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The billionaire's lost love

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Fall for a billionaire- Redeem ex's love; Stary writing academy 111 He left. No words of goodbye, no note on the pillow to explain why he left. Nothing. I refuse to be the girl that runs after the Rich, sexy guy that broke her heart. If he wants me, he knows where to find me, but I won't be waiting around for him to realize what he lost.

I walked away without a second thought. I thought I was doing what was best, protecting my heart, but it doesn't matter where I go or what I do, I am constantly reminded of her. Is having her worth the risk of losing her? Will I be able to walk away a second time?

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Finish what he started

Carina

I wake up with a start and reach out my hand next to me, but instead of his warm body that has been wrapped around me nearly every night for the past three months, there is nothing but cold sheets. I jump up, my heart beating fast as I look around the room. There is nothing left of him, not his clothes on the floor where I left them after ripping it off in a haste to feel his skin against mine, not his watch that he took off just before we fell asleep. The only proof that he was ever in this room is his scent that still clings to the fabric of my sheets.

I try to calm my breathing, try to steady my heart, but I knew something was wrong last night, different. Being with Jaxon was always hard and passionate. He didn’t just have sex, he ruined you for any other man out there and last night he was soft and sweet. For the first time it felt like more than just passion and I was so sure that it meant he would stay, that he wanted to stay, but it was the complete opposite. Last night was a goodbye. He didn’t leave a note, didn’t wait to say goodbye. He didn’t make any promises and he never told me he loved me, but I hoped, like a stupid girl I allowed my heart to get involved. I wanted to believe that he was ready for more, that he would want more. Stupid, so fucking stupid.

Instead of breaking down or picking up my phone to call him, to beg him to come back or at the very least to ask me to go with him, I walk to the kitchen and turn on the kettle. I get my favorite cup out and grab the coffee, throwing two large heaps of it in. When the kettle is done boiling, I pour in the hot water and stir before placing the spoon in the sink and then taking a sip of the scorching hot coffee. The bitterness of the coffee awakens the bitterness in my heart. My pain turns to anger, and I let it burn. I stare ahead as I imagine what he looked like when he slipped out of my room in the dead of night, imagine him picking up his clothes, his watch and wallet. I imagine him slowly removing every piece of evidence that he was ever here, that the past three months ever happened. I imagine him slowly opening the door and slipping out of my life and then I scream. I smash my favorite cup on the ground, and I scream. Not caring about my neighbors or what they must be thinking, I don’t care about the fact that one of the pieces of my broken cup bounced of the floor and is now stuck in my skin, I don’t care about the blood now mixing with bitter coffee. I just scream, letting it all out. I let go of my hopes and dreams of waking up to him every morning, I let go of the dream of building a future with him and then I let him go. I straighten up, wipe the tears that fell without my consent, and I start wiping up the coffee and blood, I clean up the cut on my leg and then wrap it up. I don’t have to go to work today as it is a Sunday, and it is the one day a week that the store is closed, and I get to just spend on myself.

I spend the day washing every bit of clothing, scrubbing carpets and floors, washing curtains and bedding, anything that he might have touched, everything that held his scent, I wash or scrub and I finish what he started when he decided that I wasn’t someone worth facing his demons for. If only I could remove him from my memories, life would be so much easier.

 

Three months later

I have been running around like a mad woman, trying to get everything done at work while Gwen travels between the store and Malawi to check up on the free Clinic she started up last year. I admire her for her ability to run this store and do charity work while she is eight months pregnant, while I can hardly keep my head above water with the help of the other staff. I don’t know how she does it while being able to keep everyone around her happy. Just keeping patients happy is exhausting and my head is pounding by the time I get home every night and I am not even carrying all the workload. Alison and Felix have been great support for the past three months and if it wasn’t for them, I would’ve been sitting in a corner with my legs pulled to my chest while I cry myself to sleep.

The moment I walk into my apartment, my phone rings and I want to throw it against the wall, but I force myself to take a deep breath, put my handbag on the couch and then answer my phone. “Carina speaking, how can I assist?” I say as I place my phone to my ear.

