The Art of Wealth: I Became a Billionaire-Chapter 35: Pain and Passion...1 [R18]

Philip strolled up the stairs to his apartment, his mind heavy. Every step felt heavier than the last. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the weight of what had just happened.

That moment kept replaying in his head, George... the glass... the blood.

The sharp sting of the glass against his forehead was still fresh. His father’s voice, no, his foster father’s voice, still echoed in his ears like thunder in a silent valley:

"Now the whole plan has collapsed because of you."

Philip let out a long breath as he reached his door. But something made him stop. His hand froze just inches from the handle.

Something wasn’t right.

He hadn’t unlocked it.

Yet the door wasn’t locked.

His heart skipped a beat. The lock had clearly been tampered with, or maybe someone had opened it after he left. Either way, someone had been here... or was still inside.

He didn’t hesitate. His hand dove into his bag and he pulled out a small silver pocket knife, his only weapon. Not much, but it was better than nothing.

Carefully, he pushed the door open.

The lights were off. The living room was dark and quiet. Eerily quiet.

He stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him. His fingers tightened around the knife. His eyes scanned the corners, the shadows, every piece of furniture.

He moved with caution, glancing at the kitchen. Everything looked untouched. But still, that door wasn’t locked.

Whoever was here could be hiding. Maybe waiting.

Then...

Click.

Suddenly, the lights came on, and the room washed in brightness. The unexpected glow made him flinch. And then came a voice, soft, familiar, and sarcastic.

"Seriously, Philip? A little knife for house burglars?"

Philip spun around in shock, nearly dropping the blade.

His eyes widened. "Dahlia?"

Standing in front of him with folded arms and raised eyebrows, was Dahlia. His girlfriend who he hasn’t seen in 3 years now. Her curly hair was pulled up in a messy bun, her eyes sharp as ever. She wore an oversized hoodie and leggings like she owned the space.

Philip’s voice cracked. "What... How... What are you doing here? When did you get back?"

"I should be the one asking you that," Dahlia said, walking toward him. "Why haven’t you been picking up my calls? Why are you just coming home now? It’s past ten, Phil. And look at you"

She stopped suddenly.

Her face changed. The moment she saw the bloody bandage on his forehead, her concern drowned out the sarcasm.

"Oh my God." She moved closer, reaching out. "What happened to your face? Philip, what the hell happened to you?"

"It’s nothing," Philip muttered, stepping back slightly. "I just hit my head on something, that’s all."

"Nothing?" Her voice rose, full of disbelief. "You were obviously attacked. Or in a fight. And you’re telling me it’s nothing?"

Her eyes were on him now, reading every inch of his face. His flushed skin. His tired eyes. His slightly unsteady legs.

"You’re even drunk," she added. "You barely drink unless," she stopped. "Unless... it was him, wasn’t it? Your father..."

Philip didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. His head dropped slightly, his body slouched. That silence, that was the answer.

Dahlia’s face softened, and her heart broke a little. She hated seeing him like this, defeated, bruised, and blaming himself.

She gently took his hand and led him to the couch. "Sit down, Phil."

"I’m really not in the mood right now," he said, almost in a whisper.

"You have to be," she said, kneeling before him. "For me. Please."

Philip sat hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees, his face buried in his palms. The silence was loud, and when he finally spoke, his voice trembled.

"I’ve tried, Dahlia. God knows I’ve tried."

His voice cracked, and a soft sob escaped. He looked at her with teary eyes, and continued, "I’ve done things I can’t even begin to explain, unimaginable things, just to get him to accept me. Just so he’d look at me and say, ’You’re mine.’ But it’s never enough. I’m never enough."

Dahlia’s heart broke watching him crumble like that. She quickly moved closer, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

"Ahhh, don’t say that, baby," she said, holding his face gently. "You’re more than enough. You’re everything anyone could possibly want. And if someone can’t see that, it’s their fault, not yours."

She kissed his forehead softly, her voice still gentle. "Is it your personality? Your brain? Your loyalty? Your hard work? Because if it’s any of those, you’ve got them all. You’re more than perfect, Phil."

Philip looked at her, his eyes wet. "Then why doesn’t he see that? Why does he keep treating me like garbage? Like I’m just a reminder of where I came from..."

He stood and began pacing, emotion rising again.

"You can’t believe the things I’ve done for him. You can’t even imagine the people I’ve hurt... for him. And yet, there’s nothing to show for it."

Dahlia shook her head firmly. "You can’t hurt anybody, Philip. That’s not who you are. You and I both know it."

Philip stopped and turned to her slowly, his expression dark. "You really don’t know me like you think you do, Dalia. You don’t know the man I’ve become these past few years."

Her eyes searched his face. "So that explains it... the distant attitude. The missed calls. The way you’ve shut me out." She stood and walked closer. "I may not know everything, Phil, but there’s one thing I’m sure of, George doesn’t mean well for you. And you need to escape from his grip before it’s too late. Before you do something you can’t come back from."

She reached out and touched his chest gently. "Anyone who truly loves you... they don’t use you. They don’t try to control or break you. They love you for who you are, unconditionally."

Philip stared into her eyes for a moment, his heart caught between fear and need.

She asked, softly, "Do you want to tell me what’s really going on? What’s he doing to you?"

He looked away and stepped back. "I can’t, Dahlia. I really can’t get into the details. You could get in trouble just for knowing them."

But Dahlia didn’t move back. She followed him, placing her hands on his arms.

"Then let me help in the way I can," she whispered.

She turned him gently and pushed him toward the wall. The tension between them shifted, no longer just pain, but something deeper, more intense.

She kissed him, slow and deep, he didn’t pull away. Her fingers traced his pants as she squats and unzips him.

Philip closed his eyes.

It was the first moment of tenderness he had felt in what felt like forever.

She took his already erect dick into her hand, her touch now soft and sensual as it traveled to her mouth, sucking it back and forth.

Their breathing deepened. Time slowed.

Philip moaned.