Shattered Love : A Billionaire Romance (Forever Us Book 1)

by Bianca Borell

  Bianca Borell

  Shattered Love

  The Forever Us Series Book One

  Bianca Borell

  Copyright 2021 Bianca Borell

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  ISBN: 978-3982019260

  Editing by Missy Borucki

  Proofreading by Michele Ficht

  Book design by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover design by Spellbinding Design

  Cover Image Copyright 2021

  First Edition Published 2018

  Second Edition Published 2021

  All Rights Reserved

  I dedicate this book to all those who let that tiny voice inside them whisper about their calling and were brave and crazy enough to listen to it.

  And to love – love is the reason why I am here today, why I write, and why I wake up every single day feeling grateful and blessed.

  “Don’t build a wall around your own suffering or it may devour you from the inside.”

  ~Frida Kahlo~

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Connect With Me Online

  Acknowledgments

  A Note From The Author

  About the Author

  My long blond hair cascades over my back, as I swirl around, cutting through the freshly mowed grass while sun rays kiss my cheeks. But my attention shifts when I catch a dandelion growing all by itself. What happened to its friends and family? My eyes glance around at the endless amount of grass and red-colored roses ruling with grace over the garden. There is no other dandelion in sight.

  I duck to pick it, whispering how sorry I am for harming it, and with all the air in my lungs, I blow on it, making a wish for my future. One day it will come true. Everyone tells me so. They are grown-ups, and I believe them.

  Damien approaches me from behind, and I tilt my head, hiding my smile as his arms wrap around me. He always catches me.

  “I’m faster than you, Bria, and I’ll always catch you. Why even try?” His eyebrows draw together, and a blush creeps up my cheeks. I slide my hands up and down my dress.

  “Mommy told me it’s a game . . . the girl runs, and the boy catches her.”

  He plops on the grass next to me, resting his elbow on his knee. “It’s stupid. Of course, he’ll catch her. He’s faster.”

  I shake my head, biting down on my lip. “I don’t think she was talking about the speed, silly.”

  He squints, his steely eyes bore into mine, and my breath catches in my throat.

  “How would you know?”

  “I’m a woman. I know these things. Mommy says we’re born being the smarter ones. But Daddy just smiles at her.” I shrug and then add, “One day, I’ll find out for sure, and then I’ll tell you too.”

  “If you were a woman, they wouldn’t call you little.”

  I rock on my feet and fidget with my hands. His words add to my confusion.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If you were a woman, I would be a man. My daddy says it takes years and experience to become one, and I don’t see Daddy play. I like to play. It must mean I’m not a man yet. But one day, I’ll be ready to be a man.” He grins, and my heart does this strange thing in my chest, like fluttering.

  “You’re funny.”

  The smile freezes on my face as an awful thought clouds my mind. “But what if you become a man, and I am still small?” Fear rises inside me. He clasps his hand over mine, and everything eases as his face transforms in determination.

  “If you don’t grow up, I’ll have to see how to make you a woman. I’m sure there’s some instruction manual somewhere, or I’ll just ask Daddy.”

  “Yes. They must know, then we’ll become man and woman on the same day, okay?” I drop to my knees and grip his face. “Damien, promise me. If you’re a man, I have to be a woman.”

  His eyes turn to that familiar assuring gaze. He could never say no to me, and the knot in my belly loosens.

  Damien curls a strand of my hair around his fingers, playing with it. It started one day when he fell from his bike, and I rushed to his side. He said the moment he caressed a strand of my hair that the pain and everything else disappeared.

  “I promise. But only if you tell me what you wished for when you blew on the dandelion.” He grins, and I huff. He always wants to know everything.

  “If I tell you, it won’t come true,” I whine, and he lifts my chin. Those eyes and smooth voice compel me every time to spill everything.

  “If you tell me, I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

  “Promise?”

  His answer is a firm nod.

  “And you won’t laugh at me?”

  He shakes his head, a flash of hurt passing through his eyes when he states, “Never, Bria.” I bite down on my lower lip and glimpse at him through my lashes.

  “I wished one day when we’re older to marry you.”

  I blush, and my heart squeezes in my chest. What if he says no?

  “But why?” he questions, and his expression turns pensive.

  “Because it’s what people in love do, silly. Look at Mommy and Daddy.” He rests his head in his hands, studying me.

  “Hmm, what if you don’t like me when you grow up? What then?”

