Page 17 of Unwrapping the Billionaire

“Hey, baby,” purrs a voice to my left. “Are you looking for me?”

I tear my eyes away from Grace to find my thirdbitch-kitten of the evening standing next to me. She’s taller than the others, almost at my eye-level, with a tide of rich auburn flowing down past her red satin basque. I’m betting if she bent over like a good girl, I’d see ‘Future’ stamped all over her ass.

“Not particularly,” I drawl. “But lucky me, you found me anyway.”

“Hey, we’re matching. How cute.” She takes the tails of my red tie and tugs gently, but I know what’s coming…

It’s almost a relief when the heel of her red stiletto drives deep into my foot.

And when her razorblade of an elbow connects with my mouth? Hell, I almost welcome the pain…

12

Jonas

Future

Iknew it would be a graveside. At my own fucking funeral, no less. That Future is a predictable little minx, but I’m not playing her game. She can pluck at my non-existent heartstrings all she wants to, but I’ll leave the tears and wailing and self-examination to the mourners…

Wait a minute.

Where the hellarethe mourners?

I glance across the gaping hole in the ground, avoiding eye contact with the shiny black casket.That’s some weird shit, right there.There are only three people standing opposite me, and one of them was paid to show up.

No Grace.

No kids.

Damn.

It feels as if all three spirits ganged up to punch me in the gut at the same time. I never told Grace when we were together, but there was a moment when I felt like the non-asshole part of me would have been a pretty cool gene to pass on. Mixed with her charm and her spark, and the kid would have been an explosion.

The rain is coming down like cold knives. I can feel my hair sticking to my face. The youngest of the three steps forward with a single, white rose balancing between her black-gloved fingers. Instead of placing it carefully on top of the casket, she chucks it carelessly, and then barely shrugs when it misses the mark and slithers down to the ground. Within seconds, the pristine white petals are smeared with dirt.

Is that my wife?

Vase.

Beautiful, but empty...

Let’s hope she gave more of a damn about me when I was alive, but somehow I doubt it.

My father’s words start haunting me again:“Do you want to end up as another lonely billionaire corpse like me, with nothing but a collection of empty vases and mansions to show for it?”

The second woman steps forward to remove her black veil. She’s much older than when I last saw her in a hospital room, and the lines around her mouth match the flint in her eyes. I grit my teeth as she delivers her parting words to me. I say words… It’s more like the ultimate ‘fuck you’ gesture.

Jesus Christ. My secretary justspaton my grave

The weeds of guilt have ploughed deep into my soul, and they’re sprouting a toxic twin called regret now.

Was taking control of my father’s company worth it?

Did I die alone in an empty hospital room?

Have I been chasing an unreachable high for so long—crushing skulls like my father to swipe fucking air—that I forgot how to live?

“I’ve seen enough,” I tell Future, who is twirling her red umbrella in her hand. Meanwhile, the priest is delivering his final words with all the monotony of a bored kid on debate day.

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