wallow in darkness when there might be another way.

Before I could second–guess myself, I stepped closer to him. “Finn,” I said, my voice softening. “Let me help you try. Please? You’re always saying you’re bored–think of it as me keeping you entertained. Just a way to pass the time…”

In a heartbeat, his hands were on my shoulders, pushing me down onto the bed. He loomed over me, his face inches from

mine.

“Pass the time?” he repeated, his breath warm against my face. “I can think of more enjoyable ways to be… exhausted.

Care to try?”

My breath caught in my throat. Despite everything, my traitorous body responded to his proximity with a rush of heat. But I saw the deflection for what it was–another way to avoid facing what really mattered.

He must have seen something in my expression because he suddenly pulled back, a cold smile twisting his lips.

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“Hannah Lancaster,” he said with a mocking chuckle, “you really don’t have the guts for this game, do you?”

Before I could respond, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone with my racing heart and jumbled thoughts.

The next morning, I lay in the hospital bed, attempting to peel an apple I’d found on my bedside tray. My hands were clumsy, and the skin came off in uneven chunks rather than the elegant spiral I’d been aiming for. The mangled fruit

looked like it had been attacked rather than prepared.

Amy sat beside me, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she stared out the window. Her face was drawn with worry, and she seemed lost in thought, not even noticing my struggle with the fruit.

“I think I’m making it worse,” I muttered, looking at the sad apple in my hands.

Amy startled, her attention finally shifting to me. Her eyes widened when she saw the massacred apple.

“Oh, Hannah,” she said, reaching over to take the knife from my hands. “Let me do that for you.”

Her fingers worked deftly, creating the perfect spiral I’d failed to achieve. Despite the skill of her movements, I could see tension in her shoulders, a nervousness that wasn’t typical of her usual cheerful demeanor.

“I still can’t believe Martin would do something so terrible,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He was always so kind, always asking about my family…”

I set the mutilated apple aside, reaching for her hand instead. “I know. It’s hard to understand.”

Edward, who had been standing by the window, turned to face us. His weathered face looked even more lined with worry.

“Hannah,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, “are you sure you want to go back there? To fight with Sterling women who will stop at nothing to get what they want?”

I sighed, thinking of my failed attempt to reach Finn the previous night. I need this job, Edward. And I promised Victoria

I would try.”

“And your first attempt didn’t go so well,” he pointed out.

I couldn’t argue with that. Finn had dismissed me completely, treating my concerns like the naive ramblings of a child. But giving up wasn’t an option–not anymore.

My phone buzzed with a text from Victoria: [Sophia and her assistant still haven’t returned. William is threatening to donate Finn’s mother’s inheritance to charity foundations if they don’t show up soon. Finn is at the yacht club at New York Harbor. Slip number 42.]

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I stood up, pocketing my phone. “I have to go take care of something.”

Amy looked concerned. “You just got here.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I promised, squeezing her hand gently. “I just need to… handle something first.”

I knew what Edward was thinking as 1 gathered my things–that I was getting in too deep, that the Sterling family’s

problems would consume me if I let them.

The water taxi bobbed gently as it approached the massive yacht. Music and laughter drifted across the water, along with the distinctive pop of champagne corks. Men and women in various states of undress lounged on the deck, drinks in hand,

carefree and oblivious to the world beyond their floating paradise.

“Are you sure this is the right yacht, miss?” the driver asked, eyeing the party with skepticism.

“Slip forty–two,” I confirmed, my stomach knotting with anxiety.

As we drew closer, a security guard on the yacht noticed us and moved to the railing. “Private party,” he called down.

“Move along.”

I stood up, steadying myself against the railing of the water taxi. “I’m looking for Finn Sterling.”

The guard’s expression shifted slightly. “And you are?”

“His personal assistant,” I replied, trying to project confidence I didn’t feel. Being identified as Finn’s wife wasn’t a good option when dealing with outsiders–it would raise too many questions and attract unwanted attention.

Victoria and I had carefully discussed this. We needed a reasonable explanation for my constant presence in Finn’s life, something that wouldn’t trigger rumors or speculation. His personal assistant was the perfect cover–professional enough to justify my being anywhere he was, yet unremarkable enough that people wouldn’t look too closely at our relationship.

The guard smirked. “He doesn’t have an assistant on board today. Now move along before-”

“What’s going on?” A familiar voice interrupted the exchange.

Brian Hawkins appeared at the railing, drink in hand, designer sunglasses perched on his nose despite the overcast day.

“Brian!” I called up. “I need to speak with Finn. It’s important.”

Brian peered down at me, recognition dawning on his face. “Hannah? What are you doing here? Finn’s sleeping in the rest

area.

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The security guard stepped between us. “Sir, she claims to be Mr. Sterling’s assistant.

“I am his assistant,” I insisted, then added impulsively, “and I’m carrying a child. You probably don’t want me having an accident out here, do you?”

Brian’s mouth fell open in shock. The security guard’s demeanor changed immediately, and he waved to his colleagues.

“Help her aboard, now!”

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