Divorced My Superstar Idol, Married A Billionaire

Chapter Three

Audrey’s POV

The following day.

I wake up with puffy eyes in a motel room. The thin curtains let in too much sunlight. My phone shows seventeen missed calls from friends who don't know about my divorce yet. And a scary notification from my banking app.

Insufficient funds.

My heart races as I check my account: $43.78. That is it. My credit cards don't work when I try to pay for another night at the motel.

"No, no, no," I whisper, trying to check our other accounts. I can't get into any of them. Gerald has moved fast.

I stare at the gold wedding band on my finger for a long moment, then slide it off. It feels strange to see my finger without it after three years.

An hour later, I walk out of a pawnshop with five hundred dollars in my pocket. The owner recognized me. We both know it's worth much more, but beggars can't be choosers.

Five hundred dollars won't last long, I think as I walk down the street. I need a job. Fast.

I spend the day applying for any job I can find. Coffee shops. Restaurants. Retail stores. No one calls me back.

Suddenly, my phone rings. It is an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Johnson? This is Tamara from Celebrity Now magazine. We'd like to have an exclusive interview about your marriage to Gerald Evans…"

I end the call without answering. Three similar calls have come in today. Everyone wants the dirty details of our failed marriage.

I see Gerald's face filling the screen, his arm around Sophia Cruz's waist as they stand before a crowd of reporters.

"How do you feel about becoming a father?"

"It's a dream come true. Sophia and I couldn't be happier."

A reporter pushes forward. "What about your wife, Audrey? Did she know about your relationship with Sophia?"

Gerald's smile never falters. "Audrey and I have been separated for some time now. Our marriage has been over for some months. I wish her well, but we've both moved on."

Liar. We slept in the same bed until last week. We talked about trying for a baby again just last month.

"Sources say your wife was unstable. Is that why the marriage failed?"

Gerald pauses, looking sad. "I don't want to speak ill of Audrey. She's been through a lot with her family history. Mental health struggles can happen to anyone, and I hope she gets the help she needs."

I throw the remote at the TV, not hard enough to break it but enough to make me feel something besides the crushing despair.

Mental health struggles? He is painting me as crazy to cover up his betrayal.

My phone buzzes with texts and notifications. People I thought were friends sending concerned messages. Are you okay? Do you need help? We're worried about you. They aren't worried. They are vultures, hoping for gossip to share.

I turn off my phone and stare at the ceiling. How has everything fallen apart so quickly?

The next morning, I force myself to shower, dress, and face the world. I need a job. Any job. With my meager savings dwindling, I can't afford to wallow in self-pity.

But finding work proves nearly impossible. Every coffee shop, restaurant, and store I visit either isn't hiring or mysteriously becomes fully staffed the moment I mention my name.

By evening, I'm exhausted and desperate. I find myself at the Rusty Guitar bar, a small bar I'd never have visited when I was married to Gerald Evans.

I've never been much of a drinker. But tonight, I need something to numb the pain.

The dark room is perfect for people trying to hide. I am drinking my second whiskey when the bartender brings me another drink.

"I didn't order this," I say.

"It was from the man sitting at the end of the bar," he says.

The man wears a nice sky blue suit, with graying hair at his temples.

Our eyes meet and he slightly raises his glass. Immediately he moves to my table, taking the seat beside me.

"You look like you had a bad day," he says.

He doesn't push me to talk. Instead, he talks about the band playing in the corner. How they play, what songs they choose. I find myself joining the conversation, correcting his opinion about the bass player, explaining why the drummer is covering for the guitarist's bad timing.

"You're not just a fan. You're a musician," he says.

"I'm a songwriter, actually."

We keep talking as the bar empties around us. He is easy to talk to, never pushing for details but listening when I offer them.

After three drinks, we take a taxi to his hotel room. His room is on the top floor of The Grand Plaza with big windows, showing the whole city. I stand there, thinking about how my life fell apart.

"Are you having second thoughts?" Richard asks, not moving close to me.

"No," I say, turning to him. "Just... this isn't me. I have not done this before."

"Okay. We can just talk. Or I can call you a taxi to take you home," he says.

"I..." I pause, looking at him.

When his lips meet mine, I don't pull away. His hands find my waist, then my hair, then the buttons of my blouse.

His arms curl around me, drawing me closer. His hands slide down my back. I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

The kiss goes on and on, and I forget about everything else. We move to the bedroom, clothes falling away.

He picks me up and places me on the bed. He moves his hand from my chest to my lower part. I can't help but gasp. How long has it been? Too long.

I have forgotten what it is like to be touched by a man. It has been so long since anyone touched me like this. Gerald stopped touching me after our first year anniversary.

When he moves inside me, I cling to him, tears stinging my eyes.