Page 37 of Misdeeds of a Billionaire
They were the perfect example of the rich thriving on the sufferings of the poor. We weren’t exactly poor, but their misdeeds certainly cost us a lot. I’d bet their motto was use and abuse. Shaking my head, I chased the bitter memories away.
Sitting on the balcony that hung over the sea—literally—my sister and I stared out into the darkness. It mirrored our mood. The moon glimmered, but I couldn’t find beauty in it. Not even the smell of the sea could comfort me. The gentle sounds of the waves washing onto the shore usually soothed, but tonight, it felt like a countdown.
“I still don’t understand.” Billie’s voice was a ghost, kind of like her complexion. Neither one of us could comprehend this. My sister was struggling to comprehend how her life in Paris—among elite fashion and diamond designers—wouldn’t be happening. At least not yet. She had finished fashion school, but in order for her to thrive, she needed to live in Paris. Or Milan. Not here on the French Riviera. “Usually there are warning letters. Time frames given,” she muttered.
Images of Byron and his father flashed through my mind. It was all their fault. It was my fault. It turned out I played reckless with the wrong man. Instead of being responsible, I took a risk and hooked up with a billionaire who had power. Who was ruthless. The Ashfords ruined us. The moment I slept with Byron Ashford, I signed our family’s destruction. All my father’s hard work went up in flames.
And it was all my fault.
I finally found the courage to look him up yesterday.
The Ashford family was pretty much royalty in the States. And the fucking world. They were one of the richest families on the whole goddamn planet. Byron’s mother was shot dead in the street two decades ago. There was a lot of speculation about Senator Ashford’s shady deals with criminals and his affairs with women half his age. If not younger. I also found news stories on Kingston Ashford, the youngest brother, who was kidnapped at the age of ten.
Jesus Christ, that family was a trainwreck.
And Byron… fucking liar. There were photos of him with a woman taken only a few weeks ago and the world was taking bets on their union. The merging of the Popova and Ashford lines would make their families untouchable. Both were richer than King Midas.
How did I not know any of this? If only I’d have paid more attention to tabloids and business papers. But that was never my forte.
Turmoil churned in my stomach. I couldn’t tell my sister any of this. All I could do now was protect her. Protect our family. We could always open another hospital on the French Riviera, one day.
It won’t be the same, my heart whispered.
Ever since the fiasco in the hotel room, numbness took up residence in my heart. Although, I couldn’t decide whether it was due to the loss of my father’s hospital or the man I’d spent a few short-lived hours with.
Definitely the former. The latter was a prick. A mistake.
“I should drop out of med school,” I muttered to myself. I sat wearily, unable to get myself together or figure out what the right thing to do was.
Horror splashed across Billie’s face. “No, Maddy. No, no. That would break Dad’s heart. You know how proud he is. He said so himself. Dropping out of med school is out of the question.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I slowly let it out. How could one event enact so much change? Now, it seemed our whole fucking world was falling apart.
“Dad shouldn’t have to worry about my tuition at Stanford.” My voice was detached. Dull. Tired. I had barely gotten any sleep over the last two days. “My scholarship is good, but it doesn’t cover all of it.”
My sister leaned across the small table and took my hand in a comforting grip. “We’ll figure something out. It’s spring. You can still apply for more scholarships. Your grades are good and your professors love you.”
“Maybe.” Shame poured onto my shoulders with the knowledge I brought this to our door. God, how could one innocent night wreak so much havoc? I had single-handedly squandered away our life.
A small rock flew through the air and bounced against the table. A whistle followed.
“Man, why does Marco still do that?” Billie grumbled annoyed. “We’re adults now. He knows he can just call us or knock on the door, right?”
I could barely force a smile on. “I guess he likes this method better.”
“Maddy, you there?”
My sister rolled her eyes. “So fucking annoying,” she mouthed.
I shrugged.
“Kind of romantic.” I stood up and leaned over the railing. Marco stood on the corner of the alley that connected our house and the neighboring one.
“It would be romantic if he had a yacht and docked it in front of our house rather than leer from a dark alley.”
Okay, she might have a point there. But this was what he’d always done.
“Hey, Marco.” My sister mimicked gagging behind me, shoving her finger into her mouth. I reached behind me and smacked her hand gently. “What’s going on?” I returned my attention to Marco who for some reason loved to play Romeo.
