The Billionaire's Bet

I ran to you, not him.

Evanly

"Tell me the truth, Justine. Right now."
My voice trembled, but it wasn't from fear. It was rage—pure, rising, acidic rage threatening to crack me in half.

Justine stood in the middle of our bedroom, the ceiling light casting a jagged shadow across his face. Cold. Indifferent.
I held the red panties between my fingers like evidence in a courtroom.

He looked at them, then at me. Shrugged. "Maybe they're yours."

I laughed. A dry, bitter, almost hysterical laugh. "You think I'm fucking stupid? You think I wear red lace like this? This isn't mine, and you fucking know it."

"I don't know whose they are," he replied, avoiding my gaze.

"You don't know?" My voice dropped. "They were under our bed, Justine. Our bed. Don't act confused."

"I told you, I don't know!" His voice snapped, sharp and defensive. "Why are you doing this right now?"

"Why am I—" My throat tightened. "You brought this into our home. You brought her into our bed. And now you're acting like you're the victim?"

"I said I don't know!" he shouted. "What else do you want me to say, Evanly?!"

"I want the truth," I hissed. "I want a name. I want an explanation. But most of all—I want you to fucking respect me enough to stop lying."

I turned for the door, my whole body shaking. I didn't even care where I was going—I just knew I had to leave before I lost control.

But he grabbed my arm.

Hard.

"Don't walk away from me," he growled.

"Let go—"

CRACK.

Pain exploded across my face. His hand. My skin. The force of it knocked me off my feet. I crashed to the floor, the sound of my body hitting the wood echoing louder than his slap.

I tasted blood. My ears rang. My skin burned.

He stood above me, breathing heavily, jaw clenched tight.

"Don't. Ever. Raise. Your. Voice. At. Me. Again," he seethed.

I stared at him through teary eyes.
"You hit me again..."

My voice was hollow. Disbelief wrapped in heartbreak.

I crawled back as he stepped toward me.

"Don't come near me," I whispered, gripping the side of my face. "Don't you fucking touch me again."

"I don't deserve this..."

And I ran.

⸻

The sky wept with me. Rain fell in cold sheets as I sprinted down the street, barefoot, soaked, broken. The storm didn't matter. Nothing did—except the ache inside my chest and the throbbing across my cheekbone.

I didn't think. I just moved.

And my body carried me to the only place I felt safe.

Devon's.

⸻

His gates parted for me like they were waiting. I stumbled to the front door and knocked. A maid answered—and her expression crumbled the second she saw me.

"Miss Evanly! My word!, what happened to you?! You're soaked—come in, quickly!"

She wrapped a towel around me with motherly panic. "Your lips are trembling—have you been crying?"