The Billionaire's Hidden Ex-Wife

The elevator doors slid open with a soft, cheerful chime.

I balanced a box of Julian's favorite raspberry pastries in one hand and a bottle of his favorite vintage wine in the other. It was our fifth anniversary. I had spent the afternoon at the salon, getting my hair done exactly the way he liked it, wearing the pale blue dress he had bought me for my birthday.

I walked down the silent, plush hallway of his corporate penthouse. The door to his private suite was slightly ajar, a sliver of golden light spilling into the dark corridor.

I paused. I heard a sound. A soft, breathless giggle.

"Julian," a woman's voice purred. "What if Lily finds out? She's probably waiting up for you."

My heart stopped.

I knew that voice. It was Victoria. My maid of honor. My best friend of ten years.

Julian let out a low, cruel chuckle. "Lily? She's too blind to find out. She thinks I'm working late. She's probably at home baking me a cake right now, looking pathetic. She's a boring, useless wife, Victoria. I married her for the money, not for her personality."

I stood frozen in the hallway. The words hit me like physical blows. The wine bottle in my hand began to slip.

I pushed the door open.

The hinges didn't creak. I stepped into the doorway just as the heavy wine bottle slipped from my numb fingers. It hit the floor with a loud, deafening crash. Glass shattered. Deep red wine splattered across the marble and soaked into my pale blue heels.

Julian and Victoria whipped their heads around.

Julian was leaning against the mahogany desk. His shirt was completely unbuttoned. Victoria was pressed against him, her tight red dress hiked up to her thighs. His hands were tangled in her hair.

For a second, the room was dead silent.

Then, Julian's face contorted. Not with guilt. Not with panic. With cold, furious irritation.

"Lily," he snapped, straightening up and buttoning his shirt with quick, sharp movements. "You should have knocked."

Victoria didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. She just smoothed down her dress, ran a hand through her messy hair, and smirked at me.

I couldn't speak. My throat was closed. The man I had loved for five years, the woman I had trusted with my life, were standing there like I was the one who had committed a crime.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just turned and ran.

I ran blindly back to the elevator, jamming my thumb into the button. I could hear Julian calling my name, but his voice wasn't frantic. It was angry. I didn't wait for the elevator. I shoved open the heavy door to the stairwell and ran down fifteen flights of stairs until my lungs burned and my legs gave out.

I burst through the emergency exit into the pouring rain. The storm was violent, turning the city streets into a blur of neon lights and wet asphalt.

I jumped into my Audi, my hands shaking so badly I could barely push the ignition button. The engine roared to life. I slammed my foot on the gas, peeling out of the parking garage.

I drove blindly through the city. I couldn't see the road. I couldn't see the streetlights. The rain was heavy, but it wasn't the rain blurring my vision. It was the tears. Hot, angry, blinding tears poured down my face. I was sobbing so hard my chest ached, my hands slipping on the steering wheel.

I didn't look in the rearview mirror. I didn't check my surroundings. I just drove, wanting to get as far away from that penthouse as possible.

I didn't see the black SUV pull out of the side street. I didn't hear the roar of its engine over the sound of my own crying.

I was heading toward the old iron bridge, the one that stretched over the freezing river. The road was empty.

Suddenly, a massive force slammed into the side of my car.

Metal shrieked against metal. My car spun violently out of control, tires hydroplaning on the slick asphalt. I screamed, wrestling with the steering wheel, but I couldn't regain control.

The SUV hit me again, harder, aiming right for the back quarter panel. My car crashed through the rusted iron railing of the bridge. For a single, suspended second, the car hung in the air over the dark water.

Then, gravity took over.

We plummeted.

The car hit the freezing river with a sickening splash. The impact threw me forward, my head smashing against the steering wheel. A sharp, blinding pain exploded behind my eyes. Blood poured down my forehead, warm and sticky, mixing with the rain.

The car began to sink immediately, the dark, freezing water rushing in through the shattered windows. The water was up to my knees, then my waist.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, my fingers fumbling.

The brakes, a voice in my head screamed. The brakes didn't work.

I had slammed my foot on the brake pedal. It went straight to the floor. It didn't catch. It didn't even make a sound.

Someone had tampered with my car.

I looked up through the water-streaked windshield. The black SUV had stopped on the bridge. The driver's side door opened, and a figure stepped out into the rain.

He walked to the edge of the broken railing and looked down. The streetlights illuminated his face.

Julian.

He wasn't calling for help. He wasn't panicking. He stood there, his hands in his pockets, watching the car sink. A cold, satisfied smile spread across his face.

The water was up to my chest now. I tried to push the door open, but the pressure of the river was too strong. I was trapped.

I looked up one last time, my lungs burning. The water rose above my chin. Above my nose.

I closed my eyes, a silent scream trapped in my throat as the darkness swallowed me whole.