Obsessed with my Billionaire Step-Father to be

chapter two

An annoying and blaring alarm from my wall clock jolted me awake, sparing me from my nightmarish dreams.

It was five o'clock in the morning.

I had dozed off on the floor for hours, and now, the prickly carpet fibres had imprinted harsh ziggy-zaggy lines on my bare thighs.

I woke up with a pounding headache and a growling stomach– I hadn't eaten anything the previous night. My breath hitched every few seconds like my body couldn’t quite decide if it wanted to eat or sleep. I stared at nothing, trying to remember exactly what I had in stock at home.

I sluggishly reached for my phone on the floor beside me and discovered I had thirty missed calls from Ivy and Yvonne, as well as some texts. I hadn't told them about the break-up yet, so the number of times they called actually bothered me. I rubbed my eyes to chase away the sleep bearing down on my eyelids.

I clicked on Ivy's own first. She was much more radical and straight to the point.

Where are you? You and the MF broke up?!

He just celebrated a whole new relationship on i********:! Cheating piece of s**t!

Since I'm leaping for joy, I know you are unhappy. Call me and I want to know you are okay.

Mitch posted himself in a new relationship?

I didn't want to believe it, so I went online on i********:. The first thing I saw was a notification that he had unfollowed me. My heart thundered rapidly in my chest.

I did expect my heart to crack when I saw the post, but I didn't think it could hurt me the way it did. Unconventionally, not to seem like a stalker, I liked the post. I replied to Yvonne's and Ivy's messages, tossed my phone aside, and stared blankly into space.

The room smelled of a clangy mixture of sweat, stale paint, and Mitch’s cologne. I was still wrapped in his shirt. It felt heavier now, like it was clinging to me out of mockery rather than comfort. I wanted so badly to tear it off and burn it, but in the end, all I did was pull my knees tighter to my chest and cry until my throat burned raw and my face was a sticky, salt-stained mess.

Around seven o'clock, the bright morning sun illuminated my apartment walls in a screaming shade of yellow, harshly reminding me that I still needed to go to work. As if to solidify my circumstances, my landlady just texted me a ‘friendly reminder’ that ‘passion’ doesn't pay rent. I didn't bother opening it.

I finally moved, first discarding Mitch's shirt in the trash bin. I microwaved a big-sized bag of popcorn, poured a glass of red wine that I was so sure had exceeded its expiry date, though I didn't bother to check, and stood naked and barefoot in the kitchen staring at the almost-empty cabinets.

This isn't rock bottom, Bree. I told myself. Not yet. Rock bottom is when the wine runs out, which was my mother's favourite phrase, by the way. I chuckled at the ugly reminder that we hadn't spoken for three years. Long story.

While shoving handfuls of popcorn in my mouth, I thought about work. Not that I had any option to take a day off (it would be deducted from my already meagre salary because my work rarely brought in customers) but I didn't want to have to face Elsie (A.K.A the demon), today. she would come at me with her fake little giggles, especially now that she clocked a big client (my supposed client), and the boss would take the s**t out on me. Memories of when I used to be fire…like walking into rooms and owning them flooded my head, making my eyes water with tears. Well, that was before I had left college.

I freshened up in my mini bathroom, and nothing prepared me for how terrible my face was at the moment. My facial skin was deathly pale, like my emotions had drained the colour from my face. My eyes were swollen and rimmed red with thick eye bags lined with dark circles. My lips were bruised as a result of biting down hard on them when I tried to hold back my sobs. I definitely wasn't going out makeup-free today.

So I smudged black eyeliner on my swollen eyelids, wore a pair of oversized black sunglasses, put on a red lipstick I hadn’t touched in months and tied my loose red wavy hair in a messy bun. Glancing at my reflection in my mirror, I looked like I’d slept with a ghost and then fought it in my dreams. Which felt accurate cuz who wore sunglasses indoors? I smiled slightly at my own joke and slung my bag over my shoulder and stepped outside, locking my apartment door.

It was a twenty-minute walk to the train station. I got on the train, put my earbuds in, and turned the volume up to the highest. People seemed to avoid me, probably sensing I was one ‘small talk’ away from an emotional outburst. Good. I needed space. I needed silence. I really needed no one to ask if I was okay because I wasn’t, and if a stranger probably offered me a tissue or an inspirational quote, I was going to set something on fire. The train slowly pulled to a temporary stop at the very busy Melrose district station, and I dragged myself off the train, momentarily wishing that I was in a gritty Indian movie that no one had asked me to direct.

