My cold-hearted Billionaire

Chapter 3 Barbara’s Pov

Chapter 3

Barbara’s Pov:

I hopped into an Uber, excitement bubbling within me as I headed to the restaurant where my date awaited.

But fate had other plans; halfway there, the car sputtered and came to a halt. I waited, tapping my foot impatiently, as the mechanic arrived, only to be told that the issue wasn’t something that could be fixed on the spot.

My heart sank, but I quickly called another Uber, managing to snag half a refund from the first driver. When I finally arrived at the venue, a full twenty minutes late, I dialed the number Mely had given me.

To my surprise, the most mouth-watering young man I had ever seen lifted the phone to his ear. My breath caught in my throat, and without thinking, I cut the call, dialing again just to confirm my suspicions. He raised the phone to his ear once more, and my heart raced. “Coming out to this date might not be a bad idea after all,” I thought, gathering my courage as I walked toward the strikingly handsome man.

“Hello, sir, you must be Mr. Rolland? I’m so sorry for being late…” I began, but before I could finish, he interrupted me with a sharp edge to his voice.

“Why are you late? You don’t have simple etiquette? So my first impression of you is late coming? Do you know how long I’ve been here? You think I don’t have better things to do?” His words hit me like a slap, and while I understood I had kept him waiting, did he really have to be such an ass about it?

“I’m so sorry, sir, my Uber broke down and I was waiting…” I tried to explain, but he cut me off again.

“Oh please, here we go with the excuses. If you had prepared earlier, you wouldn’t have gotten here late, but no, you chose to lie and—” That was it. I wasn’t going to let this entitled prick talk to me like I was a child.

“Let me stop you right there! You just called me a liar? You think I would lie about something like this? What could I possibly gain from that?” My voice was steady, fueled by a mix of indignation and disbelief.

“And you don’t go around scolding grown-ass women like kids? Who do you think you are? I just apologized for being late and gave you my reason, yet you still choose to be a prick! Do I look like a child to you? Now let me tell you something: this should serve as a warning to you to never speak to a woman—or anyone—like this again! Rubbish!” Yes, I had to give him a piece of his own cake! I loved the look on his face; he looked utterly shocked, as if he was unaccustomed to being talked back to.

I felt a surge of pride for breaking that record. I snatched the glass of champagne he had ordered before my arrival, downed it in one go, and strode out of the restaurant, leaving that arrogant fool behind.

When I got home, I tried to dive back into the movie series I had been watching, but my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts about what had just transpired.

Who the hell did he think he was, talking to me like that? Why was my experience so different from my friends’? My best friend had met a perfect gentleman, while I was left with this proud i***t. This was exactly why I loathed going on dates—men were so mannerless and wicked.

My ex used to compare me to his celebrity crush, constantly belittling me and shouting at me like I was some child.

I always thought I was the problem, desperately trying to morph into his ideal woman until I discovered he was cheating on me with a stripper.

He would complain if I ever wore a dress that dared to show my knees or a top that revealed a hint of skin, all while he was dating a prostitute! What do men really want? That’s why I spoke up when my date at the restaurant decided to disrespect me.

I heard the unmistakable sound of someone sniffing, their footsteps heavy with sorrow, as my best friend walked into the room.

It was clear that Mr. Perfect Gentleman had once again shattered her hopes. “What is it this time, Mely Darling?” I asked in a soft, doting tone, opening my arms wide for her to step into my embrace.

“He is married, Barbara! He is freaking married!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling as the tears streamed down her cheeks. “We were having a lovely dinner when his wife walked in on us.

She slapped me across the face and shouted, ‘Stay away from my husband, you slut!’ It was so humiliating, Barbara.

He just stood there, stammering, ‘Honey, I can explain! I swear it's not what you think! I don’t even know her! You know I love you? You’re the mother of my kids, and I love you so much! She’s just a fling!’” The pain in her voice was palpable, and I could only imagine the depth of her shame.

“I’m never going to love again, Barbara, never!” she declared, her resolve punctuated by fresh tears. I knew it was just the anger talking; the Amelia I knew would be gearing up for another date next week, regardless of this heartbreak.

“So how did yours go? Why are you back so early?” she asked, her sobs subsiding just a little. I hesitated, knowing that telling her the truth would only deepen her sadness, making her feel responsible for sending me into that disaster in the first place.

“It was good! I ended up with a migraine, so we had to cut it short, but we agreed on a follow-up date next weekend,” I replied, watching as her mood began to lift. A wave of relief washed over me; I was glad I had lied.