The Billionaire And His Children's Tutor

How a Breakup, Bad Wine, and a C

How a Breakup, Bad Wine, and a Cliff Almost Ruined My Life

(Hannah's POV)

If heartbreak had a smell, it would be cheap red wine and betrayal.

I learned that the hard way.

It started in Barry Winston's apartment-the one I used to think we'd eventually decorate together. White walls, gray couch, ambitions that no longer included me.

Barry stood by the window, hands in his pockets, shoulders squared like he was preparing for a business presentation instead of a breakup.

"Hannah," he said carefully, which was the first sign I was about to lose something important. "I've been thinking."

That was the second sign.

People never think before saying good things. They think before destroying you.

I forced a smile. "That's new. Should I sit down?"

He didn't laugh.

Strike three.

"I got the job," he said. "At Walton Empire."

I blinked. "I know. I congratulated you. Twice. I even cried a little."

"That's not the point."

Oh.

Here we go.

He turned to face me fully, eyes sharp, confident-too confident. The kind of confidence that comes with money, power, and suddenly believing you deserve better.

"I'm moving up fast," he continued. "My salary just doubled."

"I'm proud of you," I said softly.

He sighed, like I was exhausting him.

"Hannah... you're still in school."

Ah.

There it was.

"I graduate in six months," I said. "You know that."

"But six months is still six months," he replied. "And after that, you'll probably start small. Entry-level. Internships."

I stared at him. "Barry, what are you saying?"

He hesitated. Not because he was kind-but because he was a coward.

"I think... we're in different leagues now."

The words hit harder than any slap could have.

"Different leagues," I repeated. "Like football?"

"This isn't a joke."

"I'm trying to make it one so I don't cry."

He finally looked uncomfortable.

"You deserve someone at your level," he said. "And I deserve someone at mine."

I laughed then.

Actually laughed.

Because what else do you do when the man you planned to marry decides you're suddenly beneath him?

"So let me get this straight," I said. "You get a paycheck, and I lose a future?"

He looked relieved that I was taking it calmly.

"This is for the best."

"For who?" I asked.

"For both of us."

That was the moment I stopped listening.

I grabbed my bag, my dignity-what was left of it-and walked out before I begged him to stay.

I did not beg.

I was very proud of that.

The pride lasted approximately forty-seven minutes.

---

The wine came next.

I didn't buy it to get drunk.

That's what everyone says before they get drunk.

I bought it because my chest hurt and I needed something to quiet the noise inside my head-the what did I do wrong, the was I ever enough, the how could he leave so easily.

One glass turned into three.

Three turned into a decision to "get fresh air."

Which is how I ended up on a hiking trail at dawn, slightly buzzed, emotionally wrecked, and wearing shoes that had absolutely no business being near dirt.

I sat under a tree, staring at nothing, sipping from a bottle like a woman in a tragic indie film.

"This is fine," I told myself. "Very healthy coping mechanism."

That's when I saw him.

A man standing at the edge of a cliff.

Tall. Still. Silent.

My heart seized.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

He wasn't pacing. He wasn't on his phone. He wasn't taking pictures like a normal human.

He was just... standing there.

Too close.

Too calm.

My brain-already compromised by wine and heartbreak-made a decision without consulting logic.

He's going to jump.

I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over my own misery.

"Hey!" I shouted, running toward him. "Don't do it!"

He didn't turn.

Panic exploded in my chest.

"No no no-please don't-"

I grabbed his coat and yanked with everything I had.

And immediately realized two things:

1. He was much heavier than anticipated.

2. He was very much not planning to die.

He spun around, eyes sharp, hands gripping my arms to steady us both.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

I screamed.

Not a dignified scream. A full-blown, horror-movie scream.

"Let go of me!" I yelled.

"I'm trying to keep us from falling!"

"YOU WERE TRYING TO JUMP!"

"I WAS STANDING!"

"That'S WORSE!"

I yanked free, my heart pounding, and spotted a plank of wood on the ground.

Don't ask me why there was a plank of wood on a hiking trail.

The universe knew I was unstable.

I swung.

The sound it made when it hit his head will haunt me forever.

He collapsed.

Silence followed.

"Oh my God," I breathed.

I dropped the plank and knelt beside him.

"Please wake up," I whispered frantically. "I can't go to prison. I have student loans."

Nothing.

I backed away slowly.

And then-I ran.

---

The police found me before guilt could kill me.

They brought him in too-alive, thankfully, but furious.

At the station, reality hit.

He hadn't been suicidal.

He'd been quiet.

Grieving.

Normal.

And I had assaulted him because my ex-boyfriend got a promotion.

"I'm so sorry," I said for the hundredth time, staring at the floor. "I really thought you were going to jump."

He was silent for a long moment.

Then he sighed.

"I won't press charges."

My head snapped up. "You won't?"

"It was a misunderstanding," he said calmly. "An aggressive one. But still."

I almost cried again.

I thanked him. Apologized. Promised never to drink and hike again.

He left with a bandage and dignity intact.

I left with shame.

I assumed that was the end of it.

I was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Because a weeks later, I walked into a job interview at the Walton's Estate...

And found myself staring at the man whose head I had nearly cracked open with a plank of wood.

Benjamin Walton.

The richest man in the country.

And, apparently, my future problem.