Page 31 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)
Chapter Twenty-Four
Seraphina
Somewhere in my apartment, my phone buzzes with a text notification. I ignore the sound, just like I have for the last three days since Xavier’s eyes burned through me, his voice a blade. “Want to explain yourself?”
Three days since I ran from his office, the glass walls closing in, his lack of belief in me a physical weight crushing my ribs.
Text messages from Lila and Tasha have piled up, unread, their little notification bubbles a silent demand I can’t face.
Yesterday I sent them a group text. Not feeling happy hour this week. Sorry. Then I turned my phone facedown and ignored it.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Xavier—or worse, Uncle Walt, with his smug sneer—to send a notice to vacate this apartment. It’s his, after all. A perk of the job I don’t have anymore.
I should be looking for a new place, a new job, anything to claw my way out of this hole.
But I can’t. My laptop’s buried under a pile of unwashed laundry, and job boards feel like a taunt.
Who’d hire a traitor? The headlines from three years ago scream in my head: AMBITIOUS INTERN BETRAYS BLACKWELL ENTERPRISES.
Now they’ll add: OOPS! SHE DID IT AGAIN!
And truthfully, none of that hurts as bad as the way the memory of his face haunts me. The way his jaw tightened, the way his dark eyes—those eyes I’d stupidly thought saw me —flashed with anger, hurt, betrayal.
Walt’s words were a poison dart, and Xavier drank them down without a second thought. He didn’t give me a chance. Didn’t ask. Didn’t listen. That’s what breaks me most—the fact that he believed I’d sell him out.
I pull my knees to my chest, the wineglass on the table empty.
My eyes burn, but I’m too hollow for tears.
I’m not the girl who stood in his boardroom at twenty-two, fearless, pointing out his fake projections.
I’m not the girl who knelt for him, who burned for his touch.
I’m nothing now. Just a ghost in pajamas, drowning in the memory of his hands, his voice, his kiss.
The doorbell buzzes, sharp and jarring. I flinch. No one should be up here. After all, the building has a doorman to keep people away. Which means… Is this it? The eviction notice? I grab a blanket and freeze, as if that will make the intrusion go away.
Another buzz. Then pounding. “Sera! I know you’re in there!” Lila’s voice is fierce and impatient, cuts through the fog. God. I should have expected something like this.
“Open it,” Tasha demands. “Or we’re kicking it in. And I’m wearing new boots, so don’t tempt me.”
So that’s how they got in. Because of her work in real estate, she’s friendly with the doorman.
Groaning, afraid of bothering my neighbors, I shuffle across the hardwood in fuzzy socks and pajamas that should’ve been retired two emotional breakdowns ago.
I haven’t showered since Tuesday. My hair’s in a sad, messy bun.
The mascara smudges under my eyes are less sexy slept-in and more crime-scene aftermath.
I unlock the door and retreat without a word. The cavalry doesn’t wait for an invitation.
Lila pushes past me, a paper bag of Chinese takeout in one hand, a bottle of rosé in the other. Tasha follows, balancing a grocery bag stuffed with chocolate bars, including a box of fancy Belgian truffles that I love but never splurge on.
Their perfume and energy fill the stale air of my apartment, and I wince, suddenly aware of how pathetic I must look.
“Jesus, Sera.” Lila sets the bags on the coffee table. Her eyes sweep over me, softening but not pitying. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
“Thanks for that. Just what I needed.” My voice sounds rusty from disuse. I slump back onto the couch, pulling a throw blanket over my lap like armor.
Tasha sits beside me. “We brought provisions. Kung pao chicken, lo mein, egg rolls. And enough chocolate to drown in.”
“And wine,” Lila adds, already twisting the cork from the bottle.
She pulls out disposable cups from the bag and fills them. “Figured you wouldn’t be up for washing dishes.”
Or much of anything else.
I push back a stray lock of hair as she hands me a drink.
“You’re wallowing, and we’re joining you. No arguments.”
I accept the wine. “You know I don’t want to talk about any of this.”
“Too bad.” Lila drops onto the armchair across from me, kicking off her flats. “You don’t get to shut us out. Not after you bailed on happy hour.”
“I’m fine.” To cover my lie, I take a drink. The taste is sharp and overly sweet, but that doesn’t stop me.
“You’re not fine. You’re a mess.” Tasha busies herself with unpacking the takeout. She’s thought of everything. Napkins, paper plates, plasticware. “We’re here to fix it.”
“That’s not possible.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I set the cup down, afraid I’ll drop it.
Lila leans forward to open the containers, and the smell of garlic and ginger hits me. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since… When? Yesterday? The day before?
Once our plates are filled, they both look at me.
“Talk to us,” Lila insists.
I don’t want to. But if I have any hope of the two ever leaving so I can have a pity party in peace, I need to tell them something.
