The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet

Alaric snapped back to reality and turned to look at her, only to find her staring at him with wide, round eyes, completely captivated.

There he was, clad in nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trickling down from his hair, cascading over his chest and tracing the outline of his lean muscles, slowly making their way down and sketching every inch of his skin.

Hertha's gaze followed those droplets all the way down to the towel wrapped around his waist.

The path those droplets took left too much to the imagination, and Hertha couldn't help but click her tongue in awe.

Alaric, catching every bit of Hertha's expression, gave a roguish chuckle, "Looks like you're not quite done yet. Want me to unwrap and give you a better view?"

With that, he made a move to undo the towel around his waist.

Hertha took a deep breath, quickly regained her composure, and raised her hand to stop him, "Enough, Alaric. Unless you're aiming to be a eunuch, I suggest you stop right now."

Hertha made a cutting gesture with her hand that startled Alaric enough to make him halt his actions, chuckling, "Come on, it's not like you haven't seen it before. Why so shy all of a sudden?"

"If you say that one more time, I'll make you taste the wrath of my cooking!" Hertha threatened, glaring at him.

"You're so fierce. Besides me, I doubt anyone else would dare to take you," Alaric sighed in mock despair. "I'm gonna get dressed. Call us something to eat, will you? I'm starving."

"What do you want? I'll whip something up," Hertha volunteered as she marched towards his kitchen, only to find the fridge as barren as a desert, save for some bottled water.

"Alaric, your kitchen doesn't even have an egg. How can you live like this?" she called out, exasperated.

Alaric, just returning to his room, shouted back before closing the door, "I hardly eat at home. Buying groceries would just be a waste."

Hertha pondered for a moment; it made sense. Alaric, a man of privilege since birth, wasn't exactly the domestic type.

She pulled out her phone, ready to

order takeout, but then she

remembered how greasy and unhealthy that could be. Alaric had just been sick and was still recovering. Greasy food wouldn't do

his stomach any favors.

Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Even though they might not end up together, Hertha had promised they'd still be friends.

And as a friend, she ought to care for his health.

"Wait for me; I'll be right back," she called out towards his room before leaving.

Alaric, anxious, hurried to the door

bet

ensure Hertha's back as she left, talk about timing. Conte

she locked the door behind

her

He was on edge, wanting to follow her, but then realized he was still not fully dressed.

Quickly getting dressed, he dashed to the front door, half-expecting to have to chase after Hertha.

But as soon as he opened the door, there she was, about to knock.

Hertha, holding a bag of groceries in one hand, laughed, "That was quick. Got dressed in a flash."

She eyed him up and down, "Dressed to the nines, aren't we? Almost look the part."

е

Alaric stepped aside to let her in, the smile on his lips easing, "I've always been about appearances. Wasn't it my stunning good looks that caught your eye in the first place?

Hertha turned, giving him a stern look, "Zip it. We agreed not to bring up the past!"