Trapped In The Billionaire's Past

Clara closed the door after the bodyguard left, turning to Isla with a look halfway between disbelief and panic.

“Please tell me you’re not actually thinking of going with that man,” she said. “He looks like he could snap a neck just by thinking about it.”

Isla rubbed her forehead. “Clara, he works for Xavier Ashford. I can’t just ignore him.”

“Yes, you can,” Clara shot back. “It’s called staying alive.”

“Clara,” Isla said, trying to sound braver than she felt, “I’m going. You’re coming with me.”

Clara blinked. “Excuse me? Why am I getting kidnapped too?”

“You’re not getting kidnapped,” Isla muttered, already pulling on her jacket. “You’re making sure I don’t.”

Clara groaned but started changing anyway. “Unbelievable. You save one billionaire and suddenly we’re starring in Taken 4: The Broke Roommates.”

Despite the nerves clawing at her chest, Isla laughed — just once, short and shaky. “Then let’s at least look decent for our ransom photo.”

They dressed quickly, both moving on autopilot — no makeup, plain clothes, hair tied back in messy knots. When the knock came again, Clara flinched and whispered, “This is how horror movies start.”

“Then stay close,” Isla said quietly, opening the door. “We’ll survive the first act together.”

The drive was quiet, except for the steady hum of the tires against the road. Isla sat in the back seat beside Clara, who hadn’t stopped fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve since they left the apartment. The city outside looked washed out — gray buildings, morning light, streets still wet from the night’s rain.

The bodyguard didn’t say much. Every so often, he spoke into a small earpiece, his voice low and professional. The car itself felt too clean, too expensive for them to belong in. Isla kept her hands folded tightly in her lap, her thoughts running circles around the same question: Why would a man like Xavier Ashford want to see her?

When the car finally turned into a gated compound, she realized it wasn’t an ordinary hospital. The sign at the entrance read St. Regis Private Medical Wing — a place she’d only ever seen in news reports about politicians and CEOs.

Inside, the air was almost too quiet. White walls, polished floors, the faint scent of disinfectant that somehow smelled expensive. Nurses moved in soft shoes, speaking in lowered voices. Clara reached for Isla’s hand as the bodyguard led them through a glass corridor.

“Are you sure about this?” Clara whispered.

“No,” Isla said honestly.

At the end of the hall stood a single guarded door. The bodyguard spoke briefly to someone at the desk, then turned to Isla. “He’s expecting you. Your friend can wait here.”

Clara’s grip tightened. “She’s not going in alone.”

The man hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Fine. But please, no interruptions.”

The door opened with a soft click.

The room was spacious, filled with quiet machines and filtered sunlight. Xavier Ashford sat propped against the pillows, pale but alert, his arm hooked to an IV. Even bruised and bandaged, there was something composed about him — the kind of calm that came from power, not peace.

When Isla stepped inside, his gaze lifted to her immediately. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Miss Reyes,” he said, his voice low, steady. “You came.”

She swallowed. “Your bodyguard said you wanted to see me.”

“I did.” He gestured lightly to the chair beside the bed. “Please. Sit.”

She hesitated but obeyed. Clara stayed by the door, arms folded, eyes wary.

For a few seconds, there was only the soft rhythm of the monitor. Then Xavier spoke again. “You saved my life.”

“I just did what anyone would do,” Isla said.

He gave the faintest smile — not disbelief, but something close to it. “You’d be surprised how few people stop to help.”

Isla didn’t know what to say, so she looked down at her hands. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Xavier studied her for a moment. “Do you know who I am?”

“I do now,” she said quietly. “The police told me.”

“And yet you didn’t recognize me that night?”

She frowned slightly. “It was dark. You were bleeding. I wasn’t exactly thinking about that.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Where do you live, Miss Reyes?”

She blinked. “Why does that matter?”

“Curiosity,” he said, his tone almost casual. “You were in the right place at the right time. I find that interesting.”

Isla shifted in her seat. “I live on the south side. Near Bellview Street.”

“And you work?”

She hesitated. “I… do deliveries. Sometimes help at a bakery. Nothing permanent.”

Clara shot her a quick look, silently warning her to keep it short.

Xavier leaned back, his expression unreadable. “You’re not from money.”

It wasn’t a question, but it felt like one.

