Seven Days To Forget The Billionaire

Anna’s POV

The worst part about being married to Mark Brantley was knowing that he could live his life perfectly without me.

I sat across the dining set as I watched him laugh endlessly at his phone. It wasn’t a small laugh either. He wasn’t watching a video so what could possibly make him laugh so loud? A few seconds later, his phone rang. He didn’t give it a second before answering. “You remember that night in Chelsea?” Vicky asked, smiling. Mark smiled back. “How could I forget?” I lowered my eyes.

Apparently, there were things about my husband’s life I didn’t even know about but somehow,Vicky knew all of it. I looked up at him. “Who was that?” He ignored me for a while before his eyes finally left his phone. “Hmm?” I knew he had heard me clearly. “The call.” He stared at me for a while before putting his phone on the table. “Vicky.”

Of course it was Vicky. Why did I even bother asking? I forced a smile, “I guessed.” He was used to having these kinds of conversations but this time,something was different. He was more irritated. “Then why did you ask?” I looked down at my plate. “I was just curious.”

Mark gave a quiet sigh and picked up his glass of water. “She needed to ask me something.” He always had a way of defending his childhood ‘sweetheart’. “About Chelsea?” I asked.

“Not again Anna.” He rolled his eyes. “But you both seemed to remember something.” A smile appeared on his lips. “It’s nothing.”

Nothing. That word had become Mark’s favorite whenever I asked him about Vicky. Nothing when Vicky called him late at night. Nothing when she showed up at his office without an appointment. Nothing when she knew where he had been all day,who he had been with and what he was planning even before I did and somehow,I was always the one making a problem out of it.

I looked down at my plate and lost whatever little appetite I had left. The food in front of me had gone cold, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Across the table, Mark was already back on his phone, his attention completely absorbed by whatever was on the screen.

There was something strange about being married to someone and still feeling like an outsider in their life.

Three years ago, I would have done anything to have evenings like this with him. I used to imagine us sitting across from each other after a long day, talking about everything and nothing. I had thought marriage would make us closer.

Instead, I had slowly become part of the furniture. Something beautiful that belonged in his house but didn’t necessarily need his attention. The thought hurt so I always tried to push it away. I stood from the table and picked up my glass. “I’m going upstairs.”

Mark barely looked up. “Alright.” That was it. That was how almost every one of our conversations went. No curiosity of someone who noticed his wife had barely touched her dinner.

The house was unusually quiet. One of those expensive houses,well furnished and cold when you lived inside it. The house had everything except the warmth of two young married people.

I entered the bedroom and changed out of my dress. Mark’s side of the room was untouched. His shoes were still near the wardrobe, and his watch sat on the bedside table exactly where he had left it that morning.

I picked it up and placed it inside the drawer. I had developed little habits like that without noticing. Putting his things away, remembering his appointments, making sure his shirts were collected from the dry cleaner, knowing the meals he liked and the ones he didn’t.

I knew him in the little ways a wife should know her husband but the problem was, Mark didn’t know me at all. I turned away from the wardrobe before the thought could settle too deeply.

I had spent three years learning how to love Mark without asking for too much in return. Maybe that was the mistake. Somewhere along the way, I had convinced myself that if I gave enough, stayed patient enough and asked for little enough, he would eventually notice.

But love wasn’t supposed to feel like an audition.I paused when I saw my reflection in the mirror.The woman staring back at me looked tired.Not the kind of tiredness that sleep could fix.

My eyes looked dull, and there were faint shadows beneath them that I had been hiding with makeup for weeks.

I touched my face. When had I started looking this exhausted? I couldn’t remember the last time I had woken up feeling completely fine. The headaches started first. At the beginning they were nothing more than a dull ache that disappeared after a few hours. Then they became more frequent. Sometimes they came with dizziness. Sometimes with nausea.

I had ignored all the signs. There was always something more important. A meeting, a business trip, Mark. I sighed and opened the drawers beside the bed. I still had my pain killers. For a few minutes, I sat quietly waiting for the pain to settle.

It did eventually. I told myself that was a good sign. I had become so good at convincing myself that everything was fine. My phone lit up on the dressing table. I reached for it immediately. A message from Mark. For one foolish second, I was excited. Then, I read it.

“Don’t wait up. I have somewhere to be.” I stared at the message longer than I should have. There was a time where a message like this would send me into a spiral of questions. Where are you? Who are you with? Are you with Vicky? When are you coming home? I would have called him till her answered but tonight, I simply turned my phone over.

Maybe I was finally learning not to chase someone who had no interest in being caught. I climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over myself. The room felt too large without him or maybe I was used to pretending the room felt less large with his presence. I closed my eyes.

“Tomorrow, I’d go to the hospital. No excuses, no postponing, just one appointment.” One simple appointment to understand why my body has decided to betray me. Atleast, that’s how I thought of it.

Mark didn’t come home. When I woke up just after six the next morning, his side of the bed was untouched. I stared at it for a moment before reaching for my phone. One new message. “Busy today. I’ll be at the office.”

I let out a quiet breath. Not even a good morning. I placed my phone carefully and got out of bed. Strangely, I wasn’t angry. Maybe anger required the energy I no longer had. Who knows?

I showered, dressed in a cream blouse and black trousers and pulled my hair into a loose ponytail. By the time I reached the kitchen, breakfast was already waiting. I sat down but barely touched the food. The smell suddenly turned my stomach. I pushed the plate away. This was becoming a problem.

For weeks, I had been eating less and pretending not to notice. My appetite had disappeared, my clothes were beginning to feel looser, and the exhaustion had become impossible to hide.

I checked my phone. It was eleven o’clock. I had less than one hour before my appointment. I stood and headed towards Mark’s study. There was a file I needed to collect before leaving for the hospital. His study was slightly open;I pushed it wider. The familiar smell of his cologne greeted me before I even stepped foot inside.

His desk was exactly how he usually left it. Paper scattered across the table, his laptop open and a half-finished glass of whisky sitting beside it.

I walked towards the desk and spotted the file. “Brantley Holdings.” I picked it up. Mark might have been the face of the company, but I knew that business better than anyone gave me credit for. For three years, I had worked quietly behind the scenes. I had checked reports, reviewed contracts, and caught mistakes. I had never needed my name on anything. Mark already had the reputation. I was happy to let him keep it. Atleast, I used to be.

I flipped through the pages, then I stopped. Something was wrong. I went back to the previous page and checked the figures again. A financial projection had been entered incorrectly. My brows drew together. It wasn’t a small error.

If the report went to the board like this, the company would lose a significant amount of money. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the page. I would show this to Mark later… if he answered. I closed the file and returned it to the desk. As I turned to leave, my eyes caught a framed photograph sitting on the bookshelf.

It was Mark and I on our wedding day. He was smiling at the camera, one arm wrapped around my waist. I looked happy. Really happy.

For a moment, I wondered what happened to that girl. She had entered this marriage believing she had finally found the person she would spend the rest of her life with. She had no idea how lonely she would become. I looked away. I didn’t have time for memories. I had an appointment with my Doctor.

I walked out of the study and headed downstairs. At the front door, I stopped. The house looked exactly as it always did. Perfect and expensive.

For three years, I had tried to make it feel like home and not just a luxury building where two people live. Maybe that was why leaving it felt so strange. I stepped outside and the driver opened the car door for me.

I slipped into the back seat and looked through the window as the house disappeared behind me.

London moved around in a blur of black cabs, bundles and people rushing to wherever they needed to be. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere. I was too. I just didn’t know that I was driving towards the biggest turning point of my life.