Page 152 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

The digital clock on the wall reads 3:17 AM. I’ve been lying here for hours, my body a leaden weight on the imported marble floor. I should get up. Should try to sleep. But what’s the point?

Finally I drag myself up, swaying slightly from the whiskey. The penthouse is too quiet. Too empty. I walk to the kitchen, thinking maybe I’ll find another bottle of something strong enough to knock me out.

That’s when I hear it.

A soft click. So subtle most people would miss it.

But I’ve been expecting this sound my whole life.

The front door. Someone’s at the front door.

No.

I freeze, my blood turning to ice water in my veins.

Not again.

Memories flood back, unbidden.

Hot summer night.

Age fifteen.

The creak of our front door.

Dad away on business.

Mom at her sister’s.

Just me and Nico at home.

The footsteps. The voices.

Me hiding behind my bed.

My security system should have alerted Jake. He’ll be here shortly. All I have to do is wait. Then I’ll be safe.

More clicks, then the padding of feet.

They’re inside now.

I retreat to my bedroom silently, heart hammering so loud I’m sure they can hear it. My hands shake as I reach for my phone, but it’s not there. I can’t find it. Don’t remember where I put it.

From the foyer, I hear hushed voices. Two, maybe three intruders.

I can’t hear what they’re saying, but instinct takes over. I drop to the floor, scrambling behind my bed like the terrified teenager I once was.

Hidden.

Safe.

Pathetic.

Nico screaming as they beat him. “Where’s the safe? Where’s the money?” Their fists connecting with his face. Me watching from beneath my bed, paralyzed with fear.

I curl into myself, trembling.

Come on Jake, come on! Where the fuck are you when I need you most?

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