Taming My Deaf Billionaire

I confessed to him. He said no. So I locked myself in his bathroom and cut his clothes to ribbons. That's when I found the secret he'd spent years keeping from me.

He'd left his tablet on the counter. The account was still open on the screen. The private one. The one he thought no one in the world knew about.

Him: [My hoodies keep going missing. I keep finding them in her closet. Why does she do that?] Him: [Heard her on the phone with a friend tonight.

She told them she's in love with me.] Him: [But I'm years older than her. Half the time I can't even hear her without the aids in. She's young.

She doesn't understand what she's signing up for, and I won't let myself be as reckless as she is.] Him: [Even though I want her too.] Something in my chest cracked clean down the middle.

And then, God help him, it sharpened into something hungrier. I leaned to the gap in the door and watched him through it. He sat there looking the way he always looks. Cool.

Composed. Like the whole world could throw itself at him and just slide right off. I mouthed his name at the crack in the door. Silent. Adrian. How could you let me see that?

A crack like that, in a man like you. You're going to let me play you to death. Chapter 1 I was halfway out of his life by the time Adrian got home. He stopped in the doorway.

Took in the bags stacked at my feet, the halftaped box, the hollowedout shelves. He went very still. "What are you doing?" "Moving back to the dorm." "Why?

Nothing's wrong." I didn't answer. I kept folding. "The dorms are cramped. You'll be lining up for a shower behind forty other girls. You'll hate it inside a week." Nothing.

He crossed the room and flattened his hand on my bag, pinning it shut. "You have everything you need here. I take care of you.

Don't I?" "You do." I finally looked up at him. "But weren't you the one who said it?

That the only reason I can't tell the difference between loving you and needing you is that I've lived under your roof my whole life." He went rigid. "I thought about it.

You were right." I zipped the bag. "So we should live apart. Starting now." "I—" The doorbell cut him off. The movers I'd booked. They had the car loaded in minutes.

I followed them out. At the door, a hand closed around my sleeve. I turned. Adrian's eyes were rimmed red. "Rory—" His mouth shook.

Something bright caught at the edge of his lashes, there and gone. He forced it back down his throat. Poor thing. I'd give him three seconds. Three. Two. One. Time's up.

He still hadn't said it. I slid my sleeve out of his fingers and got in the car. In the side mirror he kept shrinking, smaller and smaller, and he never once moved. Does it hurt?

Good. Comfort is for the dead. Here's what four years of telling someone every stupid little thing the second it happens does to you. It turns into muscle memory.

My thumb still opened our thread on its own. Half the time I didn't notice until I was already staring at it. Shame. Day one: quiet. Day two: quiet.

Day three, I sat there glaring at the dead thread, got furious out of nowhere, and blocked him. Unblocked him the next morning before I could stop myself. Still dead.

He's good at waiting. Too good. I needed to wind him up. So I posted the photo I'd been saving for exactly this. Set the phone facedown on the desk.

And waited for the line to go tight. Chapter 2 On day six of the silence, Adrian finally broke. Him: [Rory. What's with the post?

Are you seeing someone?] I let him sit with it for a full half hour before I answered. Me: [Yes.] Him: [But you—] The message flashed up and vanished. Unsent. Cute.

I finished it for him. Me: [But I only confessed to you a few days ago, so how could I already be with someone else. Right?] The typing dots appeared. Sat there. Vanished.

Came back. Vanished again. For a second I genuinely wondered if he was drafting an essay. The dots flickered one last time and went still for good. Nothing came through. Good.

I tossed the phone aside. That night, he came back on his own. Him: [It's past ten. Your step count is still climbing. Are you out somewhere?] I laughed out loud at that one.

He wouldn't answer a single message, but he was watching my steps tick up in real time. I made him wait a while. Me: [Yeah. At a movie. With my boyfriend.] Him: [A movie.

This late.] Instant reply. I let it breathe. Me: [It's fine.

For college students this is when the night actually gets started.] Him: [It's nearly midnight.] Me: [My boyfriend booked us a hotel.

If it runs late, I'll just stay.] Him: [?] His call lit up the screen. I declined it. The phone buzzed and buzzed against my palm. I didn't look at it again. The movie was boring.

The thing humming under my ribs was not. When the lights came up I took my time, let the crowd carry me toward the doors. Adrian's tall. I found him before he found me.

