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

by Bianca Borell

  “Something else that didn’t escape me was the look of sheer surprise on your face at Monica’s words. Didn’t expect that coming from your sweet girlfriend, did you? I hoped Bria would see what a waste of a human being you are. With two sentences, Monica annihilated your love story with Bria by making it sound superficial and destined to fail while batting her lashes. Your fiancée kept it up by asking Bria if she was happy for the two of you.

  “Bria’s eyes went wide, and then something dawned on her as acceptance washed over her. As she faked a smile, she said, ‘I’m happy if Damien is happy and glad you can have the man you love, Monica. If you’re asking for my blessing, you have it, cousin, even though I gather neither of you needs it. To you two!’ I was so proud of her, how she had spun the power balance at the table with her answer, forcing you to clink with her raised champagne glass. You gulped more than a sip of champagne, maybe a chunk of your own heart and possibly a lump of guilt, didn’t you?

  “Bria was in control for a passing moment, and you had to suck it up, unaware it was also the last nudge toward the abyss for her. It was a strange situation to contemplate as the awkwardness stretched. If it hadn’t been for the business and philanthropic issues being discussed, I would have thought I was having lunch with strangers, which has to say something as I never had the distinct impression I was among friends. By the time the cake was served, Bria’s lids sunk, and she swallowed a yawn. She bent over, settled her hands on the table, bent, and blew out her candles. Everyone kept buzzing she should not forget to wish for something.

  “For one second, her eyes flashed to you before shutting them and blew out the candles. Then she gripped the knife, but her fingers trembled as she let an almost inaudible sigh slip. You darted from the seat as you placed your hand over hers, mouthing to allow you to do it in her place. She halted, and you took the silver knife from her and cut the cake, serving her the first piece of the layered chocolate-raspberry cake. I wished to poke my eyes out, witnessing the moment passing between you two, her eyes boring into you and the pain flashing in your eyes.

  “Afterward, she leaned toward me and whispered, ‘I’m tired, and you have work to do, so leave without me. I need to take a nap, and then I’ll come home, okay?’

  “I didn’t know if I was comfortable to leave her alone there with you. She smiled so I would stop worrying. Bria said she had everything under control and she’s a big girl and then waved me away with her hands. I had one condition. After the conference, I would pick her up and we’d organize everything for my father’s visit the next day. She agreed with a roll of her eyes but added, ‘Like you’d give me a chance not to accept it.’

  “I didn’t want to delve into how desperately she wanted me gone so she could rest. Everyone stared at us with mixed emotions flashing in their eyes, but the predominant ones were confusion and wonder. Only you, Damien, furrowed your eyebrows, ground your jaw, and squashed the cutlery as your knuckles whitened.

  “You all assumed we were in a relationship and living together. You were living according to ‘what we don’t know can’t harm us’ motto and upholding the decency of not mingling in personal affairs. After agreeing to leave the party and come back later for her, I rose to my feet and thanked you for a lovely day. I had a note of irony in my voice. Once again, Sophia proved how sharp she is by raising her glass and nodding, understanding why I made that remark. ‘I’ll return in a few hours to pick up Bria.’

  “She excused herself to take a nap. Both mothers nodded with understanding. Katherine told her to take her time, and Rebecca added, ‘Honey, make yourself at home. You know where all the rooms are.’

  “Then Monica had to have her fun, her eyes shone at the prospect, her eyebrows waggling. ‘Cousin, are you pregnant? I mean, who takes naps in the middle of the day? Do you have something to share with us?’ Everyone froze on the spot, me included. Bria grabbed my arm, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and said nothing regarding the pink elephant sprawled on the table.

  “‘I can’t believe her,’ she said after we walked away.

  “‘Why didn’t you deny it then?’ Curiosity dripped from my lips.

  “‘Why would I? Let them believe what they want. They’re living in their happy bubble and praying I won’t screw things up again. They only wish for the charade of a great family, not answers that lead to more questions.’ She finished the sentence with a gesture of her hand in the air as we strode on the stoned aisle toward the parked car.

