Forever Was Never The Deal

HILARY's POV

The first thing I learned about coming home early was that people were rarely prepared for you.

The second thing I learned was that I enjoyed it, especially when those people had something to hide. I leaned back against the cream leather seat of my car, crossing one leg over the other as Manhattan blurred past the tinted windows.

Three days.

That was how long I had cut my business trip short.

Three miserable days of meetings, investors, endless presentations, and men twice my age explaining my own company to me as if I had accidentally inherited a billion-dollar empire instead of being raised inside one.

But I was home now. I can’t wait to see everyone but most importantly my fiancé— Miles Morales, the famous self-made tech billionaire.

I had a surprise waiting for Miles. Or, more accurately, Miles had a surprise waiting for him.

I smiled to myself.

The car slowed as we approached the familiar gates of the Morales estate.

I frowned.

“Why are we here?”

My driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“Mr. Morales's residence, ma'am.”

“I know where we are.” I sat forward. “I mean, why is the gate closed?”

The massive iron gates were shut and that was strange. Miles knew I was coming.

Well... He didn't know I was coming. But still. I pulled out my phone and called him.

No answer.

I called again.

Still nothing.

My smile disappeared.

“Wonderful.”

I stared through the windshield.

Maybe he was in a meeting.

Maybe his phone was dead.

Maybe— A soft sound reached me from inside the estate. It was music. I frowned. Was he having a party?

I looked at my driver.

“Did Miles mention having guests?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Of course he didn't.”

I opened the car door.

“Wait here.”

“Miss Banks—”

“I said wait.” I stepped out of the car to find out myself. The moment the gate opened, I walked through without hesitation. I wasn't afraid of surprises. I was usually the one giving them. The music grew louder as I approached the house.

I could hear laughter.

A woman's laughter.

I stopped.

My brows drew together as it was familiar. Too familiar. I climbed the marble steps and pushed open the front door.

“Miles?”

Nothing.

I walked inside.

The foyer looked exactly as it always did—expensive, polished, and painfully pretentious.

Then I heard a voice.

A woman's voice.

“Miles, you promised we'd have more time.”

I froze.

Every muscle in my body went still.

I slowly turned toward the hallway.

There he was.

Miles.

My fiancé.

The man I had spent the last two years loving.

And beside him stood a woman wearing nothing but one of his shirts. My eyes moved from her to him then back to her.

Silence reigned and for three full seconds, nobody moved. Then Miles went pale. Actually pale. It would have been funny if my heart hadn't just shattered inside my chest.

“Hilary…”

I tilted my head.

“Well.”

My voice came out frighteningly calm.

“This is awkward.”

The woman immediately stepped behind Miles.

I looked at her.

Then at Miles.

Then at the shirt she was wearing.

His shirt. The same shirt I got him as a gift for our second anniversary. I let out a small laugh, not because anything was funny. But because if I didn't laugh, I was fairly certain I would start screaming.

“You know,” I said slowly, “when I imagined surprising my fiancé, this wasn't exactly the scenario I had in mind.”

“Hilary, listen to me.”

“Oh, I'm listening.”

I stepped closer.

“I've actually never listened harder in my life.”

“It's not what you think.”

I stared at him.

Then at the woman.

Then back at him.

“Really?”

I nodded slowly.

“Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like you're cheating on me.”

“It's complicated.”

“Complicated?”

I laughed again.

“No, Miles. Physics is complicated. Quantum mechanics is complicated. Explaining why you have another woman wearing your shirt in your bedroom is actually very simple.”

He took a step toward me attempting to calm me down but I wouldn’t let him. I raised one hand signaling for him to stop.

“Don't.”

“Hilary—”

“Don't say my name like you're the victim here.”

His expression tightened.

“I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

Silence.

He looked away, and there it was. That tiny hesitation. The hesitation that told me everything his mouth wasn't brave enough to say.

My chest tightened.

I swallowed.

“You know what?”

I smiled. My father warned me about you but I didn’t listen.

“Forget it.”

I turned around.

“Hilary, wait!”

I stopped at the door and for one brief second, I considered turning back. Then I remembered the woman in his shirt. I looked over my shoulder.

“You're going to regret this.”

Miles stared at me.

I smiled.

“And trust me, darling…”

I opened the door.

“You have no idea how creative I can be when I'm angry.”

I walked out.

My heels struck the marble steps with deliberate precision.

One.

Two.

Three.

By the time I reached the bottom, my eyes were burning but I refused to cry, at least not here. Not for him.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't interested in being the good daughter. I wasn't interested in protecting anyone's reputation. I wasn't interested in playing fair.