“Carina?” I suck in a breath at the sound of his voice, pulling the phone away from my ear and then I do end up throwing my phone, watching as it shatters against the wall. I should’ve started with that in the first place. I want to kick myself for not checking the number, even with the fact that I haven’t seen his number light up my screen in three months, or the fact that I had deleted his number from my phone the day he walked out of my life, I would’ve still recognized it. Now I am going to have to buy a new phone.

I sigh as I walk past the mess of my broken phone on the floor, promising myself that I will clean it up in the morning, and I head into the kitchen. I pull chicken from the fridge that I had taken out of the freezer this morning and start putting spices on it. I sing to myself as I move around the kitchen, cutting up potatoes and carrots. I put everything into a casserole and then pour some water over it before I put it in the oven. When I am done, I clean up the mess I made and then pour myself a glass of sweet red wine. Dance around the kitchen, swinging my hips to music only I can hear. I refuse to let myself think about him, refuse to let myself think about why my heart is once again cracked open at the sound of my name leaving his lips. Instead, I down the glass of wine and pour the next one. I put some rice on the stove and then I move to the Livingroom, picking up the remote and switching on the TV to a music channel so that I don’t have to listen to the one song that I only know half the words of on repeat in my head.

Goddess by Xana starts playing over the speaker and I swear my TV just knows what I need to hear right now. I put the volume louder as I lift my arms and sing along at the top of my lungs. “He punched me in the mouth, and it felt like a gift. I’ll bet you never know how twisted that role is. Yeah, it’s true what they say boys think with their dicks. No, this aint something that sorry could fix. You’re fucking with a goddess.” I throw my head back as the lyrics spill from my lips, emotions running through me. “He said my pretty face shouldn’t look this way. He thinks that my body is his to take. He won’t look me in the eyes, afraid to see what is looking back at him.” I keep singing as I make my way back to the kitchen, checking on the rice to make sure it isn’t boiling over.  

When the song is over, I feel a little calmer, my heart hurting a little less. I dance to every song that comes on, constantly pouring more and more wine. By the time the food is done, there is only one glass of wine left in the bottle. I decide to enjoy it with my food, dishing up and then taking everything to the small table I have placed in the area next to my Livingroom, or part of my Livingroom, depends on who you are asking. I giggle to myself and then shake my head, the wine is really getting to me.

Just as I lift my fork to my mouth, my doorbell rings and for a moment my heart stops, and I want to scream at it. It’s not him, he wouldn’t dare showing up at my house, not after leaving the way he did. Still, disappointment stings when I see that it indeed isn’t Jaxon standing in front of my door, but the Greek tattooed god that he calls his best friend.

“What are you doing here, Carter?” I ask him as I sway a bit on my feet. Yup, too much wine for me.

“Everyone has been trying to call you. Gwen is in labor.” He says and I instantly feel like shit. Fucking Jaxon, this is all his fault.

“Sorry, I lost my phone.” I tell him and try to close the door a bit to block the view of my broken phone still lying where I left it… I am not sure how much time has passed.

“Come, we are going to be late, and I really want to be there when the baby is born.” He says and turns around, heading to his car that is parked a few feet away from my door.

“Wait, let me just grab my gift!” I shout as I run back into the apartment and towards my room. I bought the delivery gift two months ago, constantly worried that she would go into early labor, with all the stress of healing her broken legs after nearly being killed by her ex-boyfriend, planning a wedding while sitting with those broken legs and then running between the Clinic and her store, and the trail that she had to attend as a witness in the case against that Ashley bitch that they won luckily, I expected her to go into labor sooner than we had hoped. Did I mention that I admire her? I swear that woman is made of harder steel than any man I know.

After grabbing the gift, I quickly lock up and rush to get into the passenger seat of Carter’s sleek, red Porch. Before I even have my seatbelt strapped on, he is stepping on the gas so hard that I am pushed back in my chair. If I didn’t feel so guilty for making him drive past my apartment to pick up my stupid drunk ass, I would’ve scowled him, but instead I keep my mouth shut and my eyes closed to try and keep the wine from coming back up.

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