❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ MILLIONAIRE, BILLIONAIRE ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ it's the way he holds himself—strong, steady. Even when he's just sitting across from her in the cruiser, it feels like he's the anchor keeping her grounded. ❜

𝐴𝑆 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝑇𝑇𝐸 stepped into the precinct's briefing room, a chorus of claps and subdued cheers greeted her, washing over her like a warm wave. She chuckled, softly, feeling her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. The room buzzed with a blend of admiration and relief, colleagues patting her back as she made her way to her seat.

However, amidst the cheerful atmosphere, she noticed Tim's stern expression. His gaze is fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart quicken. There was no applause from him, only a piercing look that seemed to cut through the noise.

His earlier words at the hospital echoed in her mind as she settled into her chair, pushing it back with a soft scrape against the floor.

She stole a glance at Tim, searching for any hint of his inner turmoil or thoughts. His response was a subtle nod, barely perceptible amidst the bustling energy of the room. The lights casted a harsh, clinical glow, highlighting the tension etched into his features.

Sergeant Grey's authoritative voice broke through the noise, signalling the beginning of roll call. The room gradually fell silent, the anticipation palpable as everyone turned their attention to their sergeant. Charlotte took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

"We actually have a guest with us here today, someone who has sponsored the LAPD with three million dollars. Welcome our generous donor with a round of applause, officers!" Sergeant Grey's voice filled the room, announcing the presence of their distinguished guest. A sense of anticipation lingered in the air, mingled with a touch of pride evident in the sergeant's smile.

The man entered the room, exuding an aura of sophistication in his impeccably expensive tailored black suit. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back, and his posture radiated confidence and authority. As he navigated through the back row tables, his confident stride momentarily faltered as he draws closer to Charlotte.

With a deliberate slowness, he leaned down, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "Long time no see, doll."

The familiar nickname sent a shiver down her spine, evoking memories of a past she has long tried to bury. It was her father.

Despite the composed façade she tried to maintain, her heart quickened its pace at the unexpected encounter. Mixed emotions swirl within her—nostalgia, apprehension, and resentment.

The room, once filled with the low hum of chatter, now felt suffocatingly silent. The scent of coffee and the faint aroma of cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the antiseptic cleanliness of the precinct.

Charlotte's fingers instinctively gripped the edge of her chair, knuckles whitening as she struggled to maintain her composure.

With a subtle nod, she acknowledged his presence before he continued his journey to stand beside Sergeant Grey. Her father's eyes flickered with something unreadable, perhaps pride or regret, but he quickly masked it with a practiced, cordial smile as he faced the officers.

"Thank you, Sergeant Grey," he begun, his voice smooth and commanding, filling the room with a presence that demanded attention. "It's an honour to support the men and women who dedicate their lives to keeping this city safe."

Charlotte's mind raced, her father's voice a distant murmur as she grappled with the flood of emotions his mere presence has stirred.

The room applauded once more as her father concludes his speech, the officers' clapping a sharp contrast to the tumultuous storm brewing within Charlotte. As her father stepped away from the podium, his eyes met hers briefly, a fleeting connection that left her breathless.

Tim's gaze remained steady on her, a silent support amidst the chaos. She knew he expected her to rise to the occasion, to prove her resilience. The weight of his expectations felt both a burden and a challenge, pushing her to confront her past while forging her path forward.

Tim's acute perception never failed to catch the nuances of Charlotte's emotions. His keen eyes trace the subtle shifts in her expression—the widening of her eyes, the slight parting of her lips, the furrow of her eyebrows. His ability to pick up on these details was both impressive and slightly unnerving, a testament to his astuteness as her training officer.

Charlotte felt his scrutiny like a physical presence, grounding her amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. As she glanced back at her father and Sergeant Grey, memories of her childhood flooded her mind, stirring a mix of conflicting emotions. The scent of her father's cologne—a blend of cedar and something sharper—mingled with the sterile smell of the precinct, evoking a visceral response.