Miles Morales wanted a war? Then that’s exactly what he’ll get. He had just made the biggest mistake of his life. He picked a fight with a Banks. And I intended to make sure he regretted it.

**********

I didn’t know where I was going, and for once, I didn’t care. My chauffeur asked twice if I wanted to go home, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

Home.

The word suddenly felt ridiculous. What was home supposed to mean when the man I thought I’d build a life with had been building another one behind my back?

I stared through the car window as Las Vegas passed by. People laughed. Couples held hands. Cars moved through traffic. Everything looked normal. Too normal. How dare the world continue moving when mine had just stopped?

“Pull over.”

My chauffeur glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

“Ma’am?”

“Geoffrey, I said pull over.”

He hesitated.

“Are you sure?”

I looked at him.

“Do I look like someone who enjoys repeating herself?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then we’re clear.”

A few minutes later, the car pulled over.

I stepped out and walked until I found a bench beneath a large tree.

I sat down and stared ahead. Three years. Three years of dates, dinners, vacations, arguments, apologies, and anniversaries. Three years of believing the man I loved looked at me and saw his future. Apparently, he looked at me and saw something else.

A Banks. My father’s daughter. A weapon. My eyes burned. One tear escaped. I wiped it away immediately.

“Traitor,” I muttered to myself.

Another tear followed.

“Oh, come on.” I rubbed my face angrily. “This is embarrassing.”

“Excuse me.”

I froze. I hadn’t noticed the man sitting at the other end of the bench. He wore black trousers, a white shirt, and a black jacket. Nothing about him screamed wealth. He looked like an ordinary man waiting for a cab. He glanced at me before pulling a neatly folded handkerchief from his pocket.

“You might need this.”

I stared at it.

“I don’t cry.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Right.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“Your eyes are just leaking.”

I almost laughed. Instead, I snatched the handkerchief from his hand.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

For a few seconds, we sat in silence.

Then he spoke.

“Bad day?”

“You could say that.”

“Bad breakup?”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Do I have ‘recently betrayed by an idiot’ written across my forehead?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You have ‘rich woman having a terrible evening’ written all over you.”

I turned toward him.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled.

“Was I wrong?”

I studied him. Most men became nervous once they realized who I was. This man didn’t.

“You’re either very brave,” I said, “or incredibly stupid.”

“People have accused me of both.”

“What's your name?”

“William.”

“Just William?”

“For now.”

I gave him a look.

“For now?”

He smiled.

“You didn't give me your name either.”

“I didn't realize we were exchanging life stories.”

“We aren't.”

“Good.”

“I'm just trying to make conversation.”

I looked away.

“Why?”

“Because you're a pretty lady sitting alone on a bench looking like you're planning someone's murder.”

I smiled faintly.

“Maybe I am.”

He chuckled.

“I believe you.”

There was something about him. Something strangely calm. He wasn't trying to flirt with me, nor was he treating me like Hilary Banks. He was treating me like a woman having a bad day, and for some reason, that made me lower my guard.

“My fiancé cheated on me.”

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

William's smile disappeared.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s not worth feeling sorry over.”

“You sound angry.”

“I’m furious.”

“Fair enough.”

I studied him.

“You’re not going to tell me to forgive him?”

“No.”

“Or that everyone makes mistakes?”

“No.”

“Or that I should hear his side of the story?”

He shook his head.

“No.”

I smiled faintly. “You’re surprisingly sensible.”

“I have my moments.”

My eyes fell on the notebook sticking out of his jacket.

“What’s that?”

“My notebook.”

“Obviously.”

He smiled.

“Work?”

“Always.”

I rolled my eyes. “So what do you do?”

“Journalism.”

“A journalist?”

He nodded.

“The kind who asks questions people don’t want to answer.”

Interesting. I looked away, my mind suddenly working again. Miles had humiliated me. I wanted him to see exactly what he’d lost. I wanted him to watch me move on. I needed a husband. My eyes slowly moved toward William and he noticed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just had an idea.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It is.”

He laughed softly.

I leaned back. Then an idea struck me. I stood and held out my hand.

“Hilary.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“So you do have a name.”

“Hilary Morel Banks,” I said. Recognition flickered across his face.

“And you’re…”

“William Carrington.”

I froze for half a second. Carrington. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Frankly, I didn’t care. At least not this evening.

I looked him directly in the eyes.

“You’re single?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a journalist.”

He blinked. “Yes.”

“And how much do you make?”

“Well… not so much.”

“Good.”

His eyebrows rose.

“Good?”

I smiled.

“Are you ready to have the biggest payday of your life?”