Billionairess By Survival

SEIRRA’S POINT OF VIEW

It started with a knock.

A slow, deliberate knock.

I froze.

Sitting on Rebecca's couch, curled in her blanket, a bowl of cold mac and cheese in my lap. Not even hungry—just filling the silence.

Then it came again.

Three sharp pounds. Thunder on wood.

My heart rammed my chest.

No. Please no.

Was it him?

Becca said I was safe here. She swore.

But what if Logan found me?

I crept to the window, pulled the blinds with shaking fingers—and there it was.

A Silver Audi.

His Silver Audi.

And in front of it… two men in black suits. One holding a briefcase.

My stomach twisted.

My legs moved before I could stop them, carrying me to the door. I didn’t want to open it. But not knowing felt worse.

I opened it.

And there he was.

Logan Hart.

Looking flawless.

Like he hadn’t shattered me into a thousand pieces just nights ago.

Same slicked-back hair. Same cold, dead eyes. Same twisted smirk.

“Logan…” I whispered. “Please. Don’t make me go back. I—I can’t.”

He chuckled. A low, cruel sound.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re not coming back.”

I blinked. “W-What?”

He nodded at the man beside him. The guy stepped forward and tossed a stack of papers at my feet.

They scattered across the porch.

I stared at them, heart hammering.

“What is this?” My voice cracked.

Logan stepped closer. “A gift.”

I shook my head slowly. “What do you mean?”

He smiled. Cold. Lazy. Like this was a game.

“Divorce papers, sweetheart. Signed and sealed.”

He tapped the page with his ring finger. “Congratulations. You’re finally free.”

I bent, picked them up with trembling hands.

His signature was right there. Ink black and final.

“I can’t believe you did this,” I said. “After everything?”

He tilted his head. “Believe it or not, baby…”

He laughed, short and sharp. “I’m done playing husband.”

“But you said you’d never let me go.”

He shrugged. “People change. Or maybe I just got bored watching you beg.”

I flinched.

One of the men held out a pen.

I looked down at the papers. No emotion. No apology. Just terms, clauses, and the death of something I once believed in.

I signed.

Hands shaking. Vision blurred.

The men grabbed the documents and stepped back. Logan turned, already walking toward his car.

“That’s it?” I called. “That’s how it ends?”

He paused, one hand on the door.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t want this too,” he said. “I just gave it to you first.”

Then he slid inside. Engine roared.

And he was gone.

Silence poured over the porch.

I collapsed, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. The divorce papers crushed in my grip. My heart felt like glass—cracked in places I didn’t know existed.

I’d begged for this moment. Prayed for it.

But now that it was real… it felt like drowning.

He didn’t love me. He didn’t even hate me.

He just wanted me gone.

And that hurt worse than the bruises.

I sat there, tears slipping down my cheeks.

I didn’t know who I was anymore. Not Logan’s wife. Not the broken girl from before. Just... empty.

But deep inside, something stirred.

A flicker. A whisper.

You’re free now.

Not strong yet. Not healed. But free.

And maybe that was enough to start over.

“I won’t be the victim again,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll pray. I’ll fight. I’ll find myself again.”

I wiped my face, gripped the papers tighter.

This was the end.

And maybe—just maybe—the beginning too.

The sound of the engine faded.

I sat there, on the porch, clutching the divorce papers. My fingers curled so tightly around them, the edges cut into my palm—but I couldn’t let go.

Not yet.

Not when everything felt this final.

The door creaked open behind me.

“Seirra?”

Becca.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

She stepped out, barefoot and in pajamas, eyes wide. “Why are you out here? It’s freezing—”

Her gaze dropped to the papers in my lap.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Is that…?”

I nodded slowly. “He came.”

Becca knelt beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I didn’t realize I was crying again until her thumb brushed a tear from my cheek.

“He gave me the papers,” I said, voice hollow. “Didn’t even come in. Just tossed them at me like trash.”

Becca didn’t speak. Just held me tighter.

“He really did it,” I whispered. “He signed them, Becs. No fight. No argument. Just… done.”

She pulled back, looked me in the eye. “That man was poison. You know that, right?”

I managed a weak nod.

“But it still hurts.”

“Of course it does.” She helped me up. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

I let her guide me back to the couch. The blanket was still there, still warm. Everything was the same. And yet, I wasn’t.

Becca handed me a cup of tea. I didn’t remember her making it, but I held it anyway.

She sat across from me, legs folded beneath her. “So… what now?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You’re free. That’s something.”

“Yeah. It just doesn’t feel like it yet.”

She gave me a soft look. “Well, you’re not going back to him. That much I know. You’ll stay here as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

Becca tilted her head. “So, tell me. What do you want to do now? What are you good at—besides cleaning up after a man-child?”

I laughed, broken and quiet. “I don’t know…”

“Come on. There must be something. Everyone has a thing.”

I stared into my tea, thinking. Then slowly, a memory surfaced—warm and distant.

“Well,” I began, “when I was younger, before I met Logan… I went to this really good school. Learned a bunch of stuff.”

Becca leaned in. “Like what?”

“Web design. Graphics. A bit of coding.” I smiled faintly. “I loved it. I used to stay up all night tweaking designs, learning HTML, playing with Photoshop.”

Becca’s eyes lit up. “Girl, are you serious? That’s huge!”

I blinked. “It is?”

“Uh, yes! Do you know how many people make real money doing that stuff? Freelancing, designing websites, even teaching!”

I shook my head. “I haven’t touched a laptop in years.”

“So what? It’s like riding a bike. You never really forget.”

I stared at her. “You think I could actually… work again?”

“I think you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for,” she said. “And honestly? It’s time you start building something that belongs to you.”

The words sank deep.

Something that belonged to me.

Not Logan. Not his world. Not his control.

Mine.

A slow breath filled my lungs.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try.”

Becca grinned. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

I looked down at the papers on the table.

Final. Cold. But maybe… freeing.