Sergeant Grey's voice cut through her reverie. "With this generous donation, we will be able to expand the police academy, allow disability diversity to shine even more throughout the years in the future. This is a true step into the future. Thank you, Mr. Von Liljah."

Grey shook her father's hand firmly, the two men embodying a shared sense of purpose and accomplishment. The applause that followed is enthusiastic, a collective acknowledgment of the significant impact this donation would have on the department.

Charlotte's father smiled, the expression carefully measured. "It's truly an honor to contribute to such a worthy cause. The dedication and bravery of the LAPD are inspiring, and I am proud to support their continued excellence."

The room was filled with a sense of camaraderie, the officers visibly appreciative of the new opportunities the donation represented. Yet, Charlotte remained acutely aware of the complex undercurrents beneath her father's polished exterior. His words, though publicly commendable, carried a personal weight for her, entwined with the high expectations and pressures of her upbringing.

Tim caught her eye again, his gaze steady and supportive. There was no need for words; his silent understanding is enough. Charlotte took a deep breath, centering herself. She knew that the road ahead would be challenging, but she was ready to face it head-on, armed with the resilience and strength that have brought her this far.

As Grey continued with the roll call, her father stepped back, giving Charlotte a final nod before exiting the room. The momentary connection lingers, a reminder of the past she must reconcile with her present.

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝑇𝑇𝐸 𝐻𝐴𝐷 always been her father's little doll, basking in the warmth of his affection and the lavish gifts that seemed to materialize with a mere wave of his hand. As she grew older, however, her perception of their relationship evolved, questioning the authenticity behind his gestures. Was it genuine love that he showered upon her, or simply an abundance of material possessions meant to compensate for his physical absence?

The concept of love itself became a labyrinth of uncertainties, a puzzle Charlotte tried to decipher amidst the opulence of her upbringing. In the spacious rooms of their grand estate, the air carried hints of expensive perfumes mingled with the subtle scent of polished wood and leather upholstery. The family portraits lining the walls captured frozen smiles, a facade of happiness that belied the underlying emptiness.

Her parents' lives seemed to run on parallel tracks, intersecting only occasionally in formal gatherings and obligatory dinners. The intimacy and warmth that Charlotte yearned for remained elusive, replaced by distant interactions and polite conversations that underscored their detachment.

In the evenings, when her father returned from another round of golf or a business trip, the clink of whiskey glasses echoed through the quiet corridors. Charlotte often watched from a distance, perched on the staircase landing, feeling like an outsider peering into a world she couldn't fully understand.

Her father's aspirations for her future were clear and unwavering—a wealthy husband who shared his passions for golf and fine whiskey. He envisioned a life for her that mirrored his own, a continuation of privilege and prestige that seemed more like an obligation than a choice.

In contrast to the fairy tales and movies she secretly indulged in, where love was portrayed as a magical force that conquered all obstacles, Charlotte's reality was starkly different. Love, to her, appeared as a transaction, a currency exchanged for loyalty and compliance.

Her father's attempts to win her affection through extravagant gifts—a carousel of toys that filled her room, designer clothes that adorned her wardrobe—only deepened her confusion. Each lavish offering felt like a distraction, a temporary salve for the deeper longing she harbored.

His absence was met with gifts, as if Charlotte's tears were the currency of affection. But did her lack of tears mean she wasn't truly sad or that she didn't love him? Was love meant to evoke such melancholy?

Charlotte grappled with these questions, unable to reconcile the idealized notions of love with the pragmatic reality of her upbringing. Love, it seemed, was a complex puzzle with pieces that refused to fit together, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty and doubt.

A sudden jolt disrupted the tranquility of Charlotte's thoughts as a hand landed firmly on her shoulder, yanking her from her reverie. Her senses immediately snapped to attention, scanning the room for any hint of danger, but all she found was the familiar sight of the roll-call room, devoid of any threat. Standing before her was her father, his presence demanding her undivided attention.

