BILLIONAIRE EX: KARMA HAS MY FACE

LUCY The red dress doesn't fit anymore. I know this before I even zip it. Four years ago, Kelvin bought it for me the week before our wedding; silk that fell like water, a neckline that made me feel beautiful. Back then, it whispered against my ribs. Now it clings. I suck in my stomach. The zipper protests halfway up my back. My fingers shake as I try again. The zipper gives another inch, then stops. I can barely breathe, but I don't care. Kelvin loved this dress. He told me I looked like a dream in it. That was four years ago, when he still looked at me like I mattered. The guestroom’s door crashes open. "Oh, Lucy." Patricia's voice drips disgust before I even turn around. "What on earth are you wearing?" My mother-in-law stands in the doorway, her face twisted like she's smelled something rotten. Diane appears behind her, already smirking. "I – I thought –" My stutter catches immediately, the way it always does when I'm nervous. "K-Kelvin bought this for –" "Four years ago,

LUCY They're all waiting when I come downstairs. Kelvin on the couch, Miranda beside him with her hand on her stomach. Patricia standing like a sentinel. Diane perched on the arm of a chair, scrolling her phone. My family. Except they never were, were they? "Sit," Kelvin says. There's nowhere to sit except the floor or a chair across from them, far away. I take the chair. Kelvin leans forward, elbows on his knees. He looks tired. Annoyed. Like I'm an appointment that ran long. "I need you to sign these." He tosses papers onto the coffee table. They slide toward me. "Divorce papers. My lawyer drew them up." I stare at the documents. "Lucy." He sounds impatient now. "Did you hear me?" "Why?" The word comes out broken. "Why what?" "Why did you–" I can't finish. My stutter tangles everything. "We're m-married. You asked me to w-wait for–" "Oh, for God's sake." Patricia sighs. "Do we really have to spell it out?" "I'll spell it out," Kelvin says. He sits back, one arm draped a

LUCY "I'm sorry," Robert tells them, his voice breaking. "I need to get her out of here." "Of course," David says quietly. "Whatever she needs." Robert helps me stand. My legs won't work. He wraps an arm around my waist, supporting my weight. "Come on," he says gently. "Let's go." I don't remember walking to his car or the gate closing behind us. Just fragments: streetlights sliding past the window. Robert's knuckles white on the steering wheel. My breath fogging the glass. And the thought, over and over: My father died thinking I didn't care enough to come home. --- Robert helps me inside his house and sits me on the couch. He sits across from me, elbows on his knees. "I thought you knew," he says finally. "Lucy, I swear I thought you knew. Kelvin told everyone at the funeral that you'd just had surgery. Emergency surgery. That you couldn't travel. That it was too dangerous for you to come." I stare at him. "There was no s-surgery." My voice comes out hoarse. "I was her

DAMIAN"You didn't tell me you were coming."Mom's sitting in my office when I walk in. She's thinner. The navy blazer that had always got her hangs loose on her frame. Her skin has a faint yellow tint that wasn't there before–jaundice, probably. And there are shadows under her eyes that makeup can't quite hide.How long has it been since I actually looked at her?Two weeks since her last call. Maybe a month since I saw her in person.Too long."That's because you've been avoiding me." Her voice is sharp. "You haven't taken my calls in two weeks."I close the door. Move to my desk. Don't look at her directly because if I do, I'll have to acknowledge what I'm seeing."I've been busy.""You're always busy."There's something in her voice that makes me stop. Something that sounds like the end of patience.I turn.She's already pulling something from her handbag–thick manila envelope. She places it on my desk carefully, like it's fragile. Or explosive.It lands with a soft thud that feels

LUCYThe door opens.Damian King steps inside.I sit up slowly, ignoring the pull in my ribs. This time I see him clearly.Tall–the kind that makes this already-small hospital room feel even smaller. His hair's a bit too long, like he's overdue for a cut, and there's stubble along his jaw. But what I notice first is the suit. Charcoal gray. The kind that fits like it was made just for him. His watch catches the light when he moves his hand. Expensive. Everything about him looks expensive.But his eyes look exhausted.Haunted.Mrs. Henderson stands. "I'll give you two some privacy." She nods at him on her way out. "Mr. King.""Thank you, Mrs. Henderson."The door clicks shut.We're alone.He steps closer to my bed. Hands slide into his pockets."How are you feeling today?""I'm–"He stops. Leans forward slightly."Are you crying?""N-no." I wipe my face with the towel on my bed. "I'm not crying."But I am. I was. I've been crying since this morning. Since Dr. Jorge told me I'd be disch