The Billionaire's First Glance

Amelie’s POV

There are days in your life that stand out, for better or worse. Days you’ll always remember, and days you wish you could forget.

I remember my eighth birthday as one of the happiest days of my life. My parents surprised me and took the family to New York. First, we saw a Broadway show and then visited Times Square.

The best that happened that day was my dream of standing on Wall Street. While most young girls played wedding dress up, I carried around my dad’s old messenger briefcase and gave financial advice. I knew one day I would be working on this street, and I vowed to myself as I glanced at the Bull statue. I had always been obsessed with New York and Wall Street, and the fact that I spent the day exploring it with my three favorite people made it the perfect day ever.

The nonstop pace of the city drew me in, and I was captured, heart and soul. It was love at first sight. I knew this was where I belonged, and I couldn't wait to call it my home one day.

Unfortunately, I think that was the last day I felt true happiness. Four days later, my little brother and I were being moved into a foster home. My parents had been killed the night before. They were out celebrating my dad’s promotion when a drunk driver blew through a stop sign and slammed into their car, killing them instantly. At that moment, my life and my heart were shattered. There were so many pieces that I couldn’t pick them all up. Some, I felt, were lost forever.

My brother, Zander, was only 5 years old; he couldn’t grasp the concept of the loss. How could he? I could barely even grasp it myself. For the longest time, he was angry. He thought they had left him because he had done something wrong. He kept asking when they would be coming home. I just hugged him and told him not to worry. I was his family, and he could always depend on me.

Life after that day wasn’t easy; we were in and out of different foster care homes with no real sense of belonging. My love for school and determination to make something of myself were the only things that carried me through. To make life better for my brother Zander and me.

Zander was a good kid. Always smiling and polite. Just one look from his piercing grey eyes could set your mind at ease. I swear they smiled more than his mouth did. He was the kind of brother you could be proud of. He was always the one to turn the other cheek and take the high road regarding disputes. I’m sure he was an old soul and wise beyond his years. He had a heart of gold.

My 14th birthday was the first and only time Zander ever got into trouble. That’s the day my so-called foster dad decided I was old enough to be “taught.” My brother walked in to see me crying while my foster dad had his hand down my pants. Zander lost it. At 11 years old, he was already standing 5’10” and had a personality more significant than his height. He wailed punches down on my foster dad until he was unconscious. That was the last day we ever stayed in foster care.

I had a part-time job at the local diner. The owner, Betty, was like a mother figure to me, and when we ran away from the foster home, she let us stay in the tiny one-bedroom apartment above the diner for free. She also gave me extra hours and “leftover” food, so our bellies were never empty. We managed to scrape by. It was a tough time; we didn’t have much, but we had each other. I vowed that moment I would make something of myself and get us out of this town. Onwards and upwards was my mantra. I worked as much as possible to support us and spent the rest of my hours studying and doing homework. All the hard work eventually paid off when I was granted a full scholarship to Columbia University. I was ecstatic. After graduating as valedictorian of my class, I packed all our possessions and headed to New York.

I was entirely at home and thoroughly enjoying life in New York. I had settled into my studies at Columbia and got a part-time job at a coffee shop. Everything was perfect until I was again hit with a devastating blow that chilly November day.

“Oh, come on, sis, you have to be there! It’s a huge game,” Zander looked at me pleading.

“Zander, I need to finish this paper. Onwards and upwards, remember,” I reminded him, rolling my eyes.

“It’s just a couple of hours, that’s all.” You’ll be home by noon at the latest. You can’t miss my football game,” he said, pulling out his adorable pouty lip. I couldn’t resist.

“Geesh, stop with the lip! I’ll come!” I laughed as he jumped at me and hugged me tightly.

“You’re the best Ame!”

Later that morning, at the football game, everything was going great for the team. We were up by 14 with 4 minutes to go. On a routine play, my heart stopped beating for a split second. Zander was tackled, but he didn’t get up. The coach rushed onto the field as I stood in the crowd, willing him to move. A signal from the coach sent everyone around my brother’s ever-still body into a panic.

“SOMEONE CALL 911!”

“CALL AN AMBULANCE”

I felt frozen, unable to move or think. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The crowd surged a bit, and somehow, my feet carried me to the front of the stands.

“I’m sorry, miss, you can’t go on the field.” A security guard told me.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER LYING THERE!” I half screamed and half cried. He ushered me over to the team bench. The paramedics arrived shortly after, and my brother was put on a stretcher. The coach ran over to the bench, grabbed my hand, and pulled me towards the ambulance.

“He’s going to be okay, Amelie; I’m sure.” Just have faith,” Coach Warren said as he hugged me. I lost it, letting out sobbing cries as I glanced over at Zander’s still body. Coach Warren pulled me closer. “Shhhh…. Zander needs you to be strong for him.”

He was right. No amount of tears would do any good. I needed to be strong and believe everything would be all right.