My Billionaire Thinks I’m His Cat Not His Fiancée Chapter 07

My Billionaire Thinks I’m His Cat Not His Fiancée Chapter 07

I was broke again. It felt like I’d come full circle.

I collapsed onto the motel bed after another day of failed interviews.

I thought back to when I’d first arrived at Ethan’s house.

I’d spent every day plotting my escape.

The System had tried to reason with me: [Your target is right here. A mansion is right here. Why are you running?]

I’d run plenty of times, back when I hadn’t been fully softened by comfort.

Ethan always found me.

He never got angry. He’d just say patiently, “Sweetheart, time to go home.”

At worst, he’d drive me back with a dark expression, lecturing me the whole way about how dangerous the outside world was.

“Someone might feed you something bad.”

“Cars won’t stop just because you’re cute.”

I was annoyed. “I’ve been living out there for over twenty years.”

He frowned. “No wonder you’re so skinny. You’d lose a fight with any other cat.”

The time I ran the farthest, I felt triumphant.

The System whispered: [Host, you don’t have anywhere to go.]

My lease was up, my job was gone, my bank account had four digits, and my phone buzzed with credit card reminders.

I stood on a windy street corner, the excitement draining out of me.

It was right. There were so many orphans, so many capable people in this world.

I’d fought tooth and nail for scraps my whole life. I’d never been able to stop.

Then Ethan appeared. And for the first time, I realized that someone could worry about me skipping a meal, could grow anxious if I woke up groggy.

His reasoning was absurd.

He thought he was saving a stray cat.

But being saved felt incredible.

That time, when he found me, he finally relented.

“You don’t have to come back.”

I blinked.

He said, “Eat first. Then I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

Ethan took me to a hotel and booked the most expensive suite at the front desk.

I was about to hand over my ID when he asked the clerk, “Is it safe for her to stay alone?”

“Our security is excellent.”

“Can the windows be locked?”

“…Yes.”

“Are there any sharp objects in the room?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I dragged him aside.

He said he was worried.

I said, “I can take care of myself.”

He said, “But you weren’t doing well before. You were a mess when I brought you home.

“You slept holding your phone, woke up at every little sound, ate so fast like someone was going to take it away.”

He spoke calmly, but his dark eyes were filled with sorrow and tenderness.

“Why do you always want to leave? Am I doing something wrong?

“…Our home is safe.”

My heart skipped a beat.

I’d grown up in foster care, worked my way through school, and rented places one after another.

Lease ends, leave. Job ends, leave. Landlord raises the rent, leave.

There had never been a place I could call home.

In the end, I didn’t stay at the hotel.

Because Ethan stood outside the entrance like a giant, abandoned dog.

The comparison was absurd.

In his world, I was the stray.

On the way back, Ethan said, “If you want to go out, just tell me next time.”

He looked at me like I might vanish if he blinked.

“I get scared when you run off by yourself. I take care of you, and you… keep me company.”

If he’d been meaner, harsher, I could’ve hated him, run away, called the cops, screamed at the System about how insane this world was.

But Ethan was too good at raising cats.

Or rather, he was too good at taking care of someone who had no one.

And back then, I was so tired.

Tired enough that even knowing he saw me as a cat, I still wanted to stay in his world.

I stopped running. One day became another.

I told myself it was for the mission. For the money. For the prize. For the day I’d take a million dollars and fly far, far away.