"Look at how the academy has treated you," he murmured, his touch gentle yet commanding as he guided her chin to meet his gaze. His fingers were rough against her skin, the nails trimmed and clean, but their grip was ironclad. With a delicate precision, he adjusted her angle, scrutinizing her with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, bore into hers, seeking something she wasn't sure she could provide.

"It saddens me to think that you forgot how important family is. You didn't even call to tell us about the... accident," he lamented, releasing her chin harshly from his grasp. The suddenness of the movement made her flinch, and she met his gaze, a wave of surprise and guilt washing over her. His face was a mask of controlled emotion, the lines around his mouth deepening with disappointment.

"I-I..." Charlotte stammered, her voice barely a whisper, struggling to form a coherent sentence.

"You think I wouldn't notice? I have eyes and ears everywhere, doll. You should know that by now," he growled, his voice carrying a subtle warning that sent shivers down her spine. His nickname for her, once a term of endearment, now felt like a barb, a reminder of her perceived failings.

The air between them was thick with unspoken words, the weight of his expectations pressing down on her. Escaping the confines of her childhood home was the first bold step towards claiming ownership of her own life—a decision that continued to resonate as her best one yet. The desire for autonomy, for a life without the expectations of others, fueled her determination.

The memory of her departure was vivid: the bustling streets of New York, with their cacophony of honking cars and chattering pedestrians, fading into the distance as she and her faithful friend embarked on their journey. The sun-drenched landscapes of Los Angeles were a stark contrast, the air heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and the salty tang of the nearby ocean. The open road stretched out before them, a promise of freedom and new beginnings.

Charlotte's thoughts drifted back to the present, her father's presence a looming shadow over her newfound independence. His eyes, cold and unyielding, followed her every movement, a constant reminder of the expectations she had left behind. She squared her shoulders, determination hardening her resolve.

The roll-call room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing in as if to suffocate her. But she stood tall, meeting her father's gaze with a newfound strength. The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges and doubts, but it was hers to navigate. She had come too far to turn back now.

Four years had elapsed since that fateful departure, and in that time, Charlotte had only grown happier. The absence of familial ties hadn't exactly weighed heavily upon her; after all, her relationship with her parents was tenuous at best, their whereabouts often a mystery even before she left Manhattan.

The police station hummed with activity as officers prepared for their shifts, the air filled with the familiar scents of stale coffee and worn leather. The clatter of boots on linoleum floors created a rhythmic backdrop to the morning bustle. Charlotte was deep in thought, her mind wandering back to those days of uncertainty and the path she had forged since.

As her dad adjusted his tie, his words pierced the air with unexpected weight. "I'll be riding with you today," he declared, his voice carrying an undertone of authority that brooked no argument. The statement hung in the air, thick with the implication of control and supervision.

Charlotte lifted her gaze, sensing a looming presence behind her. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she confirmed her suspicion—Tim was approaching, his solemn nod serving as tacit agreement to her dad's declaration. The sight of Tim, tall and imposing in his uniform, offered a fleeting sense of solidarity, but the tension remained palpable.

In heavy silence, they made their way to the garage, their footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. The garage was a cavernous space, filled with the scent of motor oil and the distant hum of engines. Fluorescent lights cast a harsh, sterile glow over the rows of police vehicles, creating stark contrasts of light and shadow.

As they approached the car, two imposing figures dressed in sleek black suits stood sentinel by the back doors, their expressions unreadable behind dark sunglasses. The bodyguards' presence added an extra layer of gravity to the situation, their silent vigilance a reminder of the power dynamics at play.

Charlotte released a frustrated sigh, her irritation mounting. "Father," she grumbled, shooting him a pointed glare. Her father's face remained impassive, his eyes cold and unyielding as he waited for one of the bodyguards to open the car door for him.

