The Billionaire's Betrayal She Was the Only One

It was the look in his eyes when the debt collectors were about to chop off his hand, and I knelt on the ground crying, kowtowing until blood ran down my face, pawning the only keepsake my mother ever left me to buy him a way out.

I had done so much for him. Yet in the end, none of it mattered as much as a single tear from his new lover.

It felt like a blunt knife being driven into my heart, over and over again.

I propped myself upright and looked at the two of them wrapped in that tender little tableau. A bitter laugh escaped me.

"Should I be grateful to him? Grateful that for your sake, he terminated my full-term baby, secretly had my uterus removed, nearly killed me, and still graciously stayed by my bedside to wait for me to wake up?"

Beryl's tears fell like a broken string of pearls. She glared at me, stubborn defiance blazing through the wetness.

"Fine, it's all my fault! I'm the one who ruined you! Let me atone for it, then!"

She shoved Dennis away like a woman possessed, snatched the fruit knife from my bedside table, and drove it toward her own stomach.

"I'll cut my baby and my uterus out right now to make it up to you! Is that enough?!"

Dennis locked his arms around her, one hand clamping the blade. Blood streamed through his fingers. He lifted his head and fixed me with a stare so cold it could freeze bone.

"Veronica. Are you satisfied now?"

He scooped Beryl up, cradling her limp body against his chest, and walked out without a backward glance. Only one sentence trailed behind him:

"Clearly I've been too good to you. Made you think you could do whatever you pleased. Fine. Then suffer."

I watched his retreating figure, smiling as the tears rolled down.

The man who once swore he would spoil me for a lifetime, who promised I would never know a moment of hardship, had finally died somewhere along the way.

Dennis's bodyguards seized me by the arms and dragged me out the door.

"Starting today, Mr. Sanchez is reclaiming everything he ever gave you. If you'd like to keep this hospital room..."

I smiled, and it tasted like ash. I turned and walked away.

"No need. Dennis and everything that belongs to him. I don't want any of it."

My phone and wallet were both confiscated. Because every last thing I owned had come from Dennis.

I stood on the street with nothing to my name, trying to flag down a car to take me home. But every time a kind stranger slowed to a stop, Dennis's bodyguard stepped forward and delivered the same line:

"If you're not afraid of crossing Mr. Sanchez of Grandeur Group, go ahead and let her in."

They would shake their heads at me, apologetic but helpless, and hit the gas.

The bodyguard watched my body sway, barely upright, and spoke without a shred of warmth.

"Mr. Sanchez asked me to pass along a message. This is what happens when you defy him. If you're willing to apologize to Ms. Swanson and agree to personally attend to her for the rest of her pregnancy, he'll have me drive you home."

I didn't hear a word. I just put one foot in front of the other and started walking toward home.

Blood trickled down my thighs and dripped onto the asphalt, drawing stares from passersby. But I was beyond feeling any of it. One step, then another, then another, until the sky turned black and I finally reached the front door.

The house blazed with light, pushing back the cold of the late hour. I raised my fingers, stiff and half-frozen, and punched in the code.

The keypad answered with an error tone.

I clenched my teeth and entered it again. And again. The system rejected me every single time.

The housekeeper finally stormed to the door, flung it open, and stared at me with flat, pitiless eyes.

"Ma'am, you can stop trying. Until you apologize to Mr. Sanchez, you're not allowed to use anything he paid for."

"This house belongs to Mr. Sanchez. If you won't apologize, you can't come in."