He stood in the lobby like a rock the crowd had to break around, his eyes cutting across all those heads and landing dead on me. Points to him for not disappointing me. I knew it.

He's too smart not to find me when he decides he wants to. The crowd pushed me right up to his chest. I lifted a brow and did my best impression of surprised. "Adrian?

What are the odds." He nodded once. Then his eyes slid past me to Beckett, hovering at my shoulder.

I made the introductions like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Nice to meet you, big guy!" Beckett stuck out a hand, all goldenretriever.

Adrian gave him a flat "Mm," ignored the hand, and closed his fingers around my wrist to steer me away. "Whoa, whoa." Beckett scrambled in front of him. "We're on a date here, big guy.

What's the move?" "The move." Adrian stopped. I'd only ever known him gentle. Indulgent. Soft with me to a fault.

I'd never once seen his face do this. "I'd ask you the same thing," he said. "What exactly do you think you're doing, taking her out this late?" Beckett blinked.

Adrian's brows pressed lower. "We're both men. You think I don't know what you're after?" "I—" He didn't wait for the rest of it.

The door was already open, and he put me in the car. No discussion. No asking. My feet barely on the ground. There was never a version of this where I got out of it.

Chapter 3 Adrian floored it and left Beckett pounding on the glass behind us. He drove like that the whole way home, stealing looks at me in the rearview every few seconds.

Waiting for me to break first. To talk to him the way I used to, about nothing, about everything. Dream on. I gave him silence the entire ride.

At the house he killed the engine and pulled in a slow breath, the kind you take before a conversation you've rehearsed. I walked straight to my room and shut the door in his face.

He'd had his chance back at that other door, my sleeve in his hand, three seconds on the clock. He let it run out. No more chances.

I peeled off my jacket and dropped flat onto the bed. The room I'd left in chaos was spotless. Floor clear. Desk wiped down to a shine.

The sheets under me were fresh, and they smelled like they'd been changed an hour ago. He didn't know which day I'd come home. So he'd been changing them every day. Just in case.

I could picture him exactly. Sitting by the door. Waiting for me like a dog that hasn't worked out its owner is gone. He's good to me. He's so good to me.

So why can't he be good all the way through? Why does some invented, pointless shame in him spend every single day trying to walk me out the door? Love is supposed to be selfish.

It's supposed to want to keep things. He won't let himself. Fine. I'll teach him how. My head was too full. I turned over a hundred times and couldn't sleep.

I was reaching for my phone when I heard it. The lock turning. Soft, in the dark. He'd wised up already? That fast? He shouldn't have. I shut my eyes anyway. The door eased open.

He crossed the room without a single misstep, like the floorboards had agreed not to creak for him, and stopped at the edge of my bed. His shadow dropped over my face.

I don't know if I killed the smile in time. Bold of you. Adrian. The room was so quiet it rang. He just stood there. Eyes closed, I could still feel exactly where he was looking.

Right at me. Not moving. I was honestly curious how long he could hold out.

How long until his hand came down, until he couldn't help it, until— My pulse was climbing and I let it, riding the almost of it. Then he moved. He turned.

And walked toward the door. What. What. My hand shot out before my brain caught up and closed around his wrist. He wasn't braced for it.

His foot caught and he went down, straight onto me, all that careful quiet gone in one graceless second. "What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?" "I— I—" Adrian almost never looks like that.

He scrambled up off me, hands everywhere, his tongue knotted past working loose.

Then, like he'd realized every excuse only dug the hole deeper, he dropped his head and told the truth. "I just wanted to look at you. That's all." "Look at me. Why?" I knew why.

I wanted to hear him say it. He went quiet again. And the warmth dropped right out of me. I yanked the blanket up and snapped, "There are lines between a man and a woman.

Stop walking into my room." "Okay." Okay. That's the answer he picks. That's what he gives me. I dragged the blanket over my head. "I'm tired.

Get out." "Okay." He went to the door slow. Got his hand on the handle. Couldn't stop himself looking back. "Rory. Beckett's not right for you.

Will you break it off with him?" "You decide he's wrong and that settles it?" "He's got too many angles." His voice came out dry, scraped down to almost nothing.

Chapter 4 "You really don't think there's something off about him taking you to a movie that late?" "You don't think you've got a lot of nerve, talking about my boyfriend like that?" "You don't think you're defending him a little hard?" "You—" He stopped.

