A dangerous love affair with Mr Billionaire

Monique And just like that, I was back in London. It had been three years, two months, and twenty-one days since I left this city — and I had promised myself never to return. If it weren't for the job offer from one of London's finest wineries, I swear I wouldn't be standing here now. This city held too many memories of a past I had fought so hard to bury. Dressed in casual amber-yellow pants, a neon pink blouse, my oversized tote bag slung over one shoulder, and my thick-framed glasses perched on my nose, I wandered the building for what felt like forever before I finally found the reception desk. I was about to ask for directions to the HR office when a familiar voice cut through the hum of the lobby behind me. "Rosalia, is the newly recruited account clerk's office ready?" Familiar voice? As if there were any doubt whose voice it was. I would have recognized her anywhere — in a crowd, after years apart, at the end of the world. It belonged to Corine. Corine Wellington. My ex-best friend. I turned slowly, my heart pounding loud in my own ears, and there she was — the woman who slept with my fiancé mere hours before our wedding. Seeing her dragged the past back up like it had never been buried at all. You're a fool if you thought Ruger was going to end up with you. Just look around and tell me if anyone will want to have anything to do with you. Her voice, sharp and mocking, echoed in my memory as clearly as if she'd said it yesterday. My grip tightened around the strap of my tote bag until my knuckles ached, my stomach twisting itself into something small and cold. Three years, and my body still remembered her cruelty better than my mind wanted to admit. Three years had done nothing to dim her. If anything, she looked sharper, more polished, as though the city itself had refined her into something colder and more deliberate. Her hair was pinned into a sleek low bun, not a strand out of place, and she wore a charcoal blazer that probably cost more than my monthly rent. "Oh, Mo — you're here already!" she said, forcing out a bored, sarcastic little laugh. "Yes," I managed to squeeze out through gritted teeth, not bothering to hide the fact that her presence irritated me. "I had HR on the phone earlier. They said they were still finishing up the space you'll be occupying." She tilted her head, feigning concern. "In case you're worried — your office is very colorful. I recommended electric blue, magenta, chartreuse." Her grin was pure mockery. "Any other bright colors you'd love in there? Ha ha." Something hot and furious rose in my throat — a dozen replies clawing to get out, none of them polite. I swallowed every one of them, forcing my jaw to unclench before I let myself speak. Three years of practice had taught me that giving Corine a reaction was the same as handing her a weapon. "Thank you," I said instead, my smile hollow and armored. "I'm glad you still remember my color preferences. The ones you picked are perfect." Mercifully, Rosalia — I think that was her name — cleared her throat before the silence could curdle any further. "Miss Wellington, the office is ready whenever you'd like to show her up." From the way her eyes flicked between us, I could tell she was already piecing together that something ugly sat beneath the surface of this reunion. Of course. Of course Corine would be the one to show me to my own office. Of all the cruel jokes London could play on me, this one felt personal. Corine's smile tightened, but she gestured toward the elevator with practiced grace. "Shall we?" The ride up was quiet, save for the low hum of the cables and the occasional chime marking each passing floor. Corine kept her distance, eyes fixed on the numbers ticking upward, a tablet clutched to her chest like a shield — as though even she wasn't entirely sure what might happen if the silence broke first. "Here we are," she said at last, as the doors slid open on the fifth floor. "Like I said, your office was painted to your taste." She watched my face with an expression I couldn't quite place. "I remembered how much you love bright colors. Thought it might make you feel... at home." The words were warm. Her smile was warmer still. And yet something about the way she said it — too smooth, too rehearsed — told me this wasn't kindness. It was a message: I remember everything about you, Monique. Every detail. And don't you dare think I've forgotten what I did, or that I regret it. "You knew I was coming," I said slowly, the pieces clicking into place. "Before today. You knew." "Of course I knew." Her smile didn't waver. "I run HR liaisons for this division. Your file crossed my desk two weeks ago." She tilted her head, clearly entertained by my shock. "Did you really think I'd let you walk in here unprepared?" Prepared. As if I were a threat to be managed, rather than a person she'd once called her sister. That word settled somewhere deep and old in my chest, right beside the memory of standing in my wedding dress with nobody left to walk me down the aisle. Apparently, being discarded by Corine Wellington was a habit I was expected to get used to. "Enough talking for now," she said, breezing past my silence and settling into the chair across from my desk as though she owned it. "Since you're here, we might as well pick up where we left off." She crossed one leg over the other, entirely too pleased with herself. "My wedding is in two weeks. I need a chief bridesmaid — and I know you won't deny me that honor. Right, Mo?" I blinked, certain I'd misheard her. "Chief bridesmaid? Me?" "Yes, you, Mo." "Congratulations in advance," I said carefully, "but I don't think that's a good idea." "Mo, let's leave the past where it belongs." Her smile didn't so much as flicker. "It's unfortunate you never made it down the aisle that day, but we promised each other — bridesmaids no matter the circumstances." I stared at her, genuinely speechless for the first time since I'd walked into this building. The audacity of it nearly took my breath away — that she could stand there, in the wreckage of what she'd caused, and speak of promises like the biggest one she'd broken hadn't been mine. I opened my mouth to protest, but she pressed on before I could get a single word out. "Oh — and the annual gala is tomorrow night. Company-wide, mandatory, no excuses." Her eyes swept over me, assessing, cataloguing. "You just got here, so it's the perfect way to meet everyone. Bring a partner, if you have one." The door opened before I could respond. "Corine, you almost ready?" Ruger stepped in, tie loosened, his jacket slung over one shoulder — and Corine rose instantly to meet him, tilting up onto her toes to kiss him like it was the most natural motion in the world. She held it a beat too long, her fingers curling deliberately into the front of his shirt, and I understood with sudden, sickening clarity that the kiss wasn't for him at all. It was for me. If seeing Corine again had been a surprise, this — this — was the surprise of the day. "There you are," she murmured against his mouth. Then, pulling back, glowing with satisfaction: "Babe, look who's back in town." Ruger's eyes found mine over her shoulder, his jaw going tight, every ounce of color draining from his face. For the second time in my life, I stood there as a witness to their betrayal.