“He thinks I betrayed him. Again. He looked at me like I was nothing. Like I’d stabbed him in the back.
” My throat tightens, and I press my lips together as I fight the sob clawing its way up.
“I tried to save him. I told him the Lockhart deal was a disaster. We spent fourteen hours, maybe more, going through every single thing. And he believed them —Walt, Reynolds, their fake report.” I blink to hold back the tears that are stinging my eyes. “Believed them. Not me.”
Lila frowns, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. “We know Blackheart’s a damn idiot. You laid out the truth, and he threw it back in your face.”
“He didn’t even give me a chance.” The words spill out. Now that I’ve started talking, it’s as if my emotional dam has broken loose.
I tell them about the fake emails, the fake report.
“I never sent any of those things. And both of you know I never talked to Marchand. But Xavier never asked. He just assumed that the… evidence against me was true.” My chest aches, a hollow bruise where my heart should be.
“I thought he trusted me. I thought…” I stop, unable to say it. I thought he cared about me.
Lila reaches over to squeeze my hand. “You need to fight this, Sera. You can’t let him win again.”
“Win what?” I shake my head. “He’s got everything.
His company, his empire, his fucking penthouse and a house.
And I’ve got…” I gesture at the mess around me—empty wine bottles, crumpled tissues, a life in ruins.
“This. I can’t even afford to move out yet.
I’m waiting for him or Walt to kick me out of here.
And I haven’t even looked for a job because who’d hire me?
The traitor who tanked Blackwell Enterprises. Twice.”
Lila’s face becomes a knot of fury. “You didn’t tank anything. You were right about Lockhart. You said it’s a disaster waiting to happen, and we believe you. Lane Marchand’s probably laughing his ass off right now. Lockhart will slow Blackheart’s growth.”
I flinch at Lane’s name.
Tasha tilts her head, her voice gentle. “You could reach out to him, you know. Marchand. I’m sure he’d still be interested.”
The idea makes me queasy, and I shake my head. “I won’t work for Xavier’s biggest competitor. Not after everything. I’ll scrub floors again first.”
My friends exchange glances again.
Lila picks up an egg roll. “Pride doesn’t pay the bills.”
More than anyone, I know that. But I’ve done it before. I can do it again.
Thanks to him, I got my full deposit back, and I’d had the foresight to ask for severance. All that will help me get by for a little while.
My eyes burn. Even though I blink fast, a tear escapes, hot against my cheek. “I gave him everything—my work, my trust, my…” My heart. I can’t say it. I won’t.
Tasha slides closer, wrapping an arm around me. “You’re Seraphina fucking Hollis.”
Lila chimes in. “You called him out when you were twenty-two. You can do it again.”
I shake my head, the weight of it all pressing me down. “I’m not that girl anymore.” My voice is a whisper, barely audible. “I thought I could handle him. I thought I could play his game and win. But I didn’t. I fell for him.”
The admission hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Lila’s eyes soften, and Tasha pulls me closer, her warmth a lifeline I don’t deserve.
“Oh, Sera,” Tasha murmurs. “You love him.”
I nod, a sob breaking free. “And he thinks I’m a liar. A traitor. I’ll never be the same.” The words rip out of me, leaving me exposed. “I love him, and it’s killing me.”
Lila sets her wine down, her jaw tight. “Then you fight for you. Not for him. For the woman who deserves better than this couch and these PJs.”
I try to smile, but it’s weak, watery. “I don’t know how.”
“You start by showering.” Tasha nudges me. “And eating. We brought enough food for a week. You’re not alone, okay?”
They stay for hours, filling my apartment with laughter and stories, trying to pull me out of the dark.
After we make a massive dent in the Chinese food, we tear into chocolate bars and finish the wine.
For a moment, I almost feel human again, their love stitching together the edges of my broken pieces.
But when they leave, the door clicking shut behind them, the silence crashes back.
I curl up on the couch, clutching my refilled wineglass, the TV’s glow casting shadows across the room.
The takeout cartons sit untouched now, the chocolate wrappers crumpled beside me.
My heart aches, a dull, relentless thud.
I love him. I love Xavier Blackwell, and he’s destroyed me.
Not just my career, my future, but the part of me that believed I could be enough.
In the quiet, my phone buzzes. From across the room, I see the screen light up.
Because I have more energy than I did earlier, I retrieve the device.
There’s a new email, the subject line stark against the glow. brEAKING: BLACKWELL ENTERPRISES BOARD DECISION.
My breath catches. The Lockhart deal. Did he go through with it? Did he ignore me and sign his empire’s death warrant? Or did he listen—just enough to save himself, but not enough to save me?
I don’t open it. I can’t. Not yet.
Phone clutched in hand, I drop onto the couch, the weight of his betrayal pulling me under, the cliff of my future terrifying and uncertain.