Page 47 of The Hollywood Billionaire's Fangirl Wife

I'm sorry, Guy. I wish I have something different to tell you, but I don't. It's always the same. She says she doesn't hate you, and I believe her. She says she wishes you the best, and I believe that, too. But I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. But that's all she has to say.

By the time a month had passed, Guy was this close to driving himself off a cliff,literally. His hands had developed a permanent tremor, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot from sleepless nights, and his assistant had started leaving protein shakes on his desk because she’d noticed he’d forgotten how to eat. Rock bottom had left crater marks, and he couldn’t even make himself care that everyone in his life was watching him self-destruct.

All he knew was that he just wanted to stop hurting and missing her, wanted to stop waking up every morning with the crushingrealization that she wasn’t there, that she would never be there again because of what he’d done.

The thought of facing another day in this hollow existence felt impossible, and so when he found himself behind the wheel at 2 AM, staring down at the winding canyon road while seriously considering just pressing the accelerator and ending this unbearable ache once and for all—

Meow.

The sound was so damn soft and pitiful, that at first Guy thought he had finally lost his mind. But then it came again, a tiny, desperate cry that seemed to be coming from somewhere near his front tire—

Found you.

It was the tiniest little thing, so damn small it easily fit in his palm, and its eyes sealed shut by days’ worth of dirt and debris. It mewled as it wriggled, its gray and white fur matted with motor oil and God knew what else. The little creature was barely alive, its breathing shallow and labored, but the moment Guy’s fingers touched its fragile body—

Thank you.

The kitten turned toward his warmth, and Guy sucked in a sharp breath as the tiny creature communicated its trust with just a tiny little rub of its head. Instinct kicked in at that moment, with Guy cradling the kitten against his chest as he drove to the nearest emergency vet clinic.

It was already past midnight, the streets empty and dark, but because Guy was willing to pay whatever it took (the fact that thesleepy receptionist recognized him didn't hurt either), the clinic opened its doors just for his rescue.

"We'll need to run some tests, have him connected to the IV..."

Him?So the kitten was a boy then?

"Sir? Do we have your permission?"

"Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best. I just want him to survive."

The nurse showed him to the waiting room. "Please wait here."

Fluorescent lights glared down at him as he took a seat. He expected the silence to be overbearing as he waited for updates, but instead, he could feel the tightness in his chest gradually easing. It was as if someone he couldn't see was choosing to share his burden. Lifting the weight off his shoulders so he could finally...

God.

Stop drowning.

Remember to breathe.

And realize—

You sent that kitten...

Guy watched his hands start to shake for no reason he could explain.

To save me.

Didn't you?

A part of him wanted to laugh. And weep. Because surely this was a sign of insanity, his heartache driving him to the brink that he was now talking in his mind—

I did, son.

And yet Guy knew...

He heard what he heard. He hadn't imagined it. And it was this that had him slowly hunching down and burying his face in his hands, his shoulders rocking as tears that he had refused to shed for almost his entire life finally rolled down his cheeks.

You knew I wanted to kill myself.

---