Heaven or Hell: Loving My Twisted Billionaire novel Chapter 93

Hannah’s POV

Steam clung to my skin as I stepped out of the bathroom, droplets from my hair trickling down my neck and disappearing beneath the

collar of my oversized sleep shirt. The cool air of the suite’s living area raised goosebumps on my arms. My gaze fell on Finn, sprawled

across the sofa, his long legs stretched before him and his head tilted back against the cushions. His eyes were closed, chest rising and

falling with each breath.

Gone was the tailored suit from our charade earlier. Instead, he wore sweatpants and a plain t–shirt that somehow looked like they’d been

custom–made for him.

The memory of our performance flashed through my mind–the fake blood, my concerned expressions, the wide–eyed shock on William’s

face. We had manipulated an entire room of powerful people. My stomach tightened with an unfamiliar knot. Was this who I was

becoming? Someone who could lie so convincingly?

And yet… these carefully crafted deceptions felt necessary. In the world of the Sterlings, truth rarely won battles. William had already

decided Finn was guilty, incompetent, unworthy. What choice did we have but to create this theater? At least this way, no one actually got

hurt. If the alternative was Finn’s usual approach–violence, threats, real blood instead of fake–then perhaps our little drama was the

gentler path.

At the sound of my footsteps, Finn’s eyes snapped open–alert, focused–before sliding closed again. But the tension in his shoulders

remained, like a panther only pretending to relax.

“Why don’t you sleep in the bed?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice hushed in the quiet room.

“Not sleeping with you,” he replied without opening his eyes. “Don’t want you throwing up on me again.”

Heat crept up my neck as the memory of my hasty retreat to the toilet flashed through my mind. I twisted the damp towel in my hands.

“I meant you could go back to your room. Your own bed would be better than this sofa.”

His eyes flew open, fixing me with a stare that pinned me where I stood. “You kicking me out?” The question carried a knife’s edge

beneath its casual delivery.

My heart skipped. “No! That’s not what I meant.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I just thought you’d be more comfortable in your own

bed.

When nothing but silence answered me, I added, “I can take the sofa if you want the bed here.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in that familiar cold smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. His fingers drummed

against the sofa arm, an impatient rhythm. I sleep like this at parties all the time.”

I hesitated, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Then I moved to the dresser and retrieved a blanket from the bottom drawer.

The soft fabric felt warm in my hands as I carried it back to where Finn lay on the sofa at the far end of the bedroom.

My steps slowed as I approached him. Carefully, I draped the blanket over his body, leaning close enough that his scent enveloped me- lavender and chamomile from the aromatherapy I’d given him weeks ago, mingled with something uniquely him. The perpetual crease

between his brows had softened, his face almost peaceful without its usual mask of disdain.

“Goodnight, Finn,” I whispered.

No response came except the gradual steadying of his breathing.

My eyes traced the outline of his form in the darkness as I settled under my own covers. Knowing Finn was just across the room made the

shadows in the corners less threatening. My eyes drifted closed.

Morning light streamed through the curtains when I opened my eyes. A wave of queasiness immediately rolled through my stomach. I

pressed my palm against my abdomen, taking slow, measured breaths until the sensation receded to a manageable discomfort.

Curious about Finn, I lifted my head slightly from the pillow to glimpse the sofa area. He remained asleep, one arm thrown over his face, chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep slumber. The sight froze me in place. How different he looked without the hardness

that normally defined his features. Almost… vulnerable.

My mind drifted to the past nights. At the hospital, he’d slept soundly beside my bed. Last night, here on the sofa. It seemed his condition

might be improving. Perhaps the medications were finally working, or maybe the exhaustion had simply caught up with him. Whatever the

reason, seeing him actually sleep felt like witnessing something rare.

I retrieved my tablet, opening the electronic contract Victoria had given me. Her words echoed in my head–this agreement had cost the

Sterling family over a hundred million dollars and served as damning evidence of Finn’s supposed incompetence.

My eyes strained as I scrolled through highlighted clauses dense with legal jargon. The terms were undeniably skewed against Sterling

Enterprises, granting excessive rights to the other party. My brow furrowed. This didn’t align with the Finn I knew–calculating,

suspicious, sharp–eyed Finn who questioned every motive.

Fatigue from the pregnancy weighed on my eyelids as I murmured one particularly convoluted clause aloud, trying to make sense of it.

Mid–sentence, I stopped. Read it again. Something wasn’t right.

The words… they contained homophonic traps. Terms that sounded identical when spoken but had entirely different meanings when

written. My pulse quickened as I scanned more clauses, finding the same pattern repeated throughout.

A terrible thought struck me. Was this contract deliberately designed to deceive someone who couldn’t see the written words? Someone

like Finn?

No, that couldn’t be right. The dates didn’t align. This contract was signed three years ago, but Finn had only lost his sight three months

ago. This wasn’t about his blindness at all.

My fingers trembled slightly as a more disturbing possibility took shape in my mind. These homophonic tricks would only work on

someone who relied on hearing the contract read aloud rather than reading it themselves–even when they could physically see the page.

My gaze shifted to where Finn slept on the sofa just a few feet away.

Victoria’s stories about his past replayed in my mind–raised by criminals, surviving in fighting rings rather than classrooms. My breath

caught as the pieces clicked together.

What if the people Finn trusted–teachers, lawyers, even family–had been deceiving him from the beginning? What if he had a reading

disability that made him vulnerable to this kind of deception? A disability he’d hidden beneath layers of aggression and control?

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My fingers gripped the tablet so tightly my knuckles whitened. The thought of anyone exploiting him that way made something fierce and

protective rise in my chest. But then reality crashed down. How could I possibly tell him? This proud, suspicious man who interpreted

every offered hand as a potential weapon?

The soft sounds of movement from the sofa sent my heart racing. I quickly closed the contract file, my discovery a dangerous weight

pressing against my ribs.