Chapter 11 Ungrateful Billionaire
Raphael's POV
When she asks if I suspect anyone, I can't bring myself to tell her anything. It's better for her, if she doesn't know a thing about my world. It's safer that way.
I have got enemies, strangers, friends and even relatives who want me to go down but I don't know the exact person that sent the assassins that tried to kill me. The list of people who would celebrate my death is too long to count. Any one of them could have ordered the hit. That's the problem with living the kind of life I've lived - you make enemies faster than you can keep track of them.
I fixed my gaze on her, looking directly into her eyes. "It's better you don't know what goes on in my world. And I would appreciate it if you don't ask me about it anymore," I said to her. My tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.
She smirked at my words.
"Why is your face like that?" I asked, confused by her reaction.
"You know, it's just funny how some few hours ago, you couldn't even open your eyes let alone talk to me," she said with a bitter laugh. "But I guess the cruelest man in this city doesn't appreciate kindness when he sees one."
That was all she said, but it was enough. Those words made me stand up in a sprint, my body moving before my mind could stop it. My hands wrapped around her throat, gripping tight, daring her to repeat the words again. How dare she speak to me like that after everything I've done, after everything I've been through?
"Save your strength little girl, you'll need it when the press starts coming to the house to take your statements," she managed to say through my grip, her voice strained but still defiant.
"House? News flash Mr. I don't have a house," she choked out.
I removed my hands from her neck the moment she started to choke for real, the moment I saw her face turning red. I hadn't meant to hurt her that badly. I was just angry, frustrated with everything that had happened.
"I know you don't have a house," I said, stepping back from her. "You're going to live in mine until everything dies down."
She stared at me like I had lost my mind, rubbing her neck where my fingers had been.
We stayed there in that warehouse for a couple of days, hiding from the world outside. The days blended together in that dark, dusty space. Only going out at night to get dinner when the streets were empty and quiet. We walked the streets carefully, especially when there's a convoy driving towards us. Whenever we saw headlights approaching, we would duck into alleys or behind buildings, making sure no one could see our faces or recognize who we were.
The nights were long and uncomfortable. The warehouse floor was hard and cold, and every sound made me jump, thinking someone had found us. Vivienne kept her distance from me after what happened, and I couldn't blame her. I had crossed a line.
On the seventh day, we finally left the warehouse. By then, we were both tired of hiding, tired of living like rats in the shadows. We left wearing second handed clothes that Vivienne bought from the nearest market. She had gone out early that morning, covering her face with a scarf, and returned with plain, worn clothes that no one would look at twice.
It was better than putting on dirty and stinking clothes. Our original clothes were ruined anyway - mine torn and bloodstained from the attack, hers dirty from taking care of me.
The second hand clothes were simple but clean. I wore a faded blue shirt and dark pants that were a bit too big for me. Vivienne wore a simple gray dress that hung loose on her small frame. We looked like ordinary people, not like someone running from assassins and the woman who saved him.
As we prepared to leave, I looked around the warehouse one last time. This place had kept us safe, and had given us shelter when we needed it most. Now it was time to face the world again, whatever that might bring.