The Billionaire I Wasn’t Supposed to Love

AMELIA’S POV Don't die. “The sight in front of me will not kill me,” I repeat under my breath over and over again as pain squeezes my heart and tears threaten to escape my eyes. I blink them back because, apart from dying, I don't want to cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of her. Not in front of them ever again. “Babe, it's not what you are thinking,” Chris blurts out, tumbling from the large white bed, with only a pair of dark pants on. The same bed I was fantasizing about the two of us on later this night, with a blindfold and nothing on. I sniff. I was definitely blind. “It is exactly what you are thinking,” Ritchelle says from her position on the bed, brown hair tousled and red lipstick smudges on her face. "Shut up!” Chris snaps at her, before turning back to gaze at me with fear and regret swimming in his baby blue eyes. Regret that he hurt me? Or regret I caught them making out on our bed in our suite I booked with my money? “Babe, it is definitely not like that. She came unto me.” He hurriedly rushes out, slipping his leather belt into his pants. “That’s why you were grabbing her ass and squeezing like your life depended on it?” I shout, hurt clouding my tone. If I hadn't walked in when I did, he could be having s*x with her right now on the bed I wipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my flowing turquoise dress— his favourite. I hate the dress so much now. Ritchelle scoffs. “Yes, Melia. I've loved him right from the very beginning! And we would have had hot s*x if you had not —” Am I dreaming? He shoots her a sharp look. “Ritchy,” then turns to me, “Don’t listen to her, I swear —” She rolls her eyes. “He is only with you for the money.” “Babe, “ he looks at me, voice pained, as I stand there stunned, key card still in my hand with the cold bottle of wine that I had brought to celebrate with him. “That is not true. I love you. I know you love me and that's why we are here to celebrate my promotion.” My heart cracks. This is far from what I expected. “Stop lying to her!” Ritchelle screams, annoyed with the whole process. How was she even my best friend? I recall our memories in college, our first job together, her hugging me when I told her he had asked me to be his girlfriend, her happiness when I had invited her along on this cruise to have fun and maybe find a man. Despair settles at the bottom of my stomach. So the man she was finding is my boyfriend? Was this a one-time thing? “H-how, how long has this been going on for?” Chris runs his hands through his blond hair and cusses the same moment Ritchelle says, “You don't want to know.” It is like the statement breaks something within me because the wine bottle slips from my hand and crashes. A loud shattering sound fills the room causing both of them to jump as glass explodes on the floor. “I have never touched her, Amelia!” “f**k you, both!” “Amelia!” “You do not get to say my name ever again.” I grit through my teeth. I feel a tear slip down and wipe it away angrily before laughing. A cautious look takes on residence on both their faces. “Babe?” “You know, it’s funny.” He furrows his brows. “I saw this coming too. That's why I suggested we all go on this cruise.” That's a bloody lie. But horror creeps on both their faces, “What?” they shout in unison. Think, think. The lies are rushing to me, forming a story of their own. I need to hurt like I have been hurt. I'll probably regret this tomorrow in my bed with a box of tissues, heart heavy like it is carrying the weight of the world, but I push that all aside, to focus on the now. “Yes, but I didn't want to rain on your promotion celebration today.” I find myself saying, forcing a smile that feels like it is stapled to my lips. My chest feels tight, like my heart’s been stepped on, crushed, and handed back to me with tapes plastered around it. But they do not get to see that. Not anymore. They exchange a look. A mixture of confusion and shock— and I drink it in like the expensive wine I never got to taste. Chris’s blue eyes widen. “What do you mean?” I glance at the bed, the wrinkled sheets, Ritchelle’s jewelry and bra strewn on the surface, then look at the floor where the memory of what we could have been lies and a shaky laugh escapes my throat. “Congratulations, Chris,” I say, taking a step back towards the door. “You just earned yourself a vacation you'll never forget.” I turn for the door, swipe it open, and make to step out. Behind me, I hear him call my name, voice broken and desperate. Ritchelle’s voice snaps back, sharp and cutting as glass. “Let her go, Chris. It’s not like she has anywhere to go anyway.” For a moment, I consider turning around, screaming, throwing something— anything, to make them hurt like I do. But I don't. I do something better.