Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire novel Chapter 84

Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire

Chapter 84

Finn’s POV

I sat alone on the luxurious leather sofa of my private yacht, surrounded by darkness. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting faint silver streaks across the polished floor. I clenched my jaw, feeling the tension in my face harden into an impenetrable mask. I pressed my lit cigar against an unmelted ice cube on the floor, watching as it hissed and died with a faint wisp of smoke.

My eyes stared coldly at the distant horizon. The world looked exactly as bleak as I remembered.

energy. Blood spattered across the makeshift ring

The underground fighting club in lower Manhattan pulsed with savas unches at each other. The concrete walls

as two men, faces already mangled beyond recognition, threw despel

amplified every grunt, every bone–crushing impact.

The cacophony used to comfort me. For as long as I could remember, I needed noise–violent, chaotic, overwhelming noise -to drown out the screams in my head long enough to sleep. The louder the better. The more primal the sounds, the quicker I could sink into unconsciousness. It was why Brian always made sure I had access to these places–underground fights, wild parties, anything with enough sensory overload to short–circuit my brain.

From the stands, wealthy spectators in designer suits and diamond watches waved stacks of cash, shouting obscenities at

the fighters.

“Come on, you worthless piece of shit!” A red–faced man in his fifties screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. “My grandmother hits harder than that!”

Another spectator, young enough to be fresh out of his Ivy League education, slammed his fist against the railing. “This is pathetic! It’s like watching high schoolers fight over a girl. Give them something to really fight for!”

A thin man in a white coat approached the ring, nodding at the fight organizer. In his hand, he held two syringes filled

with amber liquid.

“No, please,” begged fighter number three, a muscular man with terror in his eyes as the needle approached. “I don’t want that stuff. I can fight better without-”

His pleas were cut short as two security guards pinned his arms, allowing the man in the white coat to inject the substance into his neck. Seconds later, his eyes dilated and a mindless aggression replaced his fear.

In the VIP section overlooking the ring, I watched the spectacle with detached interest. The familiar sounds of violence echoed in my mind, triggering memories I’d rather forget.

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Chapter 84

But tonight, something was different. The noise wasn’t working anymore. Instead of drowning out my thoughts, it amplified them. Each punch, each scream, each betting call felt like sandpaper against my nerves.

As fighter number three launched himself at his opponent with inhuman strength, my thoughts drifted to Hannah’s words

from days ago.

“Finn, you don’t actually like this terrible world you’ve created for yourself,” she had said, her eyes filled with an honesty that

had cut through my defenses.

I remembered how her hand had felt on my arm, warm and sure. “Let me help you try. Please?”

I blinked, forcing the memory away. The sound of bone cracking against bone brought me back to the present.

“Brutal, man,” Brian Hawkins said beside me, wincing as fighter number three landed a particularly vicious blow. “The way it’s going, number three’s either walking out with a win or leaving in an ambulance tonight.”

I kept my expression impassive. “He won’t die. When humans are pushed to the edge, survival instinct makes them stronger than they ever thought possible.”

Below, the beaten fighter collapsed to the concrete, blood pooling beneath his head. The crowd erupted as fighter number three stood victorious, though he swayed dangerously, his eyes unfocused from whatever had been injected into him.

Brian whooped, checking his betting slip. “I just made a fortune! At least five figures on that one fight!” He turned to me with an adrenaline–fueled grin. “We should celebrate. I know this place in Tribeca where-”

“Not interested,” I cut him off, already standing. “I’m heading back.”

Brian’s smile faltered. “It’s barely midnight. You’ve been leaving early a lot lately.”

I didn’t bother responding. I turned and walked away, ignoring the disappointed look on his face and the sounds of celebration behind me. He wouldn’t understand that the noise wasn’t helping anymore. Nothing was.

At three in the morning, I pulled my Porsche into the garage of my private residence. The house was silent and dark, just as I preferred it.

The silence that used to torment me now felt… not exactly comforting, but tolerable. It had started during those days with Hannah. In her quiet presence, I’d found myself drifting off without the usual soundtrack of chaos. She would sit in the armchair near the window, reading or working on her lesson plans, and somehow the soft rustling of pages or the gentle tap of her pencil had been enough to lull me to sleep.

I approached my suite, I noticed a cream–colored gift box sitting on the floor in front of my door. I paused, my body

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Chapter 84

JM

instantly alert. Old habits died hard–unexpected packages still triggered my survival instincts.

I nudged the box open with my foot, prepared for anything. Inside lay a silver banking card and an elegant glass jar

containing what appeared to be some kind of homemade aromatherapy mixture. A small note card sat beside them.

I picked up the card, Hannah’s handwriting immediately recognizable.

Finn,

I’m sorry for everything that happened. I won’t disturb your life anymore. The card contains payment for the damage to your car that day. The aromatherapy blend is something I made myself–lavender and chamomile to help with sleep.

I hope you find what you’re looking for. Sweet dreams.

-Hannah

I read the note twice, my mouth going dry at the words “won’t disturb your life anymore.” I turned the card over, searching for more, but there was nothing else.

I picked up the aromatherapy jar, examining the carefully mixed herbs and oils. My thumb traced over the handwritten label: “For peaceful sleep.”

I twisted off the lid to release the contents. The subtle blend of lavender and chamomile wafted up, unexpectedly familiar.

It took me a moment to place it–this wasn’t just any scent. It was similar to the light fragrance that would linger in the air when Hannah left a room, the same gentle notes I’d unconsciously breathed in. I’d never acknowledged it then, how that subtle scent had become synonymous with the rare moments of calm in my otherwise turbulent existence.

I set the jar down and picked up the banking card. She was paying me back. Drawing a clean line. Ending things properly.

I stared at the items for a long moment, my expression unreadable even to myself. The thought of returning to those sleepless nights, to the fights and parties and endless noise that no longer worked, settled in my chest like a stone.

Damn it.

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