Mira Regret's Her Heartless Billionaire Ex

MIRAA cold chill ran down my spine as I processed her words. Disbelief filled me."What do you mean gone? What the hell?” I asked“Everything’s gone!” She cried out, making me stiffen,My mind raced in alarm. Her voice was a far cry from the day before. She sounded so shaky it was evident that it was sincere, but nothing made sense. How could it be gone?“Mom?” I pressed on, hoping for her to say anything, but all I heard was frantic mumbling. Something settled in my chest.“I'm coming home,” I said, ending the call.After taking an emergency leave, I rushed home, my mind racing as I reached the estate.When I arrived, my heart sank, there was a car up front that belonged to neither of us. Stepping into the mansion I found my family in a state of panic. My mother was pacing back and forth in the living room, while my father sat on the couch, looking like he'd been punched in the gut. There was an unknown man facing us, who turned to look at me. My gut clenched in unease.“What's goin

MIRAI felt like I'd been punched in the gut at the sight of him. His eyes fixed on me with an unreadable expression.What was he doing here?The sound of a throat clearing made me look up. The Director looked clearly uncomfortable as he looked away.“Mr Woods needs to talk to you alone. I will see you later, Miss Landon.” He said before turning away and l closing the door behind him.With that I was left alone with him. The silence felt deafening after and my heart hammered in my chest."What do you want from me?" I broke the silence, trying to keep my voice steady.Suddenly all the weeks of sleepless nights, tears and reminiscing, all the humiliation for the past weeks rose within me and felt bitterness.“Haven't you done enough? Gotten your revenge? You've taken my family's lives and our home away. Aren't you satisfied?” I spat out,"Oh, that was just the beginning," Damien smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement."That was the least I was capable of."Who was this person in front

I cried for exactly four minutes.I know because I counted. Four minutes of ugly, silent sobbing behind the wheel of my car, parked two streets away from the mansion that used to be my home. Then I dried my face, checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, and told the red-eyed woman staring back at me that she was done.She didn't look convinced. But she drove home anyway.The apartment my parents were renting was a fraction of what we'd had. Two bedrooms, thin walls, a kitchen that smelled faintly of the previous tenant's cooking. Mama had tried to arrange the familiar furniture in unfamiliar rooms, and the effect was deeply sad, our beautiful mahogany dining table crammed into a space too small for it, the silk curtains from the drawing room bunched at windows half the height. Everything transplanted. Nothing fitting.Papa was in his chair when I came in.He looked smaller than I remembered. Not physically, he was still tall, still broad-shouldered, but something in him had com

Michael was leaning against the wall outside the hospital's staff entrance, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he hadn't been invited.It was my first day back at the hospital for a half-shift. Mr Davis had been stable enough that I could cover my clinic hours, and the last thing I needed, after a morning of Damien's cold precision and an afternoon of trying not to stand near oak trees, was Michael Coleson and his spectacular ability to appear exactly when I had no energy left."I heard about the Landon family," he said, straightening when he saw me.I stopped walking. "Is that why you're here?""I wanted to see how you were.""I'm fine."He looked at me steadily. Michael was not unintelligent, it was one of the more inconvenient things about him. He had dark eyes that missed very little, and he was using them now in a way I found deeply unwelcome."You don't look fine," he said."Thank you, that's very helpful. Goodbye, Michael.""Mira." He fell into step beside me as I

MIRAMy mother called at seven-fifteen in the morning, which was how I knew it was going to be a particular kind of day.She never called before eight. Eight was her rule, something she had maintained even through the bankruptcy, even through the move into the rented apartment, even through all the mornings where I imagined the discipline of small routines was the only thing keeping her intact. Before eight meant something had broken through.I was still in bed, not yet asleep but not yet awake, in that grey suspended space where the mind hasn't yet committed to the day. I looked at the screen. I answered."Mira." Her voice was bright. Deliberately, effortfully bright. "I need to talk to you about something.""Good morning, Mama.""Yes, yes. Good morning." A pause, the brief hesitation of someone marshalling their approach. "I've been thinking. About the situation with Damien."I closed my eyes. "Mama...""Just listen. You're in that house every day now. You see him. You're around h