Chapter 2: The Billionaire Beauty.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The Billionaire Beauty.

Simon wore a fitted polo that hugged his body tightly. He was doing push-ups on the driveway, wearing an earpiece. His body went up and down, steady and controlled.

"Eighty-seven... eighty-eight..." he counted under his breath.

A few minutes later, he stood up, wiped his hands, and went back to cleaning the car. He cleaned so diligently, as if he was expecting an August visitor.

From her bedroom window , Flora could see him. She checked the time on her wall clock. It was 7:10 a.m.

_He is early,_ she thought. _Very early, unlike her previous drivers.

She should go down for her morning exercise. Instead,she stood by the window. Watching him.

Then last night’s thought came back to her mind.

The new driver.

"Why did the agency send a distraction? A man with a killer body like that, to work under her roof. This is a package she never expected,yet she couldn’t look away."

"Flora, you need to focus," she whispered to herself. "You have exercises to do."

But her eyes went back to him again.

"Could there be a mix-up somewhere? Because this guy is just too perfect."

As she opened her curtains to welcome the cool morning breeze.

She saw him lift the bonnet single-handedly. One hand. Like it weighed nothing.

Her breath hitched.

_No, Flora. You can’t be like this,_ she scolded herself, quickly looking away.

Luckily, the housekeeper’s voice called from outside ,shifting her attention.

She could hear the her singing loudly while cleaning.

She smiled.

"That girl," she muttered. "Only credit alert makes her turn her bluetooth speaker to full volume. When women are making money, they are always in high spirits. All sorrows are wiped away, just cool vibes. Maybe that’s why I like her.."

She looked in the garden, her gardener was trimming the flowers. A Middle-aged man, who has worked for her for years.

"He is very good at his job ," she said to herself. "Just like a radio, he brings all the headlines to the other staff before BBC does."

She glanced at the other houses around — they were all her properties. They belonged to a woman whose wealth seemed almost unlimited.

But money never made Flora feel important. She has always been important.

At fifty, Flora was still one of the most beautiful women in London. She no longer tried to impress anyone. While other women might choose to browse internet, watch movies, enjoy breakfast in bed and morning cuddles, she chooses her garden and her yoga, where she connects her body and soul.

Her garden has roses from different parts of the world, tall trees, a small fountain, and a heated pool. Yet her favorite place remained the quiet space beneath the old tree.

Few hours later, she walked into the garden wearing her yoga clothes.

"This is my favorite spot," she whispered. "I’m still alive. Still a woman."

She laid her mat and her chef brought her usual black tea, served it with quiet respect and stepped back. Flora sat calmly as the morning light touched her face.

Then she began her yoga. Slow. Controlled. Graceful. For Flora, yoga was more than exercise.

But there is something Flora did not know. She is being watched.

Few houses around her mansion had large windows facing the street. And strangely enough, some of these windows are open this morning.

One window. Then another. Then another. Most of the men in the neighborhood has suddenly developed interest in waking up early. Standing behind curtains with cups of coffee, pretending to be interested in weather.

The answer is simple. Flora.

One particular man has been watching her for several minutes from an open bathroom window, staring through the gap.

"How long have you been watching her?" His friend entered behind him.

The man stiffened. "What? I wasn’t watching her."

His friend raised eyebrow. "You heard me. You wake up early, walk into bathroom, open the window, and stand here watching her do yoga every morning."

"I just admire her. She is different. She has something - confidence. She doesn’t behave like a woman who needs anybody."

"Because she doesn’t," his friend said.

The man smiled. "Maybe one of these days I will try to get a job in her mansion, just so I can adore her beauty every day."

"You are married. Your wife will skin you alive."

"I wish I met her before my wife. She is my spec."

Outside, Flora continued, not knowing she had become subject of conversation. She finished yoga and picked up her tea. As she entered through the glass doors, something felt different.

She walked into her enormous kitchen.

The smell of spices filled the air. The kitchen was one of her favorite places, but obviously, she was not domestic, and maybe that’s why God blessed her. She couldn’t even remember the last time she turned on the cooker.

Flora inhaled and muttered to herself, "God knows I love this kitchen, but I’m not a kitchen woman. Maybe that’s why He blessed me."

"Good morning," Grace said.

"Good morning," she answered.

"Grace, what am I having for breakfast?"

Grace replied, "Lobster omelette with creamy cheese and fresh chives, two slices of warm, buttered brioche toast, grilled asparagus, fresh strawberries, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a cup of premium English breakfast tea, ma’am."

"I’ve already had tea," Flora said.

"Okay, ma," Grace said.

Flora moved around the kitchen corner. She opened a shelf and saw a plate of food that had not been touched.

"Whose food is this?" she asked.

The chef answered, "It’s the driver’s, ma’am. That was his food last night, but he said he doesn’t eat heavy food at night, so I gave him vegetable salad instead."

"Oh, I see," Flora said,

Flora turned to the chef.

"Since the new driver likes eating late, start preparing dinner by 4 p.m. Make sure it’s ready on time so he won’t have reason to refuse it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma’am," the chef replied.

She looked around the place and headed to her room.

Inside her room, the dressing mirror is her favorite spot in the room.

She stood before it, thinking about how composed the driver behaves, exactly like her husband.

She whispered to herself,

"I wish I could turn back the hands of time. Life truly has a cost... it has cost me my happiness."

She looked in the mirror and saw how much she had changed, how time flies.

Beside the mirror, on the bedside, hung a necklace that belonged to her husband.

Immediately, she felt wetness around her eyes.

"I miss you," she whispered. She quickly wiped her eyes. She refused to cry.

Then her phone rang. Unfamiliar number. This early morning.

Who could be calling her this early? She whispered.

She stared at the screen. Strange feeling moved through her chest. Her phone continued ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. She finally picks up.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then a man’s breathing.

"Hello? Who is this?"

A deep, calm, unfamiliar voice finally spoke.

"Mrs. Flora?"

Flora’s heart moved strangely.

"Yes."

"I need to speak to you."

"About what?"

Pause.

"It is about your husband’s estate."

Flora’s expression changed. She immediately became serious.