Page 146 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

If this is the cost… then this is the cost.

But fuck, ithurts.

A deep, aching void opens up inside me, familiar and terrifying. The echo of abandonment. My mother walking away.

Now Lucy, choosing her duty over me.

Maybe they all leave in the end.

Maybe I’m destined to be alone, surrounded by wealth and power, but utterly fucking alone.

A bitter laugh escapes me. I pour myself a scotch, neat. The burn does nothing to numb the ache.

I’ll throw myself back into work, of course. Build higher walls. Be more ruthless. Crushmy father’s takeover attempt, not for Hammond, but for the sheer fucking principle of it now.

I’ll protect my empire.

Expand it.

Become the predator everyone always thought I was.

But inside, I’ll be dead.

Guess I’ll turn into my father after all, then.

The thought lands with sickening finality.

Alone with my money. Surrounded by material things. Living a hollow life.

Just like him.

42

Lucy

My life has officially become a high-stakes juggling act performed on a tightrope over an alligator pit while someone occasionally throws flaming torches at my head.

Days are a blur of conference calls, legal strategy sessions, financial deep dives into the SPE abyss with the discreet (and terrifyingly expensive) accountants, and projecting an aura of ‘Totally In Control’ to nervous employees, investors, and board members.

Evenings are spent at the hospital, holding Dad’s hand, giving him edited, optimistic updates, and trying not to let him see the sheer panic churning beneath my calm facade.

Sleep? Sleep is a mythical creature I vaguely remember encountering in a past life.

And Christopher? Radio silence. Utter, complete, deafening silence. He hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Hasn’t shown up at the office or the hospital since… that day. The day I officially became CEO and promptly asked the man I’m pretty sure I’m irrevocably inlove with to leave the room because his presence represented a conflict of interest.

Well done, Lucy. You just had to go and push away the only man you ever cared for.

Of course, I haven’t reached out to him either. How could I? I drew the line. I built the wall. Professional boundaries, Madam CEO.

You wanted the big chair, you got it.

Apparently, it comes with a side order of soul-crushing loneliness and the constant, nagging feeling that I made a terrible mistake.

Part of me, the stupid, hopeful, romance-novel-reading part, had expected him to fight harder. To pull a repeat of that day he showed up furious after I suggested cooling things off, the day that ended with me spanked over his knee and thoroughly claimed on my desk.

Not that I wanted a repeat spanking, necessarily… okay, maybe a little… but the principle!

You know, that possessive refusal to let me push him away.