Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4)

Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

Barron

I t’s been hours since we got back, but after the emotional conversation with Mom, my mind is racing too much to sleep. The decisions I’ll have to make in the next few days could alter my plans for the future in ways I never anticipated.

I’ve had the singular goal of becoming a billionaire in my own right since I was a child. It was my way of proving to myself—and everyone else—that I’m not like my father, regardless of the missteps I’ve already taken.

But lately, I’m questioning whether that’s truly what I want.

It’s little things that have led me to second-guess my decisions. My mother looking so tired and frail. The unexpected joy I felt at coming home to an apartment that wasn’t empty, to find someone who cared. The peacefulness of having a woman in my arms, not just any woman. Abigail.

If the next business deal I’ve been mulling over works out as expected, it will get me that much closer to my goal. The possibilities dance in my head—board meetings, exploratory committees, projections, profits, return on investment.

It’s a tangible goal, and within my reach. But pursuing that project would complicate my life tremendously, pulling me away from the people who matter most. And I almost failed to realize it.

I start each new venture with a grain of an idea and guide it through the developmental stages until we bring it to fruition. I don’t move on to the next project until I make sure every detail is in its proper place and things are working as they should.

It’s a lesson I learned the hard way.

But at what cost?

It means time away from my family, early mornings, long days, and short nights. Sometimes the process can take years if it’s going to reap the rewards I want. I’ve always justified the burden on my personal life as a sacrifice that will help get me from millionaire to billionaire.

Meanwhile, Mom’s suffering complications with the shot, a sudden heart condition, brain fog, and an infection in her lungs.

With the way her health declined, we were lucky to have Abigail. She was the one who made the decision to drop everything so she could be by Mom’s side. The thought of the sacrifice she made for someone she loves sends a pang through my chest.

I, her actual son, as I so blatantly reminded them just two days ago, wasn’t involved at all. Yes, it may have been because she didn’t call to tell me. But, if I kept in touch more often, I would’ve known she wasn’t feeling well to begin with.

I could have just as easily been sitting here today, regretting the fact I wasn’t with Mom at the end of her life. The very thought makes my stomach churn. Is that really the legacy I’m creating? A successful business career, but the most important person in my life is left to die alone?

My hands clench reflexively as her words echo in my memory. “You and Abby, you’re my entire world…”

But it was Abigail, who I’ve tried my best to keep at arm’s length, who suffered through it. She left school to care for Mom, and nursed her back to health. With an initial deposit, she paid the household expenses, and Mom’s numerous charities then got reimbursed. All so she wouldn’t touch Mom’s accounts and avoid problems with me.

Meanwhile, I was chasing the next investor, the next deal, the next milestone.

All I did was accuse her of the worst possible mistreatment of the woman she obviously loves. The guilt of my rash decision weighs heavily on me.

She never said a word to defend herself. Despite me piling on, she silently endured all of it. And likely did it to protect my mother’s sensibilities.

What strength, what loyalty she has. It’s admirable and humbling when put up against my own self-centered actions.

I’m assaulted by the vivid memory of following her through the shopping area. Taking perverse pleasure in stalking her through one store and another. She was nervous. She was on the run. She just wanted to be left alone, and I wasn’t about to do that.

I was so damned focused on my ill-conceived suspicion that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. Even when my mother told me time and again that Abigail was acting in her best interests.

No, the only time I left her alone was when she was in shock after learning about her father.

I clench my hands, remembering her devastated expression for the split second before she schooled her features. In hindsight, I should have realized she has the same steel every McClelland has prided themselves on possessing.

Even though I was in a no-win situation, either leaving my mother, who looked ill, or leaving Abigail in a moment of anguish, I still feel like an asshole.

When we returned, the suite was quiet. Even while I was helping Mom to her room, Abigail didn’t stir. Under the circumstances, her absence is certainly understandable. Still, I’m wishing for an opportunity to explain myself, and for a moment of understanding on her part.

That would have been the perfect opportunity to speak to her and make amends. Instead, I closed the door to Mom’s room, leaving her to rest, and glanced over to Abigail’s door. If there had been the slightest noise, a hint that she was awake, I would have gone to her. But the heavy silence made the decision for me.

I argued with myself about what to do. Ultimately, I convinced myself I should give her space. I, the man who handed over money for her, wouldn’t be the person she’d want around her.

Now, here I am, regretting following my instincts. Something I swore I wouldn’t do.

Throwing off the sheets, I get out of bed and head to my door. I go into the hallway then move quietly through the darkened living area.

Seconds later, I’m standing in front of her door again. This time, I don’t second-guess myself. I turn the knob, expecting to find it locked.

To my surprise, the doorknob turns effortlessly. I let myself into her room and glare toward the curtain at the glass door. Why is it open? Abigail doesn’t like to see the water surrounding us.

Moving quietly past the bathroom, my steps muffled by the carpet, I make my way toward the bed. Abigail is curled up on her side, under the covers. Her dark hair is spread out, the waves contrasting against the white pillowcases.

Dear, sweet Abigail. It’s the first time in a long time those words have crossed my mind without a hint of disdain.

I move to the other side of the bed and slowly pull back the covers, careful not to wake her. I slip into bed beside her and scoot closer, wrapping my arm around her loosely.

Even deep in sleep, likely emotionally drained from everything she went through today, Abigail seems to register the fact I’m here beside her. She stirs, drawing her calf over mine, her body unconsciously inviting me closer.

I reach back, moving the pillows together before settling in and cradling her against my chest. She snuggles closer, a soft sigh escaping her lips in her sleep.

I press my face into her hair, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of her fill me.

Somehow, being here, with her in my arms, gives me a profound sense of peace I’ve rarely felt.

I’m not past recognizing that this is more for me than for her. I’m still the selfish bastard I was yesterday.

But I need this moment of peace to think because I find myself at a crossroads. And, for the first time in years, I have no idea what my next move will be.