  “We fell into a silence plagued by our thoughts as Bria accompanied me to the car. As I held her in my arms, I could feel you shooting arrows at my back. When I bent down, she kissed me on the cheek, and the same bleak voice from three years before resurfaced. It irked me as I kept watching until she rushed through the door of the impressive white mansion. I got in my car and pretended everything was going to be okay, not realizing my entire world was about to collapse in a few hours as the engine purred to life.

  “Do you remember that day at all, Damien?”

  DAMIEN

  I raise an eyebrow, asking Alexander if he’s fucking serious with his stupid question.

  I have forgotten nothing related to Bria. I’m stuck and plagued with this photographic memory when it comes to her. But from all the things I can’t forget how I ended us will haunt me forever.

  One year earlier . . .

  It’s the first of May, Bria’s birthday, and everything has gone according to plan, starting with Monica agreeing to be my pretend girlfriend. The day I approached her, we were in my office overlooking the Thames. She agreed in a heartbeat without questioning my motives. She leaped into my arms, her eyes glistening with mirth. I should have questioned her willingness. Instead, I kept fantasizing about the day Bria would crumble in pain. And that day arrived.

  What a perfect occasion it would be. She destroyed me on her eighteenth birthday, and six years later, I would get my revenge. In the car, I have a pep talk with Monica. My plan has to flourish.

  She settles her red painted fingers on my thigh, squeezing it. “I know what I have to do. You can trust me. I’ll play my role of being in love with you. No one will doubt me. And our story is flawless, so no one will suspect a thing. Relax already, you control freak.”

  I shove any morality l have left away. I am not blind to her infatuation. I have no damn clue what she sees in me. My eyes and heart sealed on Bria should have been discouragement enough and then my ‘fuck them, leave them’ antics. But exploiting her feelings is a risk I have to take. The reasons I chose her in the first place is, number one, she is Bria’s cousin, and number two, she doesn’t have to act at all by pretending to be in love with me, so the odds of failure are minimal.

  I nod and say, “Let the fun begin then.”

  The expressions on everyone’s face as they see us approach, hand in hand, half in surprise and shock, is something I won’t be able to forget, but I am not there for them but for Bria. I scan her face as it drops, eyes widening and blinking, her jaw flutters, and her posture stiffens. The second she detects us, my spirits soar, and I relish in my success. My parents buy the fraud, and Katherine and George exhale like a burden has risen from their shoulders. Only Sophia and Filip stare at me, disapproval and sadness clouding their eyes.

  “Have you lost your mind?” she mouths.

  Filip squints at us and grinds his teeth.

  Everything is going fine until Monica opens her mouth and throws in the farfetched story of how we became a couple. She has the audacity to imply how we always had feelings for each other when everyone knows damn well how false and off-key that is because I have been obsessed with Bria. There was and is no one else for me. None of them would ever believe her words, and I am in some sick way proud of Bria’s answer. I wouldn’t allow anyone else ever to make her feel bad or second-guess the love she alone shattered. It has been the best thing in my life, and it may be long gone, but it is ours, and no one may diminish what we had.

  I place my hand on Monica’s leg and
lean toward her. She gasps while I whisper in her ear, “You went too far.” She crossed a line, and I wouldn’t forget it. After a deafening silence since no one knows how to tiptoe around this, we discuss business and do our best not to let the awkwardness linger. We keep up the facade of a true family for the sake of appearances. The only true things in the extended family are our parents’ friendship and the genuine bond between Sophia and Filip. Everything else screams of pretense. Too much frustration and tension and unresolved problems hang in the air.

