The Billionaire's Karma

Elena THE SMELL OF BURNT TOAST filled the kitchen before I could figure out how to turn off the smoke alarm. I waved a dish towel toward the ceiling, eyes stinging, silently begging the thing to stop screaming. It finally gave one last shriek before falling silent, leaving only the quiet sizzle of overcooked eggs on the stove and my embarrassment echoing in the walls. I wasn’t a good cook. Never claimed to be. But this morning, I tried. Not because I thought it would change him. But because I still believed in effort. In softness. In the chance, however slim, that kindness might thaw cold marble. After all, it was our first morning as husband and wife. I hadn’t slept much. I kept waking up, expecting something different. A hand on the other side of the bed. A breath not my own. Anything. But Julian never came. He kept his promise and stayed in the guest room, far away, like the distance between us had already been written in stone. Still, I got up before the sun. I clung to the

Elena THE LIGHTS were too bright, the room too loud, and my smile far too practiced. Champagne fizzed in my flute as I stood at Julian’s side, the picture of elegant contentment. Or so it must have seemed to the crowd. In truth, the glass barely touched my lips. My heels ached, my dress itched at the waist, and Julian hadn’t said more than five words to me since we stepped out of the car. “Smile,” he had said beneath his breath, offering me his arm like it was some business arrangement. “We’re here to be seen.” And seen we were. The gala was everything my father would have dreamed of—men in tailored suits shaking hands over overpriced wine, women in gowns that sparkled under chandeliers, laughing too loudly at jokes that weren’t funny. It was held at the Marquette Hall, a towering monument of old money and newer ambitions. Every corner gleamed with gold trim and calculated opulence. A string quartet played something elegant in the background, drowned out by the sound of ambiti

Elena I DIDN’T EXPECT him to come home before eight. Julian had a habit of disappearing into meetings that blurred into late nights, returning only after I’d stopped waiting up. So when I heard the lock click just past six, I nearly dropped my mascara wand. He stepped inside the penthouse like he always did—silent, assured, detached. But this time, he stopped in his tracks. I stood in the living room, already dressed for dinner. Black silk clung to me like quiet defiance. Earrings in, lipstick fresh, heels laced on. Not for him. Not even for the event. Just for me. For the version of me who still believed she had some control over how this story would unfold. His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t read. “You’re dressed,” he said, voice low with a hint of something sharp. I turned to face him, voice calm. “Callum mentioned the dinner.” His jaw twitched. “Callum,” he repeated, like the name alone offended him. I straightened my posture. I hated how small I felt when he lo

The car ride back to the penthouse was cloaked in an oppressive silence. The city lights blurred past the window as I stared out, my head resting against the cool glass. I could feel Julian’s presence beside me, distant yet heavy, like a storm cloud lingering on the horizon. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. What was there to say? We were two strangers bound by a contract, pretending to be a couple in love for the benefit of the world. The charade was exhausting, and tonight had drained me of whatever strength I had left. My gaze shifted slightly, catching his reflection in the window. He sat straight, his posture impeccable, his jaw set in that infuriatingly stern way that made him seem untouchable. His green eyes were fixed ahead, unreadable as always. I wondered what he was thinking. Did he feel the same suffocating weight I did? Or was he so detached that none of this affected him at all? The car pulled to a smooth stop in front of the building, and Julian was out before I coul

Julian hadn’t come home in three days.He didn’t leave a note. No call. No apology. But then, he never did.I didn’t bother asking anymore. We were long past the point of pretending.The penthouse had been too quiet for too long. I had grown used to the hum of silence, but today it felt different. Heavy. Suffocating. It was the kind of silence that made you want to scream just to hear something human.So I left.No one stopped me. I didn’t need to explain where I was going—not that Julian would care. The elevator ride down felt like a slow descent into reality. One where I still existed, still breathed, still had the right to take up space.I wandered for a while, letting the city wrap around me in its usual blur of honking taxis and overheard conversations. Eventually, I found myself at that same little café, tucked between a bookstore and a shoe repair shop.The bell over the door chimed as I stepped inside.And there he was.Daniel.Sitting by the window again, a pencil in one hand