Second Chance: Secret Billionaire Heir

Fear, Warmth, and Hidden Messages

Nathan reacted the moment Aurora screamed. His body moved before thought caught up, racing across the corridor with water still dripping from his hair. He didn’t hesitate when he reached the women’s shower entrance. He slammed his shoulder against the door—once, twice—until the latch cracked and the frame swung inward.

Steam swept across the tiled floor as the door burst open. Aurora stood in the corner wearing nothing but a towel, shaking violently. When she saw Nathan, her eyes widened with relief.

She rushed straight into his arms.

Her body pressed desperately against him, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if clinging to the only safe thing remaining in the world. Her breath trembled against his chest, and her fingers dug into his back.

“Nathan—please—don’t go,” she cried, voice strained with terror.

He held her steady, instinct overriding every other thought. “I’m here. What happened? Did someone break in? Did you see an attacker? Tell me what scared you.”

Aurora couldn’t form words. Her trembling intensified, and her forehead pressed deeper against his shoulder. Nathan looked around, scanning corners, shadows, shelves, the ceiling, the entryway—any place where a threat could hide.

“What frightened you?” he repeated, trying to keep his voice calm although adrenaline pumped hard through his veins.

Aurora lifted her hand shakily and pointed.

Nathan followed the direction of her gesture.

Just then, something small and gray darted along the wall and disappeared through a tiny hole in the upper ceiling panel.

A mouse.

Nathan blinked.

“That’s… a mouse,” he said slowly.

Aurora nodded frantically, still clinging to him.

He exhaled with a helpless smile. “So that’s what made you scream?”

“It ran over my foot,” she whispered, mortified.

Nathan laughed softly—not mocking, just relieved. “Well… that would be shocking for anyone.”

Her fingers loosened slightly as the fear gradually faded. Once she calmed enough, Aurora lifted her head and looked at him properly for the first time since he rushed in. Only then did she realize the situation fully.

He wore a towel. She wore a towel. Her body was still pressed against his. A fierce blush spread across her cheeks.

“I—I should—go back inside,” she stammered before retreating into the shower stall and closing the door behind her with frantic urgency.

Nathan chuckled again, shaking his head while relief washed through him. “Just a mouse,” he muttered. “Thank goodness it wasn’t anything worse.”

Once they finished washing and dressing, Aurora still struggled to meet his eyes. She carried a faint pink flush on her cheeks, and every time their gazes almost met, she turned her head away. Her embarrassment lingered, amplified by the warmth she felt when she remembered his scent… and the solid muscles she had clung to so tightly.

Nathan pretended not to notice her flustered behavior. He valued her dignity too much to tease her about it.

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to cook something. How about spaghetti?”

Aurora, who had been fixing her hair, froze completely. “Spaghetti?”

“Your favorite,” he replied casually.

“You… remember that?” she whispered, stunned.

He nodded. “You loved it when you were younger. You always asked for extra cheese and garlic.”

Aurora stared blankly for a moment, unable to process how he still remembered something so trivial from years ago. “But… that was when we were little. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I forget many things,” Nathan admitted. “But some memories stay. Even if others disappear.”

She watched him carefully. “Disappear… like memories about your father?”

Nathan inhaled slowly. “Yes. I remember certain things clearly, yet everything involving my father feels distant, like someone carved out pieces from my mind.”

A soft heaviness filled his tone.

“It might be because I technically ‘died’ once,” he murmured. “When Celine betrayed me… something inside me shattered. Waking up afterwards felt like starting from scratch.”

Aurora swallowed gently. “I’m glad you came back. Truly.”

Nathan gave her a small smile before heading downstairs.

Aurora returned to her room with Nathan’s old phone in hand, determined to repair it. She sat on the bed, crossed her legs, and inspected the device thoroughly.

The system lagged. The SIM card flickered in and out. The data package was corrupted. But the hardware wasn’t beyond rescue. “I can fix this without a technician,” she assured herself.

She tapped through several menus, adjusting settings and clearing junk files. The phone slowly revived.

When the home screen reappeared, Aurora exhaled in relief—until her eyes drifted on a contact list that displayed a handful of names.

Her own name was missing. So she added it immediately—Aurora—with a small smile of pride. 

But then something else caught her attention. A few old chat histories still remained intact. She hesitated. Her conscience whispered not to look. Her curiosity whispered louder.

She tapped the thread with Celine first.

Dozens of messages appeared.

Nathan:

Did you eat yet?

Want me to prepare dinner?

Can I pick you up?

Is Lyria asleep?

Celine:

Busy.

No.

Later.

K.

Cold and detached. Almost robotic.

Aurora’s heart tightened.

She opened the thread with Lyria.

Nathan:

Need help with homework?

Want your favorite snack?

I’ll pick you up from school.

Lyria:

I’m with Tristan.

Mom said no.

Tristan bought me ice cream.

Aurora silently clenched the phone.

“How could they treat him like this…?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “He gave everything.”

Then she noticed two more names:

Amy

Alistair Veylor

The first didn’t catch her interest much—she assumed Amy might be a friend.

But the second name made her pause.

“Alistair Veylor…” she murmured. “His father.”

She tapped the message thread.

Only one text existed.

A series of symbols: R34 D

Aurora frowned deeply.

“What does that mean…?”

A code? A system message? A hidden signal?

Before she could investigate further, a delicious aroma drifted from downstairs. Her stomach growled instantly.

“Spaghetti,” she said under her breath, eyes lighting up.

She shot out of her room and hurried downstairs.

The dining table displayed a steaming bowl of spaghetti—Nathan’s rendition of a childhood favorite perfected through years of practice. Several house staff members stood nearby with admiration, watching the simple dish fill the air with a fragrance more enticing than the gourmet meals they usually prepared.

Aurora’s eyes sparkled. “This smells incredible.”

Nathan handed her a fork. “Let me know if it still tastes like your memories.”

She twirled the noodles and took a bite.

Then she froze—completely still, fork suspended mid-air.

Nathan tilted his head. “If it’s not good, you don’t have to—”

Aurora suddenly dove in for another bite. Then another. Then another. She ate continuously, savoring every mouthful as though rediscovering a forgotten joy.

Nathan’s confusion shifted into relief, then into amusement.

By the time she finished, Aurora leaned back, breathless. “Nathan… this is amazing. Thank you.”

Her gratitude held genuine warmth—so pure that Nathan couldn’t help smiling back.

“You’re welcome,” he said softly.

Before they could continue, a ringtone pierced the air.

Nathan’s phone buzzed on the table.

Aurora glanced at him proudly. “Looks like everything works now.”

He nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

He picked up the device, but when he saw the incoming call, his expression shifted slightly.

Amy calling…

Aurora’s fork stopped midair as she watched Nathan quietly step away, walking toward the kitchen for privacy.

Her heart tightened with unease.

“Why is he hiding to answer it…?”

She stared at his retreating back.

“Who exactly is Amy…?”

A prick of jealousy sparked in her chest—quiet but undeniably present.