Under His Billionaire Roof novel Chapter 27

Noah carried her upstairs.

She protested weakly, said she could walk, but he ignored her. Held her against his chest like she weighed nothing. Like he could keep her if he just didn't let go.

In his room, he laid her on the bed. Found a warm washcloth in the bathroom. Cleaned her gently, carefully. She watched him the whole time, eyes soft in the dim light.

When he finished, he climbed in beside her. Pulled the covers over both of them. She curled into his side immediately, head on his chest, leg thrown over his.

They didn't speak. Just breathed together. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her shoulder. Her hand rested over his heart.

"Tell me something," she said finally. Her voice was quiet. Tired.

"Like what?"

"Something real. Something you don't usually share."

He was silent for a long moment. Staring at the ceiling. Feeling the weight of her against him.

"My dad left when I was seven," he said. "Just packed a bag one day and walked out. Didn't say goodbye. Didn't explain. Just gone."

Her hand pressed firmer against his chest. Listening.

"My mom fell apart. Stopped working. Stopped taking care of us. Chloe was only three. I had to figure everything out. How to feed us. How to keep the lights on. How to make sure she didn't notice mom was barely functioning."

"Noah..."

"I was good at it. At fixing things. At solving problems. I taught myself to code because there was money in it. Started freelancing at fourteen. Lying about my age. By sixteen, I was paying the bills."

"That's too much for a kid."

"I didn't have a choice. If I didn't step up, we'd have lost everything." His voice stayed flat. Matter of fact. "When I was eighteen, I met someone who wanted to invest in my ideas. We built the company together. Made millions. I bought my mom a house. Set her up so she'd never have to worry again."

"But?"

"But I didn't know what to do with myself after that. I'd spent my whole life fixing problems. Providing. Keeping everything together. And suddenly there were no problems left to fix." He took a breath. "So I started creating them. Parties. Women. Chaos. Anything to feel like I had something to do. Something to solve."

She shifted, propping herself up to look at him. "Is that why you quit?"

"I woke up one morning and didn't recognize myself. I looked in the mirror and saw my dad. The guy who ran from responsibility. Who hurt people without caring. And I realized I'd become exactly what I hated."

"You're nothing like him."

"How do you know? You never met him."

"Because you stayed. You took care of your family. You built something real. He ran away. You didn't."

"I ran from other things. From feelings. From commitment. From anything real."

"But you're trying now."

"Trying isn't the same as succeeding."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "Is that why you can't tell me what you want? Because you're afraid you'll fail?"

His throat tightened. "Maybe."

"That's not fair. To either of us."

"I know."

She laid back down. Her cheek against his chest. "You're not going to fail at this. At us. The only way you fail is by not trying at all."

"What if I hurt you worse by trying and screwing it up?"

"What if you don't?"

He had no answer for that.

His fingers found her hair. Combed through it slowly. "Your turn."

"My turn for what?"

"Tell me something real. Something you don't usually share."

She sighed against his chest. "I've spent my whole life feeling invisible. Like I don't matter enough for people to notice."

"That's not true."

"It is. My dad left when I was six. Didn't even fight for custody. Just signed the papers and started a new family across the country. Never called. Never visited. Like I was disposable."

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