  Our families have raised us well, though. They put us all together as they do with the company and still could guarantee no one would ever lose control. I am like a ticking bomb filled with rage, and they dangle her in front of me, the one person who unleashes it all in me. They also seem oblivious to Bria’s coldness, as if it’s acceptable the same person who once suffused with light in any room now leaves an icy air behind her. We are all sick—and I don’t know how much longer I can last without exploding. These gatherings where both Bria and I have to be in the same place at the same time are seldom. We find good excuses not to be present at every reunion our parents organize, and the few times we have to see each other in a year seem like hundreds. Every single one burrows a bigger hole in my chest. And the problem is not our parents or our siblings. No. The sad truth is Bria and me together were the singular one big problem.

  I survey the way Bria and Alexander interact with each other, so naturally and intimately, swallowing my frustration. I have to peel my eyes away, feeling like an intruder in their exchange. She’s someone I don’t recognize anymore. If she had been the same person, I doubt I would have found it in me either to hate her or to pursue my revenge.

  As Alexander says goodbye, Bria stands up and surprises us all with her wish to rest for a while. We pause at the words coming from the same person who could work twenty-four-seven and still have the energy to carry on. But maybe I’m the motive behind her tiredness. My chest rises with pride, ignoring my previous slip with the cake, just a damn peculiarity of the past, I keep repeating.

  My triumph is short-lived as Monica graces us with another of her suggestions—that Bria might be pregnant. The word alone splits me open. I had never considered such a thought. But it is logical. They seem stable, they have no worries, and they already play house. Indeed, why would they not take the next step?

  Everyone else lifts their gaze to Bria to confirm or deny it, but she spins around and accompanies her boyfriend to his car.

  Eyes glisten at the prospect of a baby in the family maybe thinking they would be given a new chance to do things better. But the visual of a pregnant Bria with some other man’s baby unbalances me. My insides rip with the pain of imagining a family we would never have together.

  As our mothers daydream about having grandchildren and our fathers grin at the idea, only Sophia’s eyes plead with me to find the strength to hold on. Meanwhile, Monica encourages the topic further.

  After I regain some control, I place the now ruffled napkin on the table and excuse myself by saying I have something to do and leave them to their conversation. The only place I want to be in is my old room, where we spent countless hours, days, and nights telling in photos the story of our love and our lives. I hope the memories inside will strengthen me to face the devastation if she confirms the pregnancy.

  I decide to remove the photographs of us because what’s the point in keeping them? Why still torment myself? But am I able to? I have to because not getting rid of them would say I’m weak and still live in the past.

  Although I no longer live here, the second floor is mine, my personal space, and my cave. I have my manly, sparsely furnished room, a large bathroom, a dressing room, and an office. No one intrudes in my former bedroom. I keep it locked, and one key is always in my pocket. The other is hidden under a floorboard I loosened, and a potted plant covers the spot. I come and clean my room a few times a year. The exertion feels cathartic but leaves me also disturbed for a while. Otherwise, I’m at peace and home in the room surrounded by Bria’s lingering and bubbling presence and bittersweet memories. Only we know about my hidden place, but I forbade her to enter it a long time ago.

  With every step I take, my legs heave the weights shackled around my feet. The nearer I come to the second floor, the more I catch a whiff of her alluring floral scent. I am losing my mind.

  Halting at the door, I know something is off. My whole body hyperventilates, and my heart hammers as I fumble with my keys. The door gives away with a small creak, and I freeze on the spot at the image displayed in front of me. Bria, asleep on my bed on the left side, her side. Her shiny hair cascades over half of her rosy face and over the pillows, her back curved into the fetal position, and her knees bent with her arm stretched on my side. She appears angelic in her peach-colored dress, which outlines her small waist. Her flawless legs tantalize me—my breathing hitches as I drink in every detail of this destructive yet stunning woman.

  My first reaction is to grab her and cast her out of the room she has no right to be in. Instead, I lock the door behind me and place my key near the other one on the rectangular black table in the corner. I creep toward the bed, my eyes boring into her chest, rising and falling in a steady beat, and then stall with my hands crossed on the nape of my neck. I gawk at the vision of perfection in front of me and bite back a groan. My muscles tense at how she still recalls an insignificant detail like where I stash the other key but could forget about us for one night.

