One night stand with the Billionaire

Anora's POV

The day finally wound down, and I stuffed my things into my bag with sluggish movements. My shoulders sagged as if carrying bricks, and all I could think about was collapsing into bed. Sleep. That was all I wanted.

“Going home already?” Lizzy, my colleague, stepped into my path, her brows arched in mock suspicion just as I reached for my handbag.

I curved my lips into a tired smile. “Yeap.”

She fell into step beside me as we walked toward the door. “So, straight home? Not even a quick stop at the grocery?” Her voice carried that lilt she always had when she wanted something but didn’t want to say it outright.

Her words made me pause. The grocery. Of course. I had promised Bruce.

Bruce was my first everything. My first boyfriend, my college sweetheart and the boy who stood outside lecture halls with coffee in hand and a grin that made exam weeks almost bearable. He was there when I lost my parents, steady and unshakable, offering comfort in every way he could. I loved him fiercely, with the kind of devotion that felt unbreakable. After graduation, he slipped effortlessly into a stable job, while I stumbled through rejection after rejection—until I finally found myself working at the bakery.

I shook my head with a small laugh. “Thanks, Lizzy, but I’ll just head home.” I lied. I knew Lizzy too well. If she knew I was going to the grocery store, she'd cling onto me like a chewing gum stuck into my hair until I went home.

She didn’t press further, only nodded and turned back inside, leaving me to the evening air.

I dug into my bag for my phone and pressed his number. The line clicked once, then fell into that familiar message.

“Hey, this is Bruce. Leave a message… or don’t.”

I hesitated, chewing the inside of my cheek before speaking. “Hi, babe. I’m done with work for the day, so I’ll stop by and bring a few things for you. Call me when you get this. Love you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before I thumbed the call off and slid into my car. The engine coughed before catching, a harsh reminder that it wouldn’t survive much longer without repairs.

I drove to the mall, the fluorescent lights stinging my tired eyes as I gathered what he needed, then headed straight to his house.

When I pulled up, the house sat in quiet stillness. The porch light hummed, spilling a thin, pale glow across the steps. Switching off the ignition, I climbed out slowly, keys clinking faintly in my hand.

I reached for the door handle. My fingers curled around the cool metal, ready to twist it open and then I froze.

Something on the other side made my breath hitch in my throat.

It was a sound.

A sound that didn’t belong here.

“Ahhh… baby… harder.”

The words slipped through the thin crack of the door, low and breathless. My stomach clenched. The voice was too familiar. It was Debbie, my best friend.

Before I could even process that, another voice joined hers, deep and ragged, dripping with pleasure.

“You’re fire… ahhh…”

The second voice belonged to Bruce.

The name screamed inside my head even before I admitted it to myself.

Heat shot up my spine. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. My skin prickled, my pulse thundering so loud it drowned out everything else.

Then it came again, the sharp, wet rhythm of skin against skin.

My stomach lurched. My grip on the handle trembled. For half a minute, I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. My knees locked, my heart slammed against my ribs as if it wanted out.

Another moan tore through the silence, and the thin thread holding me together snapped.

I shoved the door open. They were in such a hurry they had even forgotten to lock the door.

And the world I thought I knew collapsed in front of me.

Debbie arched on the couch, her hips tilted high, her head buried in the cushions. The sharp slap of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with her breathless moans.

“Bruce…” she whimpered, his name breaking on her lips.

His body moved with a ferocity I had never known. His groans were ragged, as though every thrust wrung pleasure from him he’d never found in me. His eyes fluttered half-shut, glazed in the kind of bliss I once thought was mine alone.

They were naked and tangled in a rhythm that should have belonged to us.

And he didn’t even see me.

I stood at the doorway, my chest rising but refusing to fall. My lungs were strangled by the heavy stench of sweat and betrayal.

“Bruce!” My voice cracked, louder than I intended, splintering the air.

His head snapped toward me. In an instant, the color bled from his face, leaving him pale as if I’d ripped the ground from beneath him.

Debbie yelped and stumbled for the nearest pillow, clutching it to her bare chest like it could erase what I’d seen. "A-Anora—"

Too late.

The image was seared into me. Their flushed skin, the raw heat between them, the utter lack of shame buried in my memory.

I swallowed hard against the burn in my throat. “Don’t stop on my account,” I said, my voice cool, though it trembled at the edges. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the show.”

I turned and walked out like someone who had just been poured cold water. I needed to get the hell out of there.

I didn't want to let them see me break. But how can I keep my emotions bottled in when the people I trusted the most betrayed me in such a cruel way?

The tears I’d fought so hard to hold back broke free, warm tracks spilling down my cheeks as they blurred my vision. Disappointment gnawed at my chest, sharp and bitter. I hated myself for trusting them. Both of them.

Voices chased me. My name, half-formed excuses, pitiful apologies but they slid right past my ears. Each word felt miles away.

My heels struck the floor in sharp, furious beats. The front door slammed behind me, a sound so final it almost hurt.

I hit the car, yanked the door open, and dropped into the driver’s seat. My fists pounded the steering wheel. I screamed until my throat burned, every curse I knew spilling out between ragged breaths. Hot tears blurred the world, turning it into nothing but color and pain.

A shadow moved. It was Bruce.

He was coming toward my car, mouth moving. Maybe he was calling my name. Maybe another excuse. I didn’t care enough to find out.

The engine roared to life under my hands. I slammed my foot on the gas. The tires shrieked against the pavement as I shot forward. He leapt aside just in time.

Good.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t even know where I was going. The streets blurred into dark ribbons, carrying me away from the house, from them, from the splintered pieces of my life.

By the time I pulled over, the night had swallowed the sky. A lone streetlamp flickered overhead, throwing crooked shadows across the road.

A small bar sat tucked between shuttered shops, its neon sign buzzing faintly.

Perfect.

I wiped my face with shaking hands, smearing mascara I didn’t care about, and walked inside. The smell of beer and faint cigarette smoke wrapped around me.

I slid onto a barstool. “One beer,” I said, voice hoarse. “Something strong.”

Drinking wasn’t me. Not really. But tonight wasn’t about being me—it was about shutting everything off.

My phone buzzed on the counter. Then again. And again.

I flipped it over. Bruce and Debbie’s names lit the screen in alternating flashes. I let the missed calls and texts pile up until the notifications blurred into one big, desperate mess.

I left the phone facedown and took a long, cold sip. The bitterness slid down my throat, heavy enough to press against the ache in my chest.

The buzzing started again. I knew it was Bruce still calling.

I shouldn’t answer. But some pathetic, splintered part of me still craved… something. A part of me still needed to hear him out. But what would he say now that would sound convincing after I had seen everything with my own eyes?

I picked it up.

"Babe… please, can we talk?" His voice was low and pleading. "I can explain."

A bitter laugh escaped me. “What could you possibly have to say?”

"Just… let’s meet up. I didn’t—"

“Get lost, Bruce,” I cut in, every word sharp enough to draw blood. “You cheating bastard. I can’t believe I gave my heart to someone like you. You’re disgusting.”

"Anora, please—"

“I hope she was worth it,” I hissed. “I hope screwing my best friend was worth losing me."

I ended the call before his reply could poison the air. The phone clattered onto the counter. My hands shook.

I raised a hand to the bartender. “Another. Stronger.”

I wanted to drown in anything but my own thoughts.

That’s when a smooth, masculine voice brushed against my ear.

"Don’t you think that’s a little much for a pretty girl like you?”