I sat up out of the covers, slapped the lamp on, and looked him dead in the eye. "You don't think you sound exactly like a jealous man right now?" Two full seconds of silence.

Right on cue, Adrian's eyes slid off mine. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not— I just don't want to see you get hurt.

You spring a boyfriend on me out of nowhere, I need a minute to adjust. That's all." An out, handed right to him. And he won't take it. Which means he wants to be punished a little.

Fair enough.

Men who lie with a straight face should be. "Then you'd better adjust fast." I curled my mouth at him, mean about it. "If a movie wrecks you this badly, picture us getting to the hugging.

The kissing. The sleeping toge—" "Rory!" The color dropped out of his face all at once. "I— I can live with you dating.

I can't live with you being this careless with yourself." "Then learn to." One word at a time. He had more to say. I pointed at the door and said it again. "I'm tired.

Out." I gave him a wall to talk to. He pressed his lips flat and pulled the door shut behind him. I was lying, obviously. I wasn't remotely tired.

The second he was gone I had my phone out, scrolling.

A video slid past. [Stonewalling someone who loves you is like nailing every window shut and leaving them one little dog door to crawl through.] Oh. Huh.

I curled my lip at the screen. A dog door. Would being my dog really be so terrible, Adrian? He's right about one thing. The house is comfortable.

But I'm playing fisherman these days. My fish hasn't taken the hook yet. So I set an alarm for the crack of dawn and made sure I was gone, back to the dorm, before he woke up.

I underestimated him. Eight days. Eight whole days, and not one message. I beat the daylights out of the body pillow that was absolutely not standing in for him.

The girl in the bed next to mine is my exact brand of unhinged. Different mountain, same swamp.

When she first found out I was in love with the guy I grew up with, she nearly screamed the roof off. Then she found out we aren't related at all.

Just two kids nobody wanted, who grabbed onto each other and never let go. In her opinion that made it so much better. She's been my campaign manager ever since.

Moving into the dorm to torch his peace was her idea. Except it's been days, and I'm still in the dorm.

She was starting to look personally insulted. "Still nothing?" "Mm." I held up the dead thread for her to admire. "Not nothing.

I think we're in negative progress now." "That makes no sense." She propped her chin on her hand and made me walk her through every detail of how Adrian and I used to be.

Then she smacked the heel of her hand to her forehead like the answer had been sitting there the whole time. "Rory. That's it. You posted one softlaunch and went quiet.

He thinks you're putting on a show for him. That's why he's not scared. He doesn't believe a word of it." Not impossible. So I went loud.

Couple content, day after day, captions copied off the internet until my thumbs cramped. He never liked a single one. I couldn't even tell if he was seeing them.

My roommate watched the whole campaign flatline, then leaned in, eyes bright. "He thinks it's a performance. So we make it real enough to scare him." Chapter 5 The plan was simple.

Post the screenshots of Beckett asking me out for Valentine's. Let the time and the place sit just visible in the corner. Set it to the one person who'd actually see it. So I did.

The next day I walked into the restaurant and straight into Adrian. "You're here too?" I pressed the smile off my mouth and aimed for unbothered. "Meeting a client." Four words, no more.

We both knew it was a lie. I didn't bother pulling the thread. I nodded and brushed past him. The place was peak Instagram. Gorgeous plates, food that tasted like wet cardboard.

Normally I take the photo and never touch the food again. Today I had an appetite. I'll admit it. I didn't know where Adrian had gone. But I knew he was close. Not fun, is it.

Watching me spend Valentine's with somebody else. Adrian. I finished eating and went to the bathroom to fix my face. I'd barely stepped back out when I heard the crash.

Drinks were everywhere across the table I'd just left. Beckett and Adrian, one of them down on the floor. A hearing aid by someone's shoe, ground to pieces.

Adrian had a hand clamped over his ear like the pain might take him down. My step stuttered. Then I crossed the room and pulled Beckett up without a second of hesitation.

At the edge of my vision, something in Adrian's face went dark and hollow. I let myself not see it. "What happened?" Beckett shook his head. "No idea.

Big guy just swung on me." He pointed. "He says I was trying to get some other girl's number in the checkout line." "I was not." I had his hand back in mine before he finished the sentence. "I believe you." "You believe him." Adrian's whole body had gone tight, a bow drawn to the breaking point. "You think I'd lie to you?

