The Billionaire Heiress Returns Too Late to Beg

Traffic. Smog. Glenda's nonstop chatter.

"Alma, now that you're back, what's the plan?"

Glenda asked it without taking her eyes off the road.

"Mr. Henson already said the CEO seat is still yours. Your father's been holding it for you all these years."

"No rush. I'll rest a few days first."

"Then where are you going to stay? Miss Pruitt lived in your old apartment for over a year. She moved out eventually, but she left it a mess."

"I sent a cleaning crew in, but if you'd rather not stay there—"

"Of course I'm not staying there. What were you thinking? Find me somewhere new."

I said it with a laugh.

There was no way I was moving into a place that still carried Constance's presence.

Glenda found me a fully furnished apartment fast, near the downtown trade center, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the whole financial district.

I signed a one-year lease, bought new furniture, started over from scratch.

On my third day back, I went to the mall to buy clothes.

As I stepped out of the fitting room, I heard a voice I knew.

"This one's too revealing. I don't like it."

I looked up and saw Constance.

She had on a red dress, her hair set in loose waves, her makeup flawless. But the shadows under her eyes were dark and deep.

A sales associate stood beside her, holding four or five outfits, looking faintly put out.

Constance wasn't looking my way.

She was studying her profile in the mirror, touching the corner of her eye, muttering, "Have I been staying up too much lately? My skin looks awful..."

I watched her for two seconds, then turned to go.

"Alma Henson?"

She'd caught me.

I turned back.

Constance's face went from confusion to shock. Her eyes ran up and down me as if she meant to see straight through.

"It's really you?" She took a step closer. "When did you get back?"

"A couple of days ago."

"Oh..."

She pressed her lips together, like she was weighing her words.

"You've changed so much."

"Have I?"

"Thinner. And you're glowing."

Her gaze settled on my face and lingered.

"Do you... have a boyfriend now?"

I didn't answer. I turned it back on her. "And you? I heard you and Nigel Delgado..."

I didn't finish. Constance's face changed.

She bit her lip, and her eyes went red in an instant.

"Alma, I... Nigel wants a divorce. He wants to throw me out. I really don't know what to do anymore..."

I looked at her.

Three years ago, she'd stolen my fiancé at our engagement party.

Three years later, she was crying to me in a mall about how miserable that marriage was.

"Alma, can't you help me?"

She grabbed my wrist, her grip startlingly strong.

"You and Nigel had something once. Couldn't you put in a word for me? I know I was wrong. I really do know I was wrong..."

I peeled her hand off, my face blank.

Inwardly marveling at the sheer nerve of her.

"Constance, whatever's going on between you and Nigel Delgado has nothing to do with me."

She froze, tears clinging to her lashes, hanging there without falling.

But I felt no tenderness toward her at all.

"You're the one who took him in the first place. How it gets handled now is between you and him."

I picked up my shopping bags as I spoke.

"I have no standing in it, and no interest in getting involved."

With that, I turned and walked away.

Behind me came Constance's voice, thick with tears.

"Are you still blaming me? You hate me, don't you?"