Tim positioned himself beside Charlotte, his arms crossed in a stance of solidarity. The familiar smell of his aftershave mixed with the industrial scent of the garage, creating a strange sense of comfort amidst the tension. Meanwhile, her dad remained unperturbed, his demeanor exuding an air of unshakeable authority as he slid into the back seat.

"I can't fucking believe this," Charlotte muttered through gritted teeth, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The weight of her father's presence felt suffocating, a stark contrast to the freedom she had fought so hard to attain.

"Easy there, boot. Save the colorful language for the racetrack," Tim quipped ironically, his tone laced with humor as he strode toward the driver's side of the police car. His attempt to lighten the mood brought a faint smile to her lips, but the underlying tension remained.

The car's interior was a confined space, the leather seats cool against Charlotte's skin. The scent of upholstery cleaner mingled with the faint hint of gasoline, creating an oddly nostalgic aroma. She settled into the passenger seat, her mind racing with a mix of frustration and determination.

Tim slid behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel with a practiced ease. The engine roared to life, its low rumble resonating through the car as they pulled out of the garage. The cityscape unfolded before them, a blur of buildings and bustling streets bathed in the early morning light.

Charlotte rolled her eyes, opening the door to the passenger seat with a frustrated sigh. The seatbelt clicked into place as she fastened it, her glare aimed at her father through the rearview mirror. Tim started the car, a look of determination suggesting he already had a destination in mind.

The city unfolded around them as they drove, the streets teeming with the usual morning activity. The air outside was a blend of exhaust fumes, street food, and the faint tang of the nearby ocean, creating a unique urban symphony. Buildings, both old and new, lined the roads, their facades telling tales of the city's history.

Bradford brought the car to a stop in front of a nondescript convenience store, its worn sign and faded paint suggesting years of service. Charlotte shot him a puzzled glance as he unfastened his seatbelt and stepped out of the vehicle. Curiosity and apprehension mingled in her chest as she followed suit, unbuckling her seatbelt and casting a fleeting glance at her father before joining Bradford on the sidewalk.

"Sir, what's the plan here?" Charlotte inquired, shutting the car door behind her. Her voice, though steady, carried an undertone of unease.

Bradford turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Prove to your daddy that you belong in the force. Show him what you're capable of." His words were a challenge, meant to ignite a fire within her.

As they approached the sidewalk, Charlotte's attention was drawn to a scene unfolding nearby. Two men, one wearing layers of grimy clothing and a black beanie, were engaged in what appeared to be a secretive drug exchange. The smell of cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stale odor of petrol from a nearby gas station. Before she could fully process the situation, Tim interjected.

"Ghost head," he called out, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. The men instinctively began to scatter in different directions, their movements betraying their unease.

"No, no. Hold up a minute," Tim interjected calmly yet firmly, his authoritative tone arresting their flight.

The man in the black beanie halted his attempt to flee, his shoulders slumping in resignation as he turned to face them. "This is harassment, man," he grumbled, his voice laced with frustration and defeat.

Bradford offered a dismissive shrug, his approach purposeful as he closed the distance between himself and the suspect, his arms folded in a display of unwavering authority. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Charlotte positioned herself alongside him, ready to assist.

With a low, authoritative tone, Tim gestured towards the drug dealer. "Search him, boot," he directed, his words carrying a weighty implication that left no room for hesitation.

Charlotte exchanged a puzzled glance with Tim, but his expression offered no further explanation. Turning her attention back to the suspect, she took a measured step forward. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of the pressure she was under.

She licked her lips nervously, stealing a glance back at their shop. Her father was probably watching, his gaze a silent evaluation of her every move.

"Uh... Turn around and place your hands on the wall," she instructed, her voice desperate to sound steady despite the inner turmoil brewing within her. The air was thick with tension, the faint scent of cigarette smoke mingling with the stale odor of petrol.

The man with the beanie stood before Charlotte, his stance defiant, his eyes ablaze with challenge. His lips curled into a sneer as he taunted her, his voice dripping with contempt. "Make me, doll," he jeered, his words a sharp contrast to the eerie silence that enveloped them.