In all the years you've known me, when have I ever lied to you?" I said nothing. His eyes cut around the room, snagging on something. "If you don't believe me, ask someone— him.

That guy. He was in line too, go ask him." I didn't move. His throat worked. He reached for my hand to drag me over there himself. "Stop it." I tore my hand loose. He froze.

A whole century passed in his face. Then he turned to me, slow, the rims of his eyes going red. "You don't believe me." I gave him silence.

It spread between us like it would never lift. Then something came back to him.

The desperation flared and he crushed it down, careful, careful, working not to put any weight on me. "Rory. Check his phone. I saw him scan her code.

Even if it didn't go through, there'll be a request sitting in his history." I held still. He took Beckett's phone out of his hand and held it out to me.

Under that hoping, hoping look, I opened the requests.

Empty. "That's not— he deleted it in the chaos, he had to." "Enough." I handed the phone back to Beckett. "I know you don't like him.

That doesn't give you the right to make things up about him." "Right?" Beckett spread his hands, the picture of patience tried. "I've got nothing but respect for you, big guy.

But you can't keep coming for me like this." Adrian's lips were shaking. His knuckles had gone white. He opened his mouth to say more. I got there first.

Chapter 6 "Let's leave it here." I steered Beckett toward the door, my voice pitched just loud enough to carry behind me. "Did you tear up your hand?

Come on, let's clean it." "What about me?" A hand caught the hem of my coat. I turned. Because I had to. It looked like it cost Adrian everything to do it.

His eyes had filmed over, a thin trembling sheen that hadn't fallen yet. "What about me," he said again. "He broke one of my aids.

My ear is screaming, I'm dizzy, I can't stand straight, I can't hear right." "Adrian." I cut across him. "You're the one who said it. I'll get married someday.

You need to get used to a life that doesn't have me in it." The sheen in his eyes climbed to the edge. He dropped his gaze fast to keep it there. I used the gap.

I made my heart a stone and pulled my coat out of his fingers. Outside, I flagged the first cab I saw. We'd driven a long way and he was still standing where I'd left him.

In the side mirror, he had a hand braced flat against the wall, dragging in breath after breath. Adrian. Stay calm and contained forever, and what kind of love is that?

Come apart for me. That night, Adrian posted something. A man who hasn't put up a single post in years. [My ear really hurts.] The photo underneath was an opened box of painkillers.

I'd bet money it was set to me and no one else. Half an hour went by and not one mutual friend touched it. Is it actually that bad. My eyebrows pulled together.

Did I take it too far. "Get a grip." My roommate shook me by the shoulder. "This is exactly when you cannot fall for the sadboy act. Strike while it's hot.

One push and he's all the way out of that shell." Right. I'd almost gone soft. It's supposed to hurt. Hurting is what makes him want to hold on to me.

Hurting is what makes him walk toward me instead of away. I posted another couple shot, on schedule. When I refreshed, his painkiller post was already gone. There it is.

He'd put it up for an audience of one. I figured a hit like that would buy me something. That he'd at least learn to text me first.

Instead he spent the next few days doing his silentisgolden routine. "If he won't move, we move." My roommate had a new idea. A bigger hammer this time.

I'd pretend to set Adrian up with a girlfriend. The girlfriend being her. I pushed his contact to her. Minutes later my phone lit up. Him: [Rory.

What is this supposed to be?] He'd screenshotted her request coming in. The fine print sat right there under her name. Added through a contact card shared by Aurora.

I let him wait, out of habit, before I typed back. Me: [My roommate saw your photo and thinks you're gorgeous. She wants to meet you.

Weren't you the one who said you'd give it a shot if the right girl came along? She's lovely. Try it.] Him: [Are you serious?] Me: [Completely.] A long quiet on his end.

Then: Him: [I don't think we'd suit each other. I'm not going to accept her. Tell her I'm sorry.] A loss on the first sortie. It didn't faze my roommate in the slightest.

If anything her eyes lit up, something wolfish in them. "I am appointing myself this relationship's head of security.

For life." Then she asked me, all innocence, whether I'd happened to leave anything back at the house. Chapter 7 Had I left anything at the house?

Not really. "But we can fix that," my roommate said. So she let herself into the home Adrian and I shared, on the excuse of grabbing my things.

