THE BILLIONAIRE WHO OWNED MY PAST

Mila’s POV The moment I asked the question, his face changed. “What did you just say?” Marcus snapped. The café didn’t go silent, but it felt like it did. Chairs scraped, spoons clinked, someone laughed too loudly at a nearby table but all I could hear was the pounding of my heart. It beat so hard I thought it might crawl out of my chest and land between us on the table. “I asked where you were last night,” I said again, forcing the words out carefully, like stepping across cracked ice. “You didn’t come home. You didn’t call.” Marcus pushed his chair back so hard it screeched against the floor. “Do you hear yourself?” he shouted. Heads turned instantly, my stomach dropped. “Marcus,” I whispered, reaching for his arm without thinking. “Please, lower your voice.” He yanked his arm away as if my touch disgusted him. “Don’t touch me.” The sharpness in his voice made my chest ache. “You are unbelievable,” he barked, stepping closer so close that His shadow swallowed me whole. His eyes were blazing with something raw and dangerous. “I just wanted the truth,” I said. My voice shook, betraying me. “The truth?” He laughed, harsh and ugly. “The truth is you’re sick in the head.” The words hit harder than I expected. Harder than any insult he’d thrown at me before. He slammed his palm against the table, Cups rattled violently and I flinched, instinctively curling inward. “You push and push and push,” he growled, bending down until his face hovered inches from mine. I could smell the bitterness of coffee on his breath. “One day, someone is going to lose their temper with you, Mila.” Fear crept slowly up my spine, cold and paralyzing. For one terrifying second, I thought he was going to hit me. My lungs locked and my body froze. “Is that a threat?” I whispered. Something flickered in his eyes, realization, maybe awareness of the people staring off the line he’d almost crossed. He straightened abruptly and scoffed, running a hand through his hair like nothing had happened. “See?” he said loudly, gesturing at me. “This. This is what I deal with every day, drama, accusations, tears.” Whispers rippled through the café. I stared at him, stunned at how easily he had rewritten the moment and how quickly he had turned me into the villain. “You’re crazy,” he continued calmly. “And I’m done paying the price for it.” My throat tightened painfully. “You’re breaking up with me… because I asked where you were?” “I’m breaking up with you,” he said coldly, “because I refuse to be abused.” Abused?????? The word echoed in my head, hollow and cruel. He grabbed his jacket and turned away. “Get help, Mila,” he tossed over his shoulder, “Before you destroy someone else.” The bell above the café door chimed softly as he walked out. I stayed where I was, frozen in my seat. My hands trembled uncontrollably, my mind replayed the slam of his hand on the table, the heat in his eyes, the moment I thought I was about to be hurt. And then something inside me broke, not loudly, not dramatically but completely. Marcus hadn’t just left me. He had planted a seed of doubt so deep it made me question my own reality. I wiped my tears before anyone could offer pity. I stood, grabbed my bag, and walked out of the café with my spine straight and my heart ruined. Outside, the city swallowed me whole. That night, sleep didn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face hovering too close, and heard his voice telling me I was crazy, abusive and unworthy of love. By morning, exhaustion sat heavy in my bones but clarity came with it too. I couldn’t stay where I was anymore, I couldn’t survive the way I had been surviving. Two days later, desperation pushed me somewhere I never thought I’d go. The address stared back at me from my phone screen, sleek, expensive and intimidating. I hesitated outside the building, my reflection warped in the glass doors, I barely recognized the woman staring back. This was supposed to be a cleaning job, that’s what they said. I knocked. The door opened to reveal a tall, muscular man with cold eyes and a smirk that made my skin crawl. His gaze lingered on me, bold, assessing me like I was something he had already decided he wanted. As I stepped inside, he moved closer than necessary. One of his hands lifted and brushed against my neck, his thumb grazing my skin in a slow, deliberate way that sent a sharp wave of disgust through me. My instinct took over before fear could catch up. Grabbing his wrist, I shoved him back hard, sending him stumbling toward the bed behind him. He fell against the mattress with a sharp grunt, surprise flashing across his face as pain followed. “Keep your hands to yourself,” I said firmly, my voice steady despite the anger burning in my chest. “Unless you’re ready to face the consequences.” The muscular man’s smirk twisted into a sneer. “Okay then… go pay your bills, you goddamn motherfucker,” he shot back, his tone sharp and mocking. I recoiled, anger and revulsion boiling inside me. My hands shot up defensively. “Don’t touch me!” I hissed. He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and opened a drawer stuffed with dollar bills, letting the money speak for him. I felt bile rise in my throat. This wasn’t cleaning, it was something else entirely. I spun on my heel and fled, my heart hammering as I ran down unfamiliar hallways and out into the night. The taxi ride home blurred past me in a dizzy haze. When I burst into the apartment, my roommates were sitting on the couch, casually watching TV as if nothing had happened.. “Oh,” one of them said lightly. “You’re back already?” That was when it hit me. This… this was survival for them. For me, it was a breaking point. Days passed in a haze of rejection emails and empty bank notifications. I applied everywhere and anywhere. Hope became exhausting, but I clung to it anyway. Then, finally, an interview, Lopez Companies. The building was pristine, cold and powerful. My white jacket and pants were crisp, my hands shaking as I stepped into the office. The man behind the desk looked up slowly. “Have a seat, Miss…?” he asked. “Mila,” I replied. “Mila Vaughn.” The moment my name left my mouth, his expression changed. The lights flickered and my head spun. Hands rough, unfamiliar slid down my breasts My scream died in my throat as cold metal pressed against the side of my head, a gun! A deep baritone voice whispered into my ear, sending ice through my veins. “Pay me what you owe me.” And in that moment, I realized something far worse than Marcus had ever done to me. My past hadn’t stayed buried. It had been waiting.