Adrenaline coursed through Charlotte's veins, her heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat. She steeled herself for the confrontation, ignoring the twinge of pain from her still-healing wound, and stepped forward with determination, her gaze locked on her opponent.

Before she could react, he struck. His fist lashed out with deadly precision, and agony flared through her as the blow landed squarely on the spot where she had been stabbed weeks ago, threatening to knock her off balance.

"Keep your hands up, Officer Von Liljah. Don't let him get on top of you," Tim's voice cut through the haze of pain, grounding her in the reality of the moment.

Drawing on every ounce of strength, Charlotte pushed through the agony and unleashed a flurry of strikes, each blow fueled by righteous fury. With each punch and kick, she felt her resolve solidify, her determination unyielding in the face of adversity.

The struggle reached its climax as Charlotte finally gained the upper hand, grappling the man to the ground with a satisfying thud. Breathless and panting, she swiftly secured him in handcuffs, her hands shaking with exertion. Turning to Bradford for reassurance, she saw his nod of approval, a silent acknowledgment of her triumph.

Standing over the subdued drug dealer, Charlotte felt a surge of pride and accomplishment wash over her, a testament to her unwavering dedication to justice. The air was thick with tension, the faint scent of cigarette smoke mingling with the stale odor of petrol from the nearby gas station.

As she secured the handcuffs around the drug dealer's wrists, a blonde woman emerged from the convenience store, her troubled expression drawing Charlotte's attention. The woman's disheveled appearance spoke of hardship, her clothes and hair bearing the marks of a difficult life. Her eyes darted nervously between Charlotte and the subdued man, a mix of fear and desperation in her gaze.

Charlotte's surroundings came into sharp focus. The convenience store's neon sign buzzed softly, casting a harsh, flickering light over the scene. The pavement was littered with discarded wrappers and cigarette butts, the faint hum of city life continuing unabated in the background. The smell of petrol and stale tobacco hung heavy in the air, mingling with the distant aroma of fried food from a nearby vendor.

The woman's presence added a new layer to the scene, her worried eyes locked on the drug dealer. Charlotte's gaze softened slightly as she took in the woman, noting the frayed edges of her coat and the way she clutched her worn purse as if it were a lifeline.

Charlotte's heart pounded in her chest as she watched the unfolding scene, her mind racing with questions. The air was thick with tension, the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering like an unwelcome guest. The city's sounds seemed distant, muffled by the intensity of the moment.

"Let him go! Come on," a woman's voice cut through the stillness, tinged with desperation. She approached Tim, her presence adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the situation. Charlotte's curiosity was piqued, her attention fully captured by this new development.

Tim's eyes softened as he recognized her. "Isab- Isabel. It's me, Tim," he said gently, his voice filled with compassion. He stepped closer to her, his movements careful, as if afraid of startling her. Charlotte watched in silence, a flicker of recognition passing between them. The connection between them was palpable, and it left her intrigued.

Did Bradford know her?

"It's okay," Tim continued, his tone tender and reassuring. "I've been trying to find you just- just to make sure you were okay. Are you okay?" His words were laced with concern, his demeanor tender as if he feared shattering her fragile state.

Isabel's eyes widened with recognition and surprise. She looked at Tim, her expression a mixture of relief and disbelief. "Tim... I..." Her voice faltered, and she glanced around nervously, her hands trembling slightly. The ambient sounds of the city seemed to fade further into the background, the moment between them taking center stage.

Charlotte couldn't help but notice the contrast between Tim's usual tough exterior and the compassion he was showing now. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a side of him she had never seen before. The hardened facade had given way to a tender, caring soul, and it was both surprising and moving.

had someone ask me how Charlotte's last name is pronounced & it's Von Lil-jah, like how you'd pronounce the name Elijah !! :)

please feel free to engage with the story !!
– comment, like, & interact. your participation keeps me motivated! thank you!!

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 13.07.24 ❞