All Chapters of DIVORCED BY THE BILLIONAIRE: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

AURORA I was back in Sacramento, but everything was different. The streets were empty, the sky a bruised purple, the air thick and heavy like before a storm. I stood in the middle of a bridge, the water below black and churning, the wind cold against my skin.How did I get here?I heard footsteps behind me and turned.Damien was there, his face twisted with anger, his eyes dark with Vanessa standing beside him, her arm linked through his, that smug smile on her face."You really thought you could ruin my life and act like it means nothing?" Damien said. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"“You flatter yourself, Damian. A little too much," I said. "I just wanted to be left alone, that's why I came back and found somewhere else to stay.""Left alone?" He laughed, cold and hollow. "You came back to seduce your way back into my life didn't you.""I didn't seduce my way into anything.""Liar." Vanessa stepped forward. "You're trying to destroy him, ruin his reputation and make eve

AURORA I woke up the next morning and for a moment I forgot. The basement was dark, the light from the small window gray and muted. Harold was dead.No wonder I haven't seen him for a while now. I thought he got tired of the constant coffee or the distance from wherever he lived.Or he got a job. I always assumed he didn't have a job so he just kept himself busy by coming here.I didn't even think that he might've retired.His funeral was today.I showered and dressed, black pants and a black shirt I'd bought months ago for no particular reason. It felt fitting now. I climbed the stairs and found Mrs. Bayer already in the dining room, her coat on, her purse in her hand."You're ready," she said.."I am."She looked at me, her face tired, her eyes red. "I want you to come with me."I hesitated. "To the funeral? Isn't that where–"She shook her head. "To Clara's house first. She asked if I could stop by before the service. She said she wants to see me. I think she needs someone to tal

AURORA The next morning came too fast. I barely slept, my mind spinning between Sophie's bruised face and the lectures I couldn't focus on. I heard her stirring on the couch around six, the blanket rustling, her soft groan as she sat up."Morning," I said from the desk, my laptop still open, the screen dim.She blinked at me, her face puffy, her eyes swollen and dark. "Did you sleep at all?""A little.""Liar."I almost smiled. "Coffee?"She nodded.I went to the kitchen and started the coffee machine. The smell filled the empty diner, warm and familiar. Sophie shuffled in a few minutes later, her hair a mess, her shoulders hunched. She looked like she hadn't slept either.I handed her a cup. She wrapped her hands around it and took a sip, not saying anything. She didn't have to.The door opened and Maria walked in. "Morning," she called out. Then she saw Sophie's face. "Oh my God. Sophie, what happened?""I fell," Sophie said quickly.Maria looked at me. I shook my head slightly."R

The diner was quiet that afternoon. The lunch rush had come and gone, and the last customer had trickled out around two. I was wiping down the counter, my body moving on autopilot, my mind somewhere else. The prenatal appointment kept replaying in my head. The blood pressure numbers. Dr. Ellis's worried face. The baby's elevated heart rate.I pushed the thoughts away and kept wiping.A letter sat on the counter. I'd noticed it earlier but hadn't paid much attention. It was addressed to Sophie, no return address. Just her name written in shaky handwriting on the front.I set down my rag and picked it up. I should put it in her locker. She'd see it tomorrow when she came in.I was about to set it aside when something caught my eye. The postmark. A state penitentiary.My hand froze.I stared at the letter. Sophie's father was in prison. He got arrested for drunk driving and assaulting a police officer. He'd been locked up for months now. And he was writing to her.I shouldn't open it. It

AURORA The holiday sales were brutal.Thanksgiving came and went, and with it, a flood of customers looking for discounts on the pies and pastries Mrs. Bayer baked for weeks. The diner was packed every day from open to close, the line stretching out the door and winding down the sidewalk, the phone ringing off the hook with people calling in their orders. Maria and I worked double shifts without complaint, running between the kitchen and the front, our feet aching, our hands raw from washing dishes and carrying hot plates. The tips were good, better than they'd been in months, but the work was relentless.By mid-morning, the pastry case was nearly empty. Mrs. Bayer was in the back, rolling out more dough, her arms covered in flour, her face flushed from the heat of the oven. Maria was running between tables, her hair escaping from her ponytail, a tray of coffee cups balanced precariously in her hands. I was at the register, ringing up customers as fast as I could, my fingers moving a