Married To My Billionaire Rival

(Laura POV)

I stared at the message for a long time reading it over and over again.

'You don't need to come home, you have nothing left here.'

There was no name from the sender, just the number that sent it. But something told me it is either from Luciana or Betty. I tapped on it, scrolled up through the thread, and there it was, the same number that had sent me that message back when I first left the house, the one warning me not to come back home.

I still suspect that it is from Luciana. She was always after the money, I don't know how my father never saw through her fake facade.

I set the phone down on the counter and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing myself not to cry again.

The knock on my door came a little after seven, and when I opened it, Priya was standing there with two plastic bags in one hand and a look on her face that was somewhere between determined and gentle.

Before I could say a word, she pulled me into a hug. "How are you doing? And I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Priya, you didn't have to…"

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to." She set the bags down on my kitchen counter and started unpacking containers some kind of noodle dish, spring rolls, a chicken soup that smelled like ginger and something warm. "I know you haven't eaten yet. Come sit."

I sank onto one of the stools at my counter, watching her move around my kitchen.

"I talked to Mr. Holloway," Priya said, pulling out some plates and dishing out the food. "I told him what happened. He wasn't thrilled, obviously, because when is he ever, but he knows. What would you like to have?"

"Thank you," I said quietly. "I don't think I would have been able to handle him all by myself. Just give me anything that will go down my throat easily."

"You wouldn't have had to. I made sure of that." She slid a bottle of water and a plate of noodles with chicken soup toward me. "By the way, did you already send in something official? For the leave, I mean. HR usually wants it in writing, even for something like this."

I opened my mouth to say yes, and then stopped, because the truth was I hadn't. I'd told Priya. I'd told Tia. I'd sat here for hours letting the day fall apart around me, and somewhere in all of it, the actual, practical step of requesting time off had slipped through completely.

"I haven't," I admitted. "I completely forgot. I don't even know how I forgot something that basic."

"Laura, your father died this morning. You're allowed to forget things." Priya pulled out her phone, thumb already moving. "Do you have the HR email pulled up? Let's just get it done now, before it becomes one more thing hanging over you."

I found my laptop where I'd abandoned it that morning, and sent a message to HR informing them of my father's passing, asking for two weeks, promising to follow up once I knew more about the funeral arrangements.

"Okay," Priya said, setting her fork down after we'd both picked at the food for a while. "Now. Tell me you have a bag packed."

"I haven't Priya, I don't think I will be going back to New York."

"Why?" Priya asked, surprise lining her face.

I rubbed my temples and picked up my phone to show her the text message that I received. "There is nothing left for me there."

“Oh… dear” she dropped the phone and pulled me to the couch “You need to pay your father a last respect dear. I can come with you if yo want.”

"I know. But”

“Go home Laura and have closure, you have been through a lot.” She was already up pulling me along and moving toward my bedroom. "Come on. I'll help you pack."

I followed her, mostly because I didn't have the energy to argue, and stood in the doorway of my own closet while she pulled things down my clothes.

The next morning, she drove me to the airport.

“Call me once you land.” Priya said. “Never forget you are not alone.”

“I will” I said returning back the hug.

As I approach the counter, the woman behind it typed my confirmation number in, frowned, typed it again, and then looked up at me with an expression I recognized immediately as bad news trying to find a polite way out.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am, just a minute." She typed into her system again. "It looks like there's been a mix-up with your booking. This flight shows as already checked in under your name."

"That's not possible," I said, pulling out my phone to show her the confirmation email. "I just booked this last night. I haven't checked in for anything."

"I understand, but the seat's already been assigned in our system, I going to need to rebook you..."

"I don't have forty-eight hours. I need to be there for my father's funeral." My voice climbed, sharper than I meant it to

"I'm very sorry for your loss, ma'am, but I don't have any earlier availability I can offer you."

She tapped away at her keyboard, printed something out, and slid the slip across the counter along with an apology I barely heard. I grabbed it, my bag, and what was left of my patience, and turned away from the counter.

As I turn around to walk away, I dumped into someone my bag toppling sideways, a splash of hot drink dripping down my shirt.

I looked up, already halfway through an apology, and the words caught in my throat.

The sharp line of his jaw, shadowed with the kind of stubble that looked deliberate rather than lazy, was the first thing that caught my eye. Then his amber eyes the same unreadable stare I remembered all too well.

He wore a grey suit that fit like it had been made for exactly this body and no other, the jacket open, a watch on his wrist that probably cost more than the apartment I'd just packed up. His hair was cut shorter than the last time I'd seen him, and there was something harder in his face now, something I couldn't read.

Nathaniel Cross stood before me.