The Billionaire I couldn't hate.

CHAPTER 3.

Isabella had never liked luxury.

Not because it wasn't beautiful, because it was. Too beautiful. Too polished. Too close to the life she had once lived and lost.

Yet here she was again, stepping into Nathaniel Blackwood's world for the third time that week, surrounded by quiet wealth that didn't need to announce itself. The penthouse was calm, almost deceptively so, sunlight spilling through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting soft shadows across the marble floors.

Nathaniel was already there.

He stood near the windows, sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, jacket discarded, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke in a low, controlled tone. Isabella paused without meaning to, struck by the contrast between the man she saw now and the intimidating billionaire the world talked about.

This Nathaniel looked... human.

Focused. Serious. Slightly tired.

She cleared her throat softly, not wanting to interrupt. His gaze flicked toward her instantly, sharp and assessing, before softening just a fraction. He ended the call with a brief, clipped sentence and turned fully to face her.

"You're early," he said.

"I can come back if-"

"No." The word came out too fast, and something unreadable crossed his face. "That's fine. Please, sit."

Isabella moved toward the dining table where her notes were already neatly arranged to teach Elliot, the space clearly prepared in advance. It unsettled her how thoughtful he was, how intentional everything seemed.

Nathaniel took the seat across from her, posture relaxed but alert, as though he never truly powered down.

Elliot finished his tutoring quite early and Isabella and Nathaniel started with yet another discussion.

They began where they always did with work.

Numbers. Strategies. Concepts he wanted explained more clearly, not because he lacked intelligence, but because he demanded precision. Isabella found herself enjoying these moments more than she should. Teaching him wasn't difficult, but it was engaging. He listened, really listened, and asked questions that forced her to think deeper.

"You explain things differently," he said after a while.

She glanced up. "Is that bad?"

"No." His lips curved faintly. "It's effective."

The compliment warmed her in a way she hadn't expected. She looked away quickly, pretending to review her notes.

Silence settled between them not awkward, just... present.

Nathaniel leaned back slightly. "Why tutoring?"

The question caught her off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"You're clearly capable of more," he said evenly. "You could be doing something else."

Isabella stiffened. She had learnt to be careful with questions like that. Curious questions often led to places she didn't want to go.

"It's honest work," she replied. "And it's flexible."

"That's not an answer."

She met his gaze then, her expression guarded. "It's the only answer you're getting."

Something like respect flickered in his eyes.

"Fair enough."

They returned to work, but the air between them had shifted. His questions grew fewer, his attention sharper, focused not just on the lesson, but on her.

At some point, Isabella realized she was no longer watching the clock.

When she finally gathered her things, Nathaniel stood as well.

"You're leaving already?"

"Yes," she said, surprised by the disappointment in her own voice. "That was the plan."

He hesitated, then said, "Stay for a drink."

Her instincts screamed caution.

"I don't-"

"Tea," he corrected quickly. "Nothing more."

She studied him for a moment, searching for hidden motives. Found none. Just a man who seemed... lonely.

"Alright," she agreed quietly.

The tea arrived without fanfare, clearly prepared by staff who knew their roles well enough to disappear. They sat across from each other again, this time without notes or schedules to hide behind.

"You avoid people," Nathaniel said suddenly.

Isabella blinked. "Do I?"

"Yes."

She smiled faintly. "You don't?"

A pause.

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

That honesty surprised her.

"Then I suppose we're the same," she said.

"Maybe," he replied. "Or maybe we're hiding from different things."

The words lingered between them, heavy with meaning.

Isabella felt an unfamiliar tightness in her chest. She didn't want him to look at her like that, as if he saw something beneath the surface she worked so hard to keep buried.

She stood abruptly. "I should go."

Nathaniel rose as well, concern crossing his face. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," she said quickly. "I just... have somewhere to be."

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

He didn't press. Instead, he stepped aside, giving her space, but his voice stopped her at the door.

"Isabella."

She turned.

"Thank you," he said. "For today."

Something about the sincerity in his tone made her throat tighten.

"You're welcome."

She left before she could change her mind.

That night, Isabella lay awake longer than usual.

She told herself it was nothing. That Nathaniel Blackwood was just a client. That the warmth in his eyes meant nothing. That the way he said her name didn't echo in her thoughts.

But somewhere deep inside, a quiet truth stirred.

She was getting too comfortable.

And comfort had always been dangerous.