  I like him now. Why would I stop liking him? I stare into the cloudless sky, searching for an answer. My daddy always tells me I’m brave and fierce, and I have to fight for what I want. With renewed determination, I snap my head in his direction, daring him.

  “You’ll have to make me
like you again, then.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes, that easy.”

  We lay on our sides, with our hands interlaced, while he whispers, “Okay, then one day I’ll marry you.”

  “Promise.”

  He presses our hands together over his heart with our pinkies interlinked.

  “I promise.”

  BRIA

  Will I be remembered? And if so, based on what and how? What is it that makes us worthy of being memorialized? Is it a unique trait we inherit or learn? Or maybe the way we live our lives? Is it what we succeed at or what we failed to achieve? The dreams we buried or the hardship we overcame? The days and nights blended while we made decisions that altered our lives and drove us to a different path than we desired or imagined? Or is it solely because of the people with whom we struck a chord of their soul on our way and planted us in their hearts that make us unforgettable? Isn’t it love which locks us in the mind and heart of the other as we cast the key away? Then, no one who has been loved has ever been forgotten.

  Well then, here lies the paradox. To begin with, love destroyed me.

  After I pour myself a generous glass of ruby wine, I sit down on the plush armchair with my forefinger tracing lines on the mahogany desk. As I relax into the comfortable cushions, my thoughts turn to tonight’s event, the reason I am here and not home.

  Welcome to Oblivion.

  A rather proper party motif for my present and precarious position.

  Blurred images come to my mind, and I am incapable of grasping the recollections. I can’t summon how my life used to be or who I was. What I know is everywhere I went, I’ve left a small, broken piece of my soul, hoping he’d collect them someday.

  It’s a wishful thought to have about he who hates me with such passion.

  I take the last sip of wine, set the glass on the dark wood table, and pull myself up. I peer through the window and see a part of the city which has been both my home and tormentor blanketed by the sky’s nightfall. The proud, large hills and majestic lake reflecting the plump moon peer behind the jagged mountain’s crest as if demanding attention for making something terrestrial appear celestial.

  By now, guests arrive dressed in black attire and masks, the party’s dress code. This is my last act. Tomorrow, I will be free.

  I plod toward the big closet mirror to survey myself. A breath I’ve kept a prisoner for too long slips out of my mouth as my image in the mirror fogs before me for a few seconds. I try to find shallow pleasure in my appearance—how my long, golden-brown hair is straightened to perfection, and my black leather pants are so tight they meld like a second skin. My low, V-neck satin shirt with black pearls sewn around my cleavage gives my look a glamorous touch—all sophistication and body-fitted. The last piece to complete tonight’s look, my barn owl heart-shaped necklace, mocking me with all the memories it holds of a life long gone.

  I stare at it, questioning why I’m wearing it. Am I that masochistic? I guess I am because, for a few hours, I want to remember, to delve into something, anything, even though I know it will be painful. Pain is all I feel anyway.

  Exhausted over the past seven years, I ache for release.

  My makeup is the finishing touch—smoky eyes and red lipstick—the look of a woman who wears her marks with pride. I resemble a perfectly put-together doll, shiny on the outside and empty on the inside. How well it suits me, a lean body of dejection.

  I used to think I was pretty, but it was love that made my hazel eyes flicker with life and my lips pink and full from being kissed so often by him. He would say I was the most beautiful girl on earth, his princess, his everything. We were so young, stupid, and in love. Now, he can’t even look in my direction without biting back a snarl.

  With trembling fingers, I clamp my black lacquer Hypnose watch around my wrist and put on my lace mask. Its intricate ebony pattern hides my features and lends me a touch of mystery. I slip on my pumps, the black ones with the red soles, while the elegant watch on my wrist, heavy with its constant tick-tock signals my time is almost up. Is this the proverbial moment when in the face of finality, you covet another chance at life?

  The firm knock on the door pulls me from my train of thought. I open it, and my lips curve into a genuine smile, which Alex, my best friend, returns tenfold. I crane my neck to take in his dark chocolate eyes and panty-melting grin. He is my partner in crime, the light to my darkness, the glue to my shattered pieces, and the real in my unreal life.

  Alex presses me to him as my head rests in the crook of his neck. I sense as I let the embrace go on, he realizes I’m saying goodbye. It doesn’t hurt. It’s like everything else I experience—nothing is there. It’s as if I’m already dead, yet still stubbornly breathing.

  He cups my face with his smooth fingers, a sullen expression covering his face. “Ready, Bria?” he asks me in that deep familiar voice.

