My Roommate's Billionaire Boyfriend Broke My Heart

The next day, the final bell felt like a starting gun. Dianna bypassed her usual group of friends, her stomach a tight knot of dread and determination.

She knew the route Holden took home, a shortcut that cut behind the old gymnasium and through a narrow, brick-walled alley.

She waited there, leaning against the cool brick, the smell of dust and old rain in the air. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat counting down the seconds.

He appeared a few minutes later, backpack slung over one shoulder, his expression as impassive as ever. When he saw her standing there, blocking his path, his brows drew together in a dark line of irritation.

He tried to step around her, but she moved, planting herself directly in front of him.

"Holden, can we please just talk? Five minutes." Her voice was thin, pleading.

He stopped. His eyes darted around the empty space, ensuring they were alone. Then, his hand shot out, clamping around her wrist like a manacle.

A gasp escaped her. Before she could process what was happening, he was dragging her, his grip bruisingly tight, into the shadows of the alley.

He shoved her against the wall. Her back hit the rough brick with a jolt that knocked the air from her lungs.

Holden planted his hands on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. His face was inches from hers, his eyes dark and menacing.

"What the hell do you want?" he bit out, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Fear, cold and sharp, pricked at her skin, but she held his gaze. She had to. "I just want the truth."

A humorless smile twisted his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. His gaze dropped, sweeping over her from head to toe with a slow, insulting appraisal, as if he were calculating her worth.

Then, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a worn leather wallet. He flipped it open and extracted a thick fold of cash. The gesture was deliberate, theatrical in its cruelty.

He threw the bills at her feet. They scattered on the grimy pavement, a fan of green against the dirt.

"Name your price," he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. "How much will it take for you to shut up and disappear from my life?"

Dianna stared at the money, then back up at his face. The world went silent.

The blood in her veins felt like it had turned to ice. He thought... he thought she was trying to blackmail him.

The memory she had treasured, the secret moment she had replayed in her mind a thousand times, was just a transaction to him. A liability.

The tears she had held back last night broke free, hot and silent, trailing down her cold cheeks.

"What... what do you think I am?" she whispered, her voice cracking with a pain so profound it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside.

For a fraction of a second, as he watched her cry, something flickered in his eyes. A hesitation. A crack in the frozen facade. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by an even deeper, more impenetrable cold.

He seemed to have reached the end of his patience. "Fine," he snapped. "You want the truth?"

She nodded, a desperate, jerky movement, clinging to that single word.

"I was drunk that night," he said, articulating each word with brutal precision. "I don't remember who you were. I don't care who you were. It was a mistake. A mistake I wish had never happened."

Her entire world crumbled. It wasn't a misunderstanding. It wasn't a lie. It was worse. It was meaningless to him.

"So... you admit it was you?" She latched onto the one solid fact in the wreckage of her feelings.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure, unadulterated annoyance. "So what if it was? It was a drunken mistake. It meant nothing."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Now, take your money. And get lost."

A violent tremor ran through her body. It wasn't from fear anymore. It was from the agony of a heart being systematically destroyed.

She didn't even glance at the money on the ground. She lifted her tear-streaked face and looked at him, one last, long look, memorizing the cruel set of his mouth, the cold emptiness in his eyes. She wanted to burn this image into her brain, so she would never be foolish enough to forget.

Then, with a strength she didn't know she had, she shoved him back.

She turned and ran, her feet pounding against the pavement, echoing the frantic beat of her broken heart. She didn't look back.

As she fled the alley, she heard it behind her—a muffled, sickening crack, like bone meeting brick, followed by a low, guttural roar of frustration swallowed by the wet, heavy air.

A gust of wind swirled through the alley, lifting the scattered bills and sending them skittering across the ground.