The Billionaire Who Stole My Heart

Ophelia was the epitome of grace in her sky-high stilettos, mingling among the guests with a smile that belied the searing pain in her heels. She had been enduring the discomfort all evening, but a moment of weakness had betrayed her to Jonathan.

Jonathan had always been headstrong.

Their families, observing the bond between them, turned a blind eye to the little indiscretions of young love.

Seeking solace in the sanctuary of a quiet lounge, Jonathan located a first-aid kit. He knelt before her, reaching out to tend to Ophelia's injured foot.

Ophelia flinched, instinctively pulling back. "Jonathan..."

There was no need for him to go to such lengths.

Jonathan, usually easygoing, could be imperious when he chose to be.

Ignoring her protests, he gently took her foot, removed her shoe, and with meticulous care, dabbed at the wound with a cotton swab soaked in antiseptic. He then applied a band-aid and handed her a pair of comfortable ballet flats. "Don't wear those shoes anymore. Put these on."

Ophelia frowned. "I can't possibly..."

pairing a cocktail

please," Jonathan urged, his grip firm

and persuasive. She

water. "You've had quite a bit to

so harsh

for his kindness, rarely

was a surprise

she the one I used to fancy?" Jonathan downed a glass of the sweet liquid, his voice laced with disbelief. "Hard to imagine I

Ophelia was puzzled.

he questioning his

was hurt. If it was just me chasing after someone who didn't love me, then it's my own fault. But if she ever reciprocated, that

insight was sharper without the cloud of romance. "Given my status, if she wasn't in love with me, then she was after my name. So why should I hold

let Ophelia suffer for someone

for," Ophelia confirmed. "You did a lot for her, even had a falling-out with the Metzgers

solemnity. "Ophelia, I'm sorry for the

ripple of emotion. After a pause, she replied, taking his hand, "Jonathan, if you ever make me suffer again, I'll kick you to the curb without a second