Love Rents A Room
Chapter 90: Meeting Philip Winchester

Chapter 90: Meeting Philip Winchester

Fiona’s breath caught in her throat.

Philip Winchester.

One of the most powerful men in the world had just arrived at Joanne’s doorstep. The sheer weight of his presence made her hesitate, but she forced herself to step onto the porch, her heart pounding.

With his assistant by his side, Philip approached, exuding an effortless authority softened by an undeniable warmth. His silver-streaked hair was neatly combed, and his tailored suit fit him like a second skin, but it wasn’t his wealth or power that struck Fiona; it was his smile.

"Darling girl," Philip greeted, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. "It’s such a lovely day, isn’t it? Is Poppet—ah, Joanne—around?"

He ascended the porch steps with a slight strain, gripping the railing for support. His knee must have worsened with age. Fiona noticed the stiffness in his movements, but it didn’t dim his kindness. His voice held the same affectionate charm, as if he were speaking to an old friend rather than standing at the doorstep of a small-town farmhouse.

Fiona, still trying to grasp the reality of the situation, stammered, "I—I’m Fiona... Liam Sullivan’s wife."

Philip’s smile widened, reaching his eyes. "Oh, Liam’s wife? That’s a pleasant surprise." His voice carried genuine delight. "You must be a good friend to our Poppet, then."

Before she could say another word, he stepped inside, moving as if the home were already familiar to him. There was no hesitation or pretense; just a man who belonged wherever he chose to stand—in this case, he was casual as he entered his old friend’s house.

Fiona followed, still reeling. This is what power looks like, she thought. Not loud, not forceful—just effortless, commanding without trying... and kind.

The living room suddenly felt small with the influx of people. Philip took a comfortable seat on the couch. Philip’s security team filled the space, their movements smooth yet calculated. They carried a distinct presence—sharp eyes scanning, postures upright, smelling of something indefinable yet unmistakable.

If wealth had a scent, this was it.

Fiona swallowed hard, trying to collect herself. "Joanne is out. One of her security cameras stopped working, so she went to check on it."

Philip’s expression didn’t change, but the subtle shift in his eyes spoke volumes. "Her camera is out?" His voice, still calm, carried an undercurrent of concern.

His assistant—an impeccably dressed man with an air of efficiency—stepped forward. "Could you tell us more, Mrs. Sullivan? Which camera was affected?"

"I... I’m not sure," Fiona admitted, suddenly feeling out of her depth. "She didn’t say."

She caught the faint flicker of disappointment on both the assistant’s face and Philip’s. The weight of it made her fidget, clutching her skirt. "I’m sorry..."

Philip didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. A single glance at his assistant was all it took.

Sebastian immediately pulled out his phone and dialed Joanne.

The sharp ringing came from the kitchen.

Fiona jumped, eyes widening. She rushed over, picking up Joanne’s phone from the counter. "She... she didn’t bring her phone with her. She was a little out of it this morning..." Fiona chuckled awkwardly, trying to downplay the tension creeping into the room.

But something shifted.

A silent, electric moment passed. Then, like a single spark setting off a chain reaction, everything changed.

Philip’s security team moved. Fast.

Sebastian barked a quick command, and within seconds, the bulky men were gone—spreading out across the farm, fanning in all directions, talking to the farmhands and looking around.

Fiona barely had time to react before the house fell into a tense, humming silence. Fiona swallowed hard.

Something was wrong.

She could feel it in the charged air, in the way Philip Winchester’s easy warmth had sharpened into something far more serious.

"Is... something wrong, Mr. Winchester?" she asked hesitantly.

Philip didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her, as if weighing how much to say. Then, with calm precision, he asked, "Your husband knows Joanne’s property well, does he not?"

Fiona blinked at the unexpected question. "Yes, he does."

Philip gave a small nod. "If it’s not too much trouble, could you ask him to come here?"

The way he phrased it—so polite, so courteous—took her off guard. She had never expected a billionaire of his caliber to ask for anything. She had assumed people like him simply commanded.

Maybe this is what they callclass.

"For sure, Mr. Winchester," Fiona nodded quickly, her fingers already dialing Liam. If something serious was going on, Liam needed to know.

The moment he picked up, she wasted no time giving him a quick rundown of the situation.

Liam’s voice was sharp. "Ask him if this is about Caruso."

Fiona’s stomach clenched. She turned back to Philip. "Sir, my husband asks... if this is about Caruso?"

The room seemed to freeze for half a second.

Philip’s expression darkened—his eyes turning razor-sharp. Then, with measured calm, he nodded. "Yes."

Fiona didn’t know what scared her more—his confirmation or the look on his face. Caruso. The name alone sent a chill through her.

"I’ll be there in fifteen," Liam said before the line cut off.

Fiona lowered the phone, her mind spinning. She didn’t know much about Caruso, only bits and pieces she had overheard. But whatever it was, it was serious.

Trying to shake off the tension tightening around her, she cleared her throat. "Sir... would you like some coffee? Or... lemonade?"

Philip turned back to her, and as if flipping a switch, the dangerous glint in his eyes vanished. In its place was the same warm, almost grandfatherly smile from before.

"You don’t have to call me ’Sir,’ Fiona, darling," he said, his voice as smooth as silk.

Fiona exhaled, barely realizing she had been holding her breath. She couldn’t understand it—how could a man shift between warmth and steel so effortlessly? But he sounded so kind and attentive.

"Yes, Mr. Winchester," she said, managing a smile. "Jo always has lemonade in the fridge. And she has some sandwiches~"

Philip’s lips quirked. "I know she keeps the good moonshine hidden somewhere in this house. Any idea where?"

Fiona nearly gasped. Did a multi-billionaire just ask for moonshine?

Before she could even wrap her head around it, Sebastian stepped into the room. His timing was impeccable, as if he had materialized out of nowhere.

Philip glanced away immediately, like a guilty child caught in the act.

Sebastian’s polite, measured voice filled the room. "Mrs. Sullivan, Mr. Winchester will be delighted to have the lemonade."

Philip let out a quiet, disgruntled grumble. Damn his doctor for forbidding him even the smallest joys in life. A single sip of alcohol wouldn’t kill him.

Fiona had to bite back a chuckle. Was he actually pouting?

But as much as Philip wanted to argue, now wasn’t the time to indulge.

Philip inhaled deeply, his expression settling into something grim. Caruso was here.

And they needed to find him before he found Joanne.

-----

Jeffrey jolted awake, sucking in a sharp breath. His pulse pounded in his ears.

His body felt heavy with exhaustion—he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But something was wrong. Very wrong.

Fragments of a conversation clung to the edges of his mind like a fading nightmare.

A man at the bar... A sketchy man.

And Joanne’s farm.

His breath hitched as the realization crashed into him.

Had that been real? Or just a dream?

His heart slammed against his ribs.

What had he said?

Did he really put Joanne’s life in danger?

Unconsciously, he stood up and rushed to his car. He needed to make sure she was safe.

As Jeffrey sped down the familiar roads, his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary. His mind raced faster than the engine.

Think... Think...

The man at the bar—dark eyes, a smirk that didn’t quite reach them. His questions had seemed casual at first, but now, in the harsh light of panic, Jeffrey saw them for what they were.

How big is the farm? How many people live there? Any security? Any blind spots?

And he’d answered. Like a damn fool, he’d answered.

A sickening weight settled in his gut. He had been too drunk, too angry, too lost in his own misery to realize what was happening.

And now Joanne—Joanne—might pay the price.

His foot pressed harder on the gas. He needed to get to her.

Now.