All Chapters of A BILLIONAIRE'S PROMISE: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I don't remember the walk home.That's the thing about devastation—it erases everything except the wound. The subway ride blurs into nothing, faces smearing into abstract shapes, announcements dissolving into white noise. I moved through the city like a ghost, already hollowed out, already rehearsing the shape of absence he'd carved into me.All I remember is the echo of his voice. The ghost of his lips. The way he'd looked at me like I was something precious before shoving me away with words that still rang in my ears like a sentence I couldn't appeal.*You're too good for me.**I'm too damaged for you.**Go home, Ella.*I must have walked through my apartment door. Must have changed out of his clothes—the cashmere sweater that still smelled like him, the sweatpants that pooled around my ankles. Must have collapsed into my narrow bed sometime around dawn, because when I finally surfaced from the fog, weak morning light was filtering through my threadbare curtains and painting everyth

I was halfway to the subway when the car pulled up beside me.Not just any car—his car. The same absurdly long, impossibly luxurious vehicle that had taken me to the restaurant a lifetime ago. The back window rolled down, and there he was. Xander Black, still wet from the rain, still watching me with those impossible eyes."Get in, Ella.""I thought you wanted me to go home.""I changed my mind." A pause. "Get in. Please."The please undid me. That single word, soft and almost uncertain, from a man who probably never said please to anyone. I hesitated for exactly one second—long enough to maintain some shred of dignity—then opened the door and slid inside.The warmth hit me immediately, along with the familiar scent of leather and him. I started shivering even harder, my body finally registering how cold I'd gotten during those hours in the rain.Xander said something to the driver—too low for me to hear—and then the car was moving. Away from the subway. Away from my apartment. Toward

I must have drifted off again.That was the strange thing about exhaustion—it didn't care about the war raging inside you. It simply pulled you under, regardless of whether your mind was screaming or your heart was breaking. One moment I was lying there, staring at the ceiling of Xander's bedroom, replaying every word of Isabella's arrival, and the next, the light had shifted, the room had warmed, and the space beside me was empty.I reached for him instinctively, my hand finding nothing but cooling fabric and the faint indent where his body had been. The sheets still carried his scent—that intoxicating mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely him—but the warmth was fading. He'd been gone for a while."Xander?"The word came out rough, sleep-raw, swallowed by the silence of the penthouse. No response. Just the distant hum of the city waking up below and the soft whisper of air through the vents.I sat up, pulling the sheet with me, and listened. At first, I heard nothing. Then,

Xander came to my apartment that night.Not the penthouse. Not some exclusive restaurant where the waiters knew his name and the lighting was designed to make everyone look like they belonged in a magazine. My apartment. The narrow stairs, the cramped hallway, the door that stuck slightly if you didn't lift it just right when you turned the key. He stood in my tiny living room like a giant in a dollhouse, his shoulders almost brushing the doorframe, his presence filling every corner of the space I'd called home for years.Mom was already asleep—I'd checked on her twice, made sure her blankets were tucked, her medication was set out for the morning. The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak of old pipes settling. We sat close on the lumpy couch I'd had since college, its springs long since surrendered to the weight of years, and I watched him struggle to find words I already knew were coming."She's back." He said it without preamble, withou

Isabella didn't leave.She lingered at the edge of our table, a shadow that refused to fade, her presence an unspoken claim on territory she had no right to occupy. Her smile was still fixed in place—that practiced, perfect curve of lips that had probably opened doors and closed deals and broken hearts for as long as she'd known how to use it. But her eyes were different. Her eyes were calculating, measuring, searching for the fault lines in armor she'd spent five years learning to breach.I could feel her gaze on me like a physical weight. It traveled over my face, my hair, the thrift store dress I'd been so proud of an hour ago. It lingered on my hands—work-roughened, unadorned, so different from her own perfectly manicured fingers with their diamond bracelet catching the candlelight. I saw her make her assessments, file her observations, find me wanting in every category that mattered to someone like her."I hope I'm not interrupting anything important." She tilted her head, studyi