This time he called me directly. "You gave your friend a key to the house." "Mm. She really wanted to meet you in person. How'd it go?" "Aurora." He almost never uses my full name.

His breathing had gone slow, like he was pinning something down by force. When he spoke it still came out unsteady. "You're the one who said it.

No third person sets foot in our home." He's right. I did say that. I've been possessive of Adrian since I was a kid. Once, his assistant came by to drop off paperwork.

She sat in our living room and said something that made him laugh. He laughed back. I couldn't sleep that night for the jealousy. I didn't even have a word for it yet.

I just walked into his room at midnight and told him, dead serious. This home is ours. Only ours. Nobody else comes in. He agreed. But that was a special case. Wasn't it.

I let the silence run until he had to be the one to break it, his voice scraped down to almost nothing. "Rory. We really don't fit.

Stop trying to make us into something." "...Right." My roommate came back not long after. Birds of a feather. Some days I think she's more twisted than I am.

She showed me a photo she'd snuck. Adrian, head bowed on the sofa, his face lost in shadow. "He was THIS close to crying, do you understand me.

A devotedhusband type this pure is a fivecourse meal. Rory, your taste is unreal." "Thanks. Send me a copy." Late that night I lay there with the photo, zooming in, zooming out.

In. Out. A message dropped onto the screen. Him: [you've lost interest in me] No question mark. No period. There and gone, unsent before I'd even finished reading it.

I checked the time. 2:45 a.m. Adrian. You'd never guess I'm still awake too, would you. I could feel it. He was coming up hard against some kind of edge.

So the next night, while he slept, I unfollowed him. Every platform. Every account. He asked about it the next day, right on schedule. I told him, perfectly calm, "Can't help it.

My boyfriend gets jealous." "Jealous? That's him controlling you. What gives him the right to police who you follow?

And— after everything, don't I get some kind of say in this." A say. He wanted a say. "We're not together, Adrian.

You made sure of that." I let it land. "I'm the one who put my heart on the table, remember. I know exactly how it looks, the two of us living in each other's pockets.

So from here on, we keep our distance." The typing dots appeared. Sat there a long, long time. Then died. There it is. Always this.

The second a question gets hard to answer, he goes dark. Fine. Let's see how long he can hold his breath. For the next few days I stopped casting bait.

I just waited, patient, for the fish to come to the hook. Day one: nothing. Day two: nothing. Day three: nothing. Day four, I was about to sleep when his number lit up my screen.

I picked up, in no rush at all. The voice on the other end wasn't Adrian's. It belonged to a bartender. Chapter 8 Adrian was too drunk to walk, the bartender said.

Mine was the only number he'd give up. "Any chance you could come get him?" I lifted an eyebrow. When has Adrian ever let another person near his phone. So this was it.

He'd finally hit the wall. I threw on the first clothes I found and went. The bar wasn't far from campus. By the time I pushed through the door, barely half an hour had passed.

Sometimes I really do impress myself. The place was packed and badly lit. I found him in a single look anyway.

He was halfcollapsed in a corner booth, one hand hanging loose, his sleeve shoved up to the forearm and a clean stretch of wristbone showing.

He didn't belong in a room that smelled like this one. A woman slowed as she passed him. Looked back. Looked again.

I crossed the floor before she could open her mouth, planted myself in her sightline, and patted his cheek. Not gently. His lashes trembled.

He dragged his eyes open, and for half a second, before the fog rolled back over them, they were perfectly clear. "Rory?" "Come home with me." I didn't wait for an answer.

I walked. "Rory!" He came stumbling after me, nearly going down twice. The bartender told me to give him an arm. I pretended not to hear. I didn't give him the arm.

I flagged a cab and got in the back with him. He pressed himself to the window, working hard to sit up straight, and the booze tipped him sideways anyway.

I kept my eyes on my phone like I couldn't see it. Streetlights slid through the car in stripes. On, off. On, off. Then, out of nowhere. "Rory.

Are you busy?" "Sort of." I didn't look up. "My boyfriend's clingy. He sulks if I leave him on read." The car went quiet. "Oh," Adrian said. Soft. Then nothing. He stopped swaying.

He just sat there, a man with the lights barely on. At the house I climbed out and went straight for my room. He was faster than I expected.

His hand shot out and locked around my wrist. "Rory. Wait. There's something I need to tell you