  I nod and notice the pain in his hooded eyes, the turmoil in his soul. I hate myself more because of my incapacity to feel. For him, I would have given everything I have to bring my heart to beat for someone else. I caress his stubbled chin and high cheekbones and plant my mouth on his. I put every fractured part I am in this singular kiss. He deserves everything and not my nothingness.

  Alex’s hands dig into my waist as my back hits the wall. His hot mouth sucks my cry in, lips glued to mine, and his passion ripples on my tongue—the last attempt of a desperate man to bring me back. His heart hammers under my palm while his lips remain pressed against mine. I groan as I feel nothing, my insides are an emotional blower sending all feeling and sensation aside.

  “I love you so much, Bria, and this kills me.”

  “If I could, I would have given you my all, but I can’t. Love should always be two-sided because the other way around only leads to misery.”

  “Don’t leave me and don’t leave yourself. Don’t go . . .”

  “I think there’s only one thing worse than not being able to feel, and that’s unrequited love. You can give all you want, but at some point, there is nothing left of you, and what will happen then?”

  “Who cares, dammit? I won’t stop hoping I can stitch you back together.”

  His posture turns to determination, and my lips curve into a defeated smile. He has a huge savior complex. He is beautiful inside and out.

  “How?”

  But the moment the question leaves my mouth, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse steel-blue eyes and carnal, soft lips set in a firm line. How many times have I kissed that perfectly shaped addictive mouth of his or traced with my finger and tongue the little bow on his upper lip? Everything stalls as my vision settles on a broad frame enclosed in a custom-made dark suit, making his posture even more imposing than he already is. My breathing halts as a hundred knives stab me in my heart.

  What’s Damien doing here? I didn’t send him an invitation to my party. We have said our goodbyes in a thousand ways, each time more painful over the years. So why is he emerging from the suite next to mine? Fate must have a twisted sense of humor. On instinct, I lean toward Alex as he shields me. I have seconds to pull myself together, but in my daze, I forget his capacity to subdue me. He keeps my gaze prisoner to his blazing eyes that are even more prominent because of the dark mask covering half of his face. His stare, akin to fury, vanishes before I can examine it further.

  He strides toward us, step after step of flowing precision, self-confidence, and layered elegance. Damien stalls halfway to us before saying with no inflection at all, as flat as he probably exercised it in the mirror, “Happy birthday, Bria,” then turns and walks away.

  I watch him retreating, caught in his web of deliberate indifference as though not even recognizing me—us. Anger and the desire to shout at him surge through my veins.

  Do you remember me? The girl you said you would love until the end of forever, my shattered heart howls, but only a sigh leaves my body.

  “Bria.” Alex’s stern voice puts an end to my disarray.

&nb
sp; “I’m fine.” The lie slips from my lips like a habit. By now, it has become one too.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Alex mumbles. “Do you still have feelings for him? Is he the reason? Perhaps, some false sense of loyalty you have toward him?”

  His brows knit together, and I wrap my hands around me and take a step back. The air around us drops to chilly. The quietness has something ghost-like about it as my mouth hangs open. He’s never asked me these questions before. No one ever does. But the absolute honest answer is yes. I feel on those few occasions when I see or hear about Damien, and undiluted pain swallows me. The same happens when it’s his birthday, and I stay away, the day of our anniversary, the day I lost the . . . the day my entire world fell apart.

  I shake my head as I pull at the invisible cord wrapped around my neck. He’s the one I loved until it ripped me apart. And because I couldn’t feel anything afterward, the love I had for him morphed into the numbness that keeps me alive. Pain mixed with memories and unfulfilled dreams, the recipe for my misery.

  “You know I feel pretty much nothing.” But as I say it, I realize it’s only a half-truth because whenever he’s around, Damien makes me feel an entire range of feelings.

  “That’s not true,” he replies dryly. “Why did you kiss me, then? If he’s the only one. Why kiss me? Why now?”

  “It was a gift, a last goodbye to someone who’s kept me afloat, a thank you for being you. Don’t compare yourself to him. You won’t stand a chance. No one else does, not even you.”

  I caress his handsome but fallen face and add, “Alex, let me go. If you ever loved me . . . let it be.”

  In an instant, his whole demeanor switches into something raw and untamed. His grip on me tightens. “Bri . . .”

  That’s all he says, one word to camouflage the thousands he wants to add, but I get the message loud and clear. The conversation is not over. It’s just a pause.

  It will be a long, long night.

  Can I make it through?

  With what energy?

  And the worst part is that Damien’s here hunting me.