  My eyes well up as I notice how she fits this room, holding an entire life in its four walls full of us. I kneel beside her and brush away a soft strand of hair. I ask myself what had been going on in her mind as she trespassed and saw it all, the witness to a shattered love. Did she look at them? Did she reminisce about all the different times the photos were taken? Why has she decided to nap in here in the first place? How many years have gone by, and still, it seems as if time stands still permitting us to dwell in the rightness of the situation, the two of us together in our private seclusion.

  I heave myself up, take off my oxford gray jacket, and free the first button of my sky-blue shirt. I roll up my sleeves while trying not to choke on the bitter air that fills my lungs. My legs find their way toward the bed, and I let my instincts guide me until I settle myself beside her. My pain and desolation scoot away. Instead, I allow myself to feel her warmth and welcoming presence. Like a moth to a flame, I will get burnt, but the scars would prove my heart belongs to her.

  She leans toward me, and like a fool, I shift my body to accommodate her and wrap my arms around her as I have so many times in the past. Her response is a slight moan filled with satisfaction, and I squeeze her even harder to my chest. I am not in control of my heart and mind or my body. For once, they all wish for one thing—Bria at any cost, right here and now.

  The years vanish, leaving behind only the sensation of her softness and warmth in my arms, in my bed, and in our room.

  I bury my head in her hair as I inhale her sweet scent and drift off to sleep, feeling an odd peace. I don’t know how much time we spend locked in unconsciousness, but when she stiffens in my arms, I know she is awake, and the peace and tranquility are about to fly out the window. But she surprises me. I don’t expect her to remain nestled in my arms, drawing patterns on the exposed skin, but rather to rush away as fast as she can. Instead, she tilts her head, and her eyes find mine and my pulse skyrockets. We stare at each other as she digs her finger between my brows, ironing the line, and stammers, “I . . . I shouldn’t be here.”

  It’s not an apology but rather a statement as she lets me decide what happens next. For someone who has taunted me for years with her cold arrogance, here in my arms, she pacifies me by caressing the air between us with sweetness.

  “A point on which we both seem to agree. Finally.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Instead of unfolding my arms from around her, they tighten.

  “For what exactly? For entering a room I explicitly for
bade you to enter or for being caught in it?”

  Her brows draw together, and she bites her lower lip. “I didn’t expect anyone to search for me here, and curiosity got to me.”

  “Is your curiosity satisfied, then? Don’t you know there is a price to pay and consequences to face for your trespassing?”

  We both seem in dire need to put some distance between us, just enough space where I prop myself on the pillow as she lays on her stomach with her head craned to my side. Her eyes seek mine, and she chews on her lower lip. Releasing her alluring full bottom lip that had me transfixed, she says, “I am used to facing consequences, and don’t pretend you didn’t know one day I would come to your room.”

  “I forbade you for a reason.”

  “And now it’s obvious why.”

  “And what is the reason, tell me!” I ask, stroking her hand and keeping eye contact.

  “It’s an homage to everything we had and lost, too precious to expose to anyone . . . and you’d look mad if someone saw what’s behind these walls. But it is beautiful, Damien. Like us . . . once.”

  My lips curve into a small smile at the truth of her words.

  “I haven’t seen you smile in years.” Her eyes light up, and her mouth hangs open before she snaps it shut and adds, “I had forgotten what it used to be like and how it can lighten up the entire room.”

  “In the last six years, I have had no good reason to smile.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  The bite in her voice reminds me she used to be my Bria, and having her so near dawns on me as to how right and good it feels. I almost forgot this here with her is a mistake and a lie wrapped in the most devious illusion. She is not mine. And because the question has churned at my insides, I blurt it out, “Are you pregnant?” My heart ceases beating while her brows knit together, and she sighs. The silence that ensues pierces my eardrums.

  She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear before she answers. Her touch ignites warmth in my core, which spreads like fire in a dry field. “I won’t have children. So, no, I am not pregnant.”