Bianca Brown

SEIRRA'S POINT OF VIEW 

 

The car pulled up beside me.

 

The window rolled down.

 

And the last person I expected to see… was behind the wheel.

 

“Um… hi?” Her voice was smooth. Effortless. Like silk with a little spice. The kind of voice you hear and instantly know—this woman doesn’t beg for anything.

 

I blinked, frozen.

 

Bianca Brown.

 

The Bianca Brown.

 

Billionaire. Fashion icon. Business mogul. The woman every magazine couldn’t get enough of.

 

Her honey-blonde hair was pinned back in a loose bun, oversized sunglasses on, and a gold watch that probably cost more than my whole life.

 

“Are your good?” she asked, frowning at me through her window. Her gaze swept over my bags, then up to my tear-stained face. “What’re you doing out here with all that luggage?”

 

I opened my mouth.

 

Closed it.

 

Then opened it again. “Uh… I—um…”

 

“Look,” she said, voice softening just a little. “You lost or something? What’s your name?”

 

“Sierra,” I croaked, hugging my purse to my chest.

 

She pulled off her glasses and studied me. “Sierra what?”

 

I hesitated. “Hart.”

 

Her brows lifted slightly. “Hart?”

 

My stomach tightened. Crap. I should’ve just said something else. I didn’t even know if she knew Logan. Probably did. They all knew each other in those high towers and charity galas.

 

She tilted her head. “As in… Logan Hart?”

 

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. He, um… just kicked me out.”

 

Bianca blinked. “Wait. You worked for him or something?”

 

I looked down at my shoes. My toes were already numb from the cold.

 

“I was his wife,” I mumbled.

 

Her eyes widened a little, like I’d just told her I was the Queen of England.

 

“You… were married to Logan Hart?”

 

I gave a small nod.

 

She stared at me for a beat, lips parting slightly. “Damn.”

 

I sniffed, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Yeah.”

 

Bianca looked genuinely confused now. “He kicked you out? Just like that?”

 

I gave a weak laugh. “With bodyguards and his new girl in my robe. It was a whole performance.”

 

Her mouth dropped open. “What the actual hell…”

 

“Yeah,” I said again, voice cracking.

 

She stared at me, like trying to figure out if this was a prank. Then she glanced around the street.

 

“This part of town isn’t exactly… you know, safe. Especially not with luggage. You got somewhere to go?”

 

I quickly nodded. “Yeah. Yes. My friend. Rebecca.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Where’s she live?”

 

“Um… Long Beach,” I said, making it up on the spot. I didn’t even know if Rebecca was home, but it sounded far enough to end this conversation fast.

 

Bianca tapped her fingers on the wheel. “That’s not exactly walking distance.”

 

“I’ll… I’ll find a way. Don’t worry.”

 

“Don’t worry?” she repeated, then shook her head with a scoff. “Girl, you’re crying, standing in the cold, dragging a suitcase like someone dropped you out of a moving car, and you're telling me not to worry?”

 

I laughed a little through my tears.

 

Bianca sighed, popped the door open, and leaned over. “Get in.”

 

I stared at her. “What?”

 

“Get. In. I’m not leaving you here to get robbed or hit by a truck.”

 

“I’m fine, really. I can call an Uber—”

 

“With what phone?” she snapped gently, eyeing my cracked screen sticking out from my tote. “And with what money?”

 

I didn’t answer.

 

She tilted her head. “Exactly.”

 

I hesitated a moment longer, then slid into the passenger seat.

 

Her car smelled like vanilla and power.

 

She reached back, pulled a pack of tissues from her bag, and handed it to me. “Here. Clean up your face. You look like a sad raccoon.”

 

I smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

 

She started the engine and pulled off smoothly. “So… ex-wife of Logan Hart. Didn’t see that coming today.”

 

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Me neither.”

 

“How long were you married?”

 

“Two years.”

 

She glanced at me. “You’re… what, twenty-four?”

 

“Twenty-five next week.”

 

“Damn. Happy early birthday, I guess.”

