Page 10 of The Billionaire I Left Behind

I watch as Henshaw digs into his drawer and brings out another set of keys and hands them to Bryan. Bryan grabs his set and walks out without another word, his back stiff, his movements precise.

I stare at my own keys, my pulse pounding. My fingers tighten around the metal. A whisper leaves my lips, barely audible, meant for someone who is no longer here.

"Grandma… why?"

***

I haven’t stopped pacing. The keys in my hand jangle with every turn, the sound sharp in the too-quiet house. My other hand is clenched, nails digging into my palm as I run the last hour through my head again and again.

Bryan. Half of the house. Three months. I stop, pressing my fingers against my temple, willing away the dull ache forming behind my eyes. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and I don’t have to check it to know who it is.

The creditors. Again. The same relentless number calling for the money I don’t have. Forty thousand left to pay. Honestly, I don't know how I survived these years handling so much of my father’s debt.

I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the frustration burning in my throat. It's been six years since my dad died, and I thought the nightmare was finally over. And yet, his debt still follows me, like a shadow I can’t outrun. I jab my thumb against the screen, sending the call to voicemail.

“Why, Grandma?” I whisper, my voice barely audible in the dim light of the living room.

A sharp knock at the front door makes me freeze mid-step. My fingers tighten around the keys still in my hand, the cool metal pressing into my skin. I press my face into a frown wondering who it can be since I'm expecting no one.

For a second, a stupid, ridiculous second, I almost expect it to be Bryan. Surely, he isn't moving in so soon. At least he should give me a couple of hours to process this. But I don't expect him to be considerate of me. Not after what I did to him.

I swallow the lump in my throat and push that thought away. The knock comes again, firmer this time. I exhale, shake off the momentary chill crawling up my spine, and head toward the door. My stomach knots as I pull it open, but the second I see who it is, the weight vanishes.

“Emma!”

“Stella?”

We scream at the same time, and then she’s throwing herself at me, arms locking around my shoulders.

The hug is tight, crushing, overwhelming, but I don’t care. I hug her back just as hard.

For a moment, we forget everything else. That just yesterday was Grandma’s funeral. That I didn’t get a real chance to talk to her before I left. That it’s been years. Because right now, none of that matters.

When we finally pull back, Stella grips my arms, her blue eyes scanning my face like she’s checking if I’m real.

She exhales, grinning. “Oh, my goodness, you look good.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Liar.”

She gasps, offended. “Me? A liar? Never.”

I roll my eyes, stepping aside. “Come in before you wake up the entire neighborhood.”

She smirks. “Emma, babe, it’s the middle of the day.”

Still, she strides inside, kicking off her flats like she owns the place because honestly, she practically does.

It’s been so long, but nothing about her has changed. She looks just the same as when we were in high school, best friends and always together.

Her hair is still the same wavy blonde, pulled up in a messy bun, probably done in a rush before she got here. She still talks with her hands, her entire body involved in every conversation. And she still fills a room like she’s the sun, bright and warm and pulling you into her orbit whether you like it or not.

I shut the door and lean against it, arms crossed. “So, are you gonna tell me how you are, or do I have to guess?”

She grins, plopping onto the couch, stretching her legs out. “I’m fabulous, obviously.”

I raise a brow. “Still working at the café?”

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