BET. BOUGHT. OWNED. THE BILLIONAIRE'S PROPERTY

Janet's POV

It was raining, softly, at first striking lightly upon the windows. But I didn't care, all my focus was on the dress I was ironing. I concentrated on the sleeve, gradually pressing a hot iron over the crease. I liked the fact that it removed the wrinkles, because let's face it, It was one of the few things that I still had control over.

Behind me the door clicked open, and my husband walked in, in silence.

I paused, my hand resting on the iron handle.

“You’re back late,” I said softly.

He didn't respond to me as usual.

I quickly turned my head facing him.

James stood at the door, he was wet to the skin. He bent his shoulders forward like a man trying to crawl into his own flesh. The water ran through his hair, down his face and the floor.

He looked like someone who was being haunted by something or someone very dangerous.

“James?” I called, setting the iron upright.

He looked at me just for a moment, and then lowered his eyes. He walked pass me without uttering a word, and sat down with his face in his hands on the edge of the couch.

I felt a tightness on my chest.

This wasn’t new. Lately, he came home like this more often...quiet, distant, empty and sometimes drunk.

But tonight... something felt different.

I watched him from the doorway curiously.

His fingers went through his hair again and again, as if he was fighting with himself.

I stayed quiet. I didn’t ask. Not yet. I already knew where he’d been.

Gambling, as usual.

His gambling addiction started off small. First it was poker with some old friends, then it moved to friendly bets. A little loss here and there. But before I knew it, he started using the rent money, then he started selling my properties: he started with the gold earrings he once bought for me and then moved to few expensive dresses I once struggled to buy.

It became very bad, he had no work, so I had to do all sort of jobs to put food on the table. But then he started stealing my money, no matter were I hid them.

I tried my best to fix his addiction, I tried everything within my power. When I threatened to leave him, he would cry and beg me, promising me that he would change, and other times, he would beat me up and lock me in the bathroom.

Over time, I learned that love isn’t always enough to fix a man drowning in addiction.

I walked over and sat on the arm of the couch, he was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice.

“How bad is it this time?” I asked curiously, my voice laced with worry

He still didn't answer me, he just sat there like a statue.

He took a long deep breath.His jaw twitched a little, his teeth clenched. He looked down the floor as though it owed him something.

“James.” My voice was firmer now. “Talk to me, how bad is it?”

He finally turned to me. His eyes were bloodshot, and something inside them was gone.

“We need to leave,” he said. “Tonight. Just pack a bag. We’ll go anywhere. Start over.”

The sound of the sentence made my stomach twist.

“Leave? Where? Why?”

“We have to go. I’ll explain later. Please.”

He grabbed my hand, and for a second, I felt that old version of him...the man I fell in love with, the man who used to smile with his whole face. But now his hands were cold, sweaty and shaking.

I pulled my hand away slowly.

“What did you do?" I asked again, "And move with what money?” my eyes widened, "What kind of trouble are you in James?" I yelled

He didn't answer me, he just kept saying, "I will find a way to make it better, I'm sorry." And with that, he left the house.

Something was seriously wrong. I had never seen my husband this frightened. For two days, he didn't come home. I was worried searching for him in all the bar and gambling den he usually frequents, but he was no where to be found.

Three days later, he came back home, without any form of explanation. He still kept insisting we move, and I still kept refusing.

By nine p.m that night, while I was doing the dishes, I heard a low knock on the door. Three slow taps on the door. It sounded so slow, as though the person knocking, was taking his time.

I quickly wiped my hands and got out of the kitchen to go open the door.

As I got to the living room, James was standing motionless at the center of the house. "It's not up to one week," he said whispering to himself, "then why are they here."

I stopped and stared at him, "Who are you talking about?" I asked curiously, with my hands on my waist.

He didn't answer me immediately, and when he finally did, he whispered “Don’t open it,”

“Why?”

He didn’t say anything. I could see his hands shaking, he reeked of fear.

"What is going on?" I asked him

He moved closer, he gently took my hands in his, "Please Janet, if you have ever loved me, listen to me, please don't open the door."

At this point, I became very scared. The knock on the door increased, like the person at the end was loosing his or her patience.

I didn't know what to do, I was confused. What has James gotten us into this time around.

The knocking became pounding.

“James Smith! Open this door now or we break it down!”

I froze.

James was shaking, his eyes fixed on the door like it might explode any second.

And then... CRACK.

The door burst open with a thunderous crash. Wood splintered. I screamed and stumbled back.

Three men stood there. The one in front was in dark grey suit. His coat was wet, but he did not appear to mind the rain, his expression was calm. Too calm. He let out a wicked smile and am walked straight to me.

“Mrs. Smith?”

I nodded, slowly.

“We’re here to collect.”

I looked over my shoulder at James.

He didn’t move.

“Collect what?” I asked.

The man smiled. Just a little.

“Your husband made a deal. Didn't he tell you?" he turned and looked at my husband.

"You didn't tell her?"

My throat went dry.

"Well, he made a bet with my boss at the gambling table, and unfortunately he lost." He moved even closer, "so we are here to collect what he owes."

I looked at the man, my whole body was trembling with fear. He looked really dangerous. “We...we don’t have anything left.” I managed to speak.

The man glanced past me at James. “Don't worry, what he placed as a bet, is still available. He offered something more valuable than money.”

James still hadn’t said a word. He looked like he’d stopped breathing.

"Something more valuable than money?" I asked curiously staring across the house, wondering what we could have that is more valuable than money.

The man turned back to me.

“Oh yes," he smiled. "He bet you.”

I stared at him, stunned. I didn't even know when tears started streaming down my cheek.

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

I looked at James.

He couldn’t even look at me.

I wanted to scream. To cry out loud. To throw something. But I couldn’t move.

My whole body just froze.

And that’s when it hit me.

He never came home with guilt.

He came home with a countdown.

I hadn’t even caught my breath from the man’s words when the door creaked open again behind him.

And another figure stepped in.

He was tall, sharp. He was wearing a dark navy suit that was probably more expensive than our monthly rent. It was obvious he was the boss. His shoes were clean even with rain outside.

Slowly from his feet, my eyes moved to his face and then our eyes met.

I froze, I couldn't believe who I was seeing standing in front of me.

My mouth fell open.

“You?” I whispered. My voice cracked, panic rising in my chest. I took a step back like the sight of him might burn me.

“Chris?”

He smiled, slow and smug. “Yes. Me

The air vanished from my lungs.