Married to the Secret Billionaire

I wince, my stomach churning. Ouch.

But as I watch, Ankor whirls on her, his face going red, his fists balled. The only other time I’ve ever seen him look that furious was the night I told him about my ex, and what he did to me.

“Sinclair is more beautiful, inside and out, than you will ever be,” he says.

My lips part. In the video, he stalks off, pushing through the crowd. I can’t help it. I smile.

Margot snatches the phone back from me with a groan. “Ugh, he’s so grossly in love with you.” But she flashes me a grin as she says it. “And thank god it’s you and not some gold-digging user like Lily.”

I can’t wipe the stupidly wide smile off my face. “She does seem like the worst.”

“The absolute worst,” Margot is saying, when she suddenly spots something that makes her eyes go wide.

“What?” I make a grab for the phone again, but she holds it out of reach. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She looks back at me. “Just… don’t tell Marco I showed you those Tweets.”

I frown. “Why not?”

“And stay off Twitter for the next few days,” she adds.

“I already told you, I don’t even have Twitter,” I point out.

“Well, stay offline altogether then. It’s for your own good.”

“Now you’re scaring me.” I glare.

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing bad, Sinclair, I promise. Just something good that you’d ruin if you looked. Like opening a present before Christmas, okay?”

I frown a little, confused, but I nod anyway. “Okay.” I trust Margot. If she says it’s not bad, then whatever it is, I’m probably better off not knowing. Most likely it’s Lily calling me more terrible names or insulting my clothing or whatever.

I go back to fanning the pie.

“You guys are doing couple-y dinner, right?” Margot points from me to the pie and back. When I nod, she shakes her head. “In that case, I’m out. You need a ride anywhere?”

“That’s okay; I’m just going to meet him at the office. I’ll walk.” It isn’t far from the penthouse. Ankor had planned ahead well when he moved to the city. Back then, work had been his biggest concern, so he’d been sure to find an apartment within jogging distance of his desk.

These days, he has a much better work-life balance. But still, sometimes duty calls. I don’t mind. It gives me time to catch up on my own projects. Time to figure out what I’d like to pursue, going forward.

Time to start hunting for new nursing jobs in the area. I haven’t told Ankor yet, but I know he’ll approve. After all, he’s happy when I’m happy. And I’m happy when I’m doing my job and helping people.

After kissing Margot’s cheek as she leaves, I pack the pie I’ve baked into a little cooler and sling it over one shoulder. I head down the elevator and wave to the front desk man, Andy, on my way out. Outside, it’s a deceptively nice day. Warm, sunny, bright. I’m glad I decided to walk.

Since we moved here, I spent the first few weeks holed up indoors. But lately, I’ve started venturing out more. Daring to walk down the street, unafraid. I run errands to the grocery store by myself. I walk through Central Park some days, by myself, and go lounge on the lawns or buy ice cream and stroll past the pond, watching kids feed the ducks.

Every day, I get a little more rooted in the present. A little farther from the dark past that sent me running to Maui in the first place. But I’m grateful, in the end. Without all of that, I would never have found Ankor. And I can’t imagine my life without him now.

I’m thinking all this as I cut across the avenue nearest our apartment and jog up the cross streets. I’m thinking it as a man climbs out of a cab on the corner and starts to shout.

I’m so lost in those thoughts that I don’t realize for a moment… He’s shouting my name.

On instinct, I turn to look at him, and freeze. Every muscle, every bone in my body, everything in me just… freezes.

Because it’s him.

“Sinclair.” Lenn sneers at me. His smile is exactly the same, creepy and leering. His face is the same, narrow and pinched like he’s sucking on lemons. His gangly, bony arms and thick legs are the same.

Panic starts to creep through my veins and up my throat. How are you here? Why are you here? I want to shout all of that, but I don’t. I just freeze there in panic.

And then he grabs me.

I scream, too little too late, into the palm of his hand where it’s crushed over my mouth. I feel my feet leave the ground, feel him start to drag me, backwards, I’m not sure where. I flail my arms. The nice New York City street disappears around a corner as he drags me into a tight alley. He must have been waiting. He must have been watching, picking out a spot to do this. I wonder how long he’s waited. How long he’s known exactly where I am and how to get to me.