A Billionaire’s Lost Marriage

CHAPTER ONE "Could this traffic get any worse?" I groan in frustration. I've literally been in traffic for an hour now and it's still counting. My phone suddenly beeps and my frustrations immediately vanish. It's the love of my life calling. 'You're missing me yet?' I say as I pick the call. 'Miss you? No, I have better things to do.' Noah replies and I can literally picture the smirk on his face. I mock gasp and click my tongue. 'Well, Mr. Noah Woods, I suggest you resume back to whatever you were doing. I'm quite busy at the moment to.' He chuckles over the phone and I can't help but smile. I can't wait till I see his face again and watch him laugh. 'You know, I'm lying right?' he says. 'Nothing, I repeat, nothing, is as important as you, baby.' 'I know. I doubt anyone can tolerate you otherwise.' I giggle. 'ha ha, very funny. But seriously, babe, when will you be back? I'm dying here.' he whines. 'Soon, my love. And don't forget, I have a surprise for you." I hear him groan over the phone and it causes me to laugh. 'You've been saying that for over one month now. Can't you just tell me already.' I hear the pout in his words. 'Nope.' I make sure the p pops well. A car horn blasts loudly, reminding me I'm still on the road. It was the car beside me, trying to signal to me that the line was moving. The traffic was finally clearing. 'Baby, can I call you when I get home? Traffic's finally clearing.' 'No problem, Baby. Don't forget to call.' he ends the call as I ignite the car engine. A smile is still on my lips. I honestly can't wait to break the news to him. I touch my tummy, trying to feel any movement but I can't. Few more months and I most definitely will. As I drive onward, my phone drops from my head to where my feet are. "Shit." I curse as I bend to take it. It takes me a few seconds to but I do. The car horn that sounded next was very loud. I raise my head right in time to see the trailer drive towards me but not fast enough to swerve the car from the upcoming trailer. The last thing I see is a bright light as everything goes —— I jump from my sleep. Wiping drool from my lips and focusing on where I am. It was just a dream. The same dream that has been haunting me for the past give years now.. Five years is a long time to bury a secret. Long enough to pretend the past never happened. Long enough to rebuild a life from the ground up, piece by piece, until the woman in the mirror no longer resembles the broken girl who walked away from the only man she ever truly loved. But not long enough to forget. The memory of Noah Woods clings to me like a phantom limb—something I can’t see but still feel in the ache of my bones when the night gets too quiet. He’s in the curve of a stranger’s jawline, the sound of a laugh in a crowded subway station, the ghosts that visit me when I least expect them. He’s everywhere and nowhere. Just like the child we lost. I shift my gaze to the blueprints spread across the conference table, trying to concentrate. The West 49th project is supposed to be my crown jewel—the luxury residential redesign that finally cements Montgomery & Lane Interiors as one of the top firms in Manhattan. Months of negotiation, custom finishes, exclusive vendors. The kind of opportunity Cassie and I used to dream about over boxed wine and secondhand coffee tables. But today, my fingers tremble slightly as I trace a pencil across the mockup of the penthouse living room. Something feels off. Static in the air. “Earth to Elena,” Maddie says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “You zoning out on me again?” I blink. “Sorry. Just tired. Long night.” Maddie gives me that look—the one where her eyes narrow slightly and her hands find her hips. With her dark curls, tailored jumpsuit, and unapologetic attitude, she could pass for an off-duty runway model who moonlights as a mob boss. “You’re not sleeping again, are you?” I offer a noncommittal shrug. “Define ‘sleeping.’”. “That bad?” “Let’s just say melatonin and I am in a toxic relationship.” Maddie sighs, softening. “You’ve gotta stop letting ghosts haunt you, Elina. He’s not here. You don’t owe him anything anymore.” But that’s the thing. I do. I owe Noah Woods the truth. I just never dared to give it to him. Before I can answer, the door opens and our project coordinator, Amelia, pokes her head in. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but the client for the 49th Street penthouse just approved the final contract. They want to schedule a meeting this Friday at their office to go over the design vision and timeline.” My eyebrows rise. “This Friday? That’s fast.” Amelia nods. “The CEO’s schedule opened up, and he wants to meet the designer personally.” Maddie and I exchange a glance. That’s… unusual. CEOs of multi-million-dollar firms rarely bother with interior design meetings—unless they have control issues or egos the size of the Empire State Building. Still, I school my face into calm professionalism. “Okay. Send me the meeting details.” As Amelia leaves, Maddie raises a brow. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” “Big-shot CEO wants to micromanage his velvet armchairs? Yep.” “Bet he’s balding with a god complex and three divorces.” “Sounds about right,” I smirk. “I’ll charm him into submission.” Maddie grins. “There’s my girl.” But deep down, something twists in my gut. A premonition. I’ve learned to listen to those. ***** Friday arrives in a blur of mood boards, phone calls, and triple-shot lattes. By the time I reach the towering steel-and-glass building in Midtown, I’m running on caffeine and nerves. I check in at the reception desk, smooth down my silk blouse, and mentally rehearse my talking points. Focus on the design. Stay professional. Impress the client. Easy. The elevator opens with a soft ding on the top floor. A woman in a sleek gray suit with perfect posture and a face carved out of frost greets me. “You’re Ms. Hemsworth?” she asks without smiling. “Yes. And you are?” “Judith Carter. I’m the executive liaison for Woods Developments.” Woods? The name hits me like a slap I didn’t see coming. My stomach drops. My breath falters. Judith doesn’t flinch. If she recognizes me, she doesn’t show it. But her icy blue eyes scan me with clinical precision. “Right this way. Mr. Woods is expecting you.” Mr. Woods. No. It can’t be. There are a million Woods in New York. It’s a common name. It can’t be him. Except my legs are already lead, my heart racing in a way it hasn’t in years. I follow her down the hallway, past glass offices and minimalist art, every step echoing louder than the last. And then she opens the door. And my world stops. He’s standing behind a glass desk, back turned, sleeves rolled up, staring out at the skyline like he owns it. Which, knowing Noah Woods, he probably does. His hair is darker now, shorter, styled in that effortlessly tousled way he used to hate. He’s taller than I remember—or maybe it’s just the way he carries himself, with quiet power and unshakable presence. And then he turns. Our eyes meet. Sharp blue. Wounded. Disbelieving. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air thickens. Everything else—the room, the skyline, Judith's stiff posture—fades into silence. “Elina,” he says, his voice low, unreadable. He says my name like a weapon. Like a prayer. And just like that, my carefully built world begins to splinter.