The Melrose district was East Hollywood, and if you think you haven't seen enough craziness, I would recommend it here. From Barbie-themed plastic wannabe dolls in human bodies to A-list trendy boutiques, shops, cafes (you name it), Melrose was chaotic. Suddenly everyone wanted to be some influencer, or the next big reality star, or some top model, just a bit of everything Hollywood was basically about (Wealthy, famous, perfect plastic bodies). But honestly speaking, some people took matters way too far into their own hands, like some girl I just walked past…draped in neon pink fur, Barbie pink overalls, an oversized BBL and gleaming silver boots…my dark glasses literally sparkled from the unpleasant reflection of light from her clothes.

The only thing I loved about Melrose was the coffee. After all, celebrities often decide to have lunch after shopping. And you would definitely not want a bad review from a famous guest. Except that paying twenty dollars for a mug-sized coffee was definitely a luxury for me.

Inwardly deciding against my bank account to spoil myself, I jogged towards my favourite cafe, hoping some well-brewed vanilla-flavoured coffee with whipped cream would do the trick of clearing my head and my heart.

“The usual please. In takeout,” I said to Elena over the counter. She flashed a very professional smile at me. As much as I would love to sit around and criticise everyone around me…I was running late for work, and the last person I needed on my case right now was my Boss. My order came thankfully quickly, and I huddled my way out of the almost crowded cafe.

Now strutting along the sidewalk of the less busy street, I slowly brought the coffee to my nose, inhaled deeply and closed my eyes to savour its imaginary, familiar sweet taste on my tongue. I couldn’t wait to take a sip, and it was worth every penny.

That was when I slammed into something hard…then soft..a soft wall? Nevertheless, I watched in mouth-opened horror as my prized coffee slipped from my grip and splattered against the hardened concrete. As if to solidify my heartbreak, a car whizzed past, crushing the plastic cup into bits. Furious and in rage, I whipped my head to whatever it was that I had crashed into. Luckily, it was human. A really tall one.

“Are you blind?!” I yelled at him.

He wore a face mask, but his sharp eyes held an incredulous glare….just enough to make my stomach twist. And then he took a step back to examine his clothes. The twist in my stomach turned into a stabbing pain in my chest.

“Excuse me??” I snapped harshly, infuriated so much that I was sure I looked like I had frayed my nerves. Passers-by began to shoot us curious glances.

“You are not disabled?” He finally spoke, his tone slightly soft and laced with concern.

“Huh?” My eyes blinked twice in confusion behind my glasses, my anger subsiding just a little bit.

“You can see…can't you?” He said again, this time more like a statement. I suddenly understood that he assumed I was blind because of my glasses.

My jaw tightened. My subsided anger shot right back to boiling, although I was close to bursting into tears.

“Yes, and a big F**k you to you,” I spat out angrily and jabbed my middle finger up to his chest. His eyes widened slightly, and I stormed away from him, eager to run away, before the floodgates behind my eyelids would burst open without my consent.

What I forgot was the spilt coffee on the concrete, and my boots were so overworn that the roughened edges of my soles had begun to flatten out.

My legs pulled out in front of me as I ungraciously slipped, my arms flailing helplessly in an attempt to catch something…Anything that would stop me from falling. Which failed.

I think someone must have cast a voodoo spell on me this week. Shrieking loudly, I closed my eyes and braced my body for the impact on the concrete. If this were a scene in an Indian drama series, my soulmate could have sensed me falling... and would somehow appear to save me from this embarrassing moment. At worst, someone would make a video, and I may trend online for all the wrong reasons…it was Melrose after all. And life was not fair.

Unexpectedly, a large, warm and steady hand caught me at the base of my spine, halting my fall in one firm motion.

I knew who that was, and while he straightened me up, and I stared into his half-covered face for the first time, I realised that his eyes were a rare, deep shade of piercing blue. They were locked in on mine, and my heart thundered in my chest. The air between us suddenly felt charged, almost dangerous.

“Let me buy you another coffee,” he offered in a smooth, deep baritone, his tone a calm, still contrast to the mess of the moment. “Please.”