The Billionaire's Good girl. Not.
The room looked exactly as it had five years ago, sterile and waiting.
I whispered, “Goodbye,” and meant it.
At the gate, the guards glanced up as I approached, a tote bag slung over my shoulder, face carefully calm.
“Where are you headed, Mrs. Shelby?” one asked politely.
“Just a quick grocery run,” I said, forcing a faint smile. My voice didn’t tremble; I was proud of that.
The older guard frowned for a moment, eyes flicking to the bag on my shoulder, then back to my face. My breath stalled. If he pressed, if he asked…