“No,” Isla said quietly.

He nodded once, as if confirming something to himself. “You mentioned another person that night — the driver who helped you.”

“Yes,” Isla said, relieved to change the subject. “He stopped when I waved him down. I don’t know his name. He just disappeared after we reached the hospital.”

Xavier’s jaw tensed slightly. “Convenient.”

Her pulse quickened. “Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“I’m saying,” he replied evenly, “that I like to understand things fully. Especially when they involve me.”

Clara took a step forward. “She didn’t do anything wrong. She risked her life to help you.”

His eyes flicked toward her — sharp, assessing — then softened almost imperceptibly. “I know,” he said. “And I’m grateful.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not hostile. Isla shifted in her chair, unsure if she should stand or stay. “If that’s all, I should probably go,” she said softly. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

She rose, smoothing her jacket nervously.

“Aria, wait-” Xavier said.

Isla froze. The word didn’t make sense at first — like she’d misheard it. She turned slowly. “...What did you call me?”

Xavier blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You said Aria,” she repeated, her voice quiet but firm. “That’s… not my name.”

A flicker of something — recognition, maybe regret — crossed his face before he masked it with a faint smile. “I did? Sorry. Must’ve mixed something up.”

Isla frowned slightly, her confusion deepening. “Mixed up how? Do I… remind you of someone?”

He hesitated just long enough to make her heart pick up speed. Then, smoothly, “You just look familiar. I’ve been in and out of consciousness — painkillers, maybe.”

She didn’t believe him, not entirely. But she couldn’t find the right words to press further.

“It’s fine,” she murmured instead. “I should go.”

“I owe you,” he said quietly, as if her confusion hadn’t happened. “You saved my life. That isn’t something I take lightly.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Isla said, still distracted by the echo of that name.

“I disagree,” Xavier replied, calm and deliberate — his eyes still studying her, as though the answer to something he needed lay right there in her face.

He reached for a notepad on the side table, scribbled something, and tore off a small card. “If you ever need anything — call this number. Day or night.”

She stared at it but didn’t move to take it. “Why would I need—”

“I insist,” he said, tone quiet but firm. “Think of it as… insurance.”

Isla hesitated, then reached out. The paper felt heavy in her palm, like more than it should have been.

Xavier’s gaze lingered on her — too long, too intent. “You remind me of someone,” he said softly.

Her heartbeat stumbled. “Who?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Someone I used to know.” His eyes flickered briefly — almost distant. “Aria.”

The name hit her like a cold draft. Isla didn’t know why, but it made her uneasy. “I should go,” she said, slipping the card into her pocket.

“Of course.”

As she turned toward the door, he added, “I’m relocating you. Temporarily.”

Isla stopped. “Relocating?”

“I have apartments available across the city. My assistant will show you a few options. It’s safer than where you are now.”

Clara spoke up, her voice sharp. “She’s not moving anywhere.”

Xavier’s tone remained calm, unbothered. “Consider it a thank-you. Rent-free. You can refuse if you want, but I’d advise against it.”

Isla’s instinct said to decline immediately — but then she felt Clara’s discreet pinch at her arm. When she turned, Clara’s expression said it all: We can’t afford to say no.

“Alright,” Isla murmured. “Just for a while.”

Xavier nodded. “Good.” He pressed a button by his bed. Within seconds, the same bodyguard appeared at the door.

“Show Miss Reyes the properties,” Xavier said. “And make sure she gets home safely afterward.”

The man nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Isla managed a small, uncertain smile. “Thank you, Mr. Ashford.”

“Xavier,” he corrected.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you… Xavier.”

He watched her leave, the door closing softly behind her.

For a long moment after they were gone, Xavier sat in silence, eyes fixed on the empty space where she had stood. The calm in his expression slowly shifted — curiosity hardening into something sharper.

“She looks just like her,” he said quietly.

The bodyguard reentered a minute later. “Sir?”

Xavier didn’t look up. “Find out everything about her. Where she lives, who she knows, what she’s hiding. Discreetly.”

The bodyguard nodded once. “Yes, Mr. Ashford.”

When he was alone again, Xavier leaned back against the pillow, his jaw tight. Outside, the city moved on — unaware that one small act of kindness had just tied two strangers to each other in ways neither of them yet understood.