The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption (by Claire Winters) novel Chapter 20

20 An Unexpected Chauffeur

“Just avoiding some construction. Trust me, this is faster.”

I didn’t trust her at all, but exhaustion had worn down my defenses. The sleepless night at the hospital left me barely able to keep my eyes open. I leaned back against the Porsche’s buttery leather seat, tension melting from my shoulders despite my suspicions.

“You really look like you could use some rest,” Sarah commented, her voice impossibly cheerful for this early hour. “Hospital benches aren’t exactly designed for comfort.”

I stared out the window, watching the city blur past. How did she know I’d slept on a bench? I hadn’t mentioned that.

“I’ve been there,” she continued, as if reading my thoughts. “The vinyl seats, those awful fluorescent lights… nothing worse than trying to sleep in a hospital.”

My paranoia subsided slightly. Maybe she was just making conversation.

Sarah’s phone rang, the sound cutting through the car’s quiet interior. She glanced at the

screen and smiled.

“Sorry, it’s my brother. Do you mind if I take this?”

I shook my head, grateful for the reprieve from forced small talk.

“Hey, big bro!” she answered, tapping her steering wheel to the beat of some unheard song. “Yep, on my way now… No, everything’s fine… I told you I’d handle it, didn’t I?”

Something about her tone shifted during the call – more assured, less bubbly. I stared out the window as we passed the hospital again from another angle. A tall man in an impeccably tailored suit stood outside, phone pressed to his ear. Even from this distance, his commanding

presence was unmistakable.

Our eyes met for the briefest moment as we drove past. Something about him seemed familiar, but my sleep–deprived brain couldn’t place him.

“That’s him right there,” Sarah said, following my gaze. “My overprotective brother.”

“He looks…” I searched for the word. “Important.”

Sarah laughed. “He thinks he is.” She hung up the phone and turned her full attention back to driving. “So, fashion designer, huh?”

I froze. “How did you know that?”

“Your hands,” she replied smoothly. “Designer calluses. My mom sews too.”

It was a plausible explanation, but something felt off. The Porsche took a sharp turn, and I

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20 An Unexpected Chauffeur

gripped the door handle.

“You know,” Sarah continued, “I’ve always thought that fashion is like armor. The right outfit can protect you from anything.”

Her words hit unexpectedly close to home. I’d designed my own armor for years – perfect outfits as shields against my family’s cruelty.

“Sometimes it’s not enough,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.

“No,” she agreed, her voice softening. “Sometimes the wounds go too deep for fabric to fix.”

The weight of the past twenty–four hours crashed down on me suddenly. My father signing over my mother’s shares. Alistair’s compatible blood type with Ivy. The contracts that might still bind me. I felt tears threatening and turned my face toward the window.

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