 

I let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks.”

 

We rode in silence for a moment. The kind that wasn’t awkward—just full. Heavy.

 

Then she spoke again.

 

“You hungry?”

 

I shrugged. “A little.”

 

“Good. I know a place. You need food, coffee, and someone to remind you that idiots like Logan are born every day.”

 

I looked over at her.

 

She was smiling now. Not in a pity way. More like… a woman who’d been through storms and learned how to drive in the rain.

 

“Thanks,” I whispered.

 

She shrugged. “Don’t thank me yet. I might be crazy.”

 

I laughed softly.

 

Bianca reached for the intercom. “Jay, pull over at that bakery up ahead. Grab me my usual and get whatever looks warm and filling for her, alright?”

 

“On it, ma’am,” came the voice through the speaker.

 

She leaned back, eyes flicking to me. “You like croissants? Or are you more of a grilled sandwich kind of girl?”

 

I shrugged, still gripping the tissue. “Honestly? I’ll eat anything that doesn’t come in a microwave box.”

 

Bianca chuckled, resting an elbow on the door and watching traffic lazily through her window. “So… who's the chic Logan was following, huh?”

 

My stomach tightened just at the name. “Tessa Black.”

 

She turned to me, brows raised. “Tess? As in… the Tessa Black? Petite, fake smile, always overdressed for brunch?”

 

I nodded slowly, biting my lip. “Yep. That one.”

 

“Damn,” Bianca muttered, shaking her head. “I knew she was a little shady but… I didn’t know she had it in her. Girl always came to those events acting like a humble daisy.”

 

I looked down at my lap, voice low. “She wore my robe. And she had the nerve to wave goodbye from the balcony. I mean, who does that?”

 

Bianca scoffed. “Women with no home training, that’s who. And Logan—ugh. Girl, the moment a man trades a diamond for a pebble, that’s on him.”

 

“I just…” I paused, fighting the burn in my throat again. “I thought he was my person.”

 

Bianca didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at me. Really looked. Then sighed.

 

“You’re allowed to feel sad,” she said softly. “Heartbreak’s not some switch you flip off. It’s more like a leaking tap. You deal with the drip ‘til it stops.”

 

I gave a small smile. “You talk like you’ve been through it.”

 

“Oh, baby,” she snorted, “I’ve been through worse. Trust me. At least yours didn’t run off with your assistant and your dog.”

 

I blinked. “He took your dog?”

 

“And named it after his new girlfriend.”

 

We both burst out laughing, and for the first time, it didn’t feel forced.

 

The car door opened, and her driver leaned in with two brown paper bags.

 

“Ma’am,” he said, handing them over.

 

“Thanks, Jay,” she said, taking them and passing one to me.

 

I opened it and the smell hit me—cheese, butter, warm bread. My stomach growled loud enough to embarrass me.

 

I didn’t wait. I dug in, chewing like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. Because honestly? I hadn’t.

 

After a few bites, I realized Bianca was watching me with a small smile.

 

“I’m so sorry,” I said through a mouthful, wiping my lips. “That was so rude. I didn’t even say thank you—”

 

She waved her hand. “Girl, hush. Eat. You’ve earned it.”

 

We rode in silence for a bit while I devoured the sandwich like it was gold.

 

Then she spoke again.

 

“Sierra Hart, huh?”

 

I paused, blinking at her.

 

“You shouldn’t go by that name anymore,” she said, voice calm. “Hart’s done with you. Time to be done with Hart.”

 

I stared at her, heart thudding in my chest.

 

“What’s your real last name?” she asked.

 

I swallowed and said it softly. “Morgan.”

 

She smiled. “Pretty. Strong. Has a ring to it.”

 

Then she turned to the driver. “Jay, take us to the Long Beach. And from now on—this girl right here?” She tapped my shoulder. “She’s Sierra Morgan.”

 

And just like that, we drove off.

 

And for the first time in a long time… I didn’t feel like I was falling.

 

I felt like I was starting.