The Revenge of the Billionaire's Ex-wife and Friend

RENEE.

I rose early the following morning, the gentle light of dawn streaming through the flimsy curtains of the room, that was no longer mine anymore. The atmosphere was thick, making my chest feel even more constricted as I thought about my next step. I prepared myself and spent the majority of the day walking through streets, checking out apartment listings. By late afternoon, I had secured a lease for a comfortable, though simple, one-bedroom apartment. It wasn't a lot, but it would suffice.

The following morning, Seb's movers arrived promptly, bringing along the few items I had chosen to keep. There wasn't much: a tiny box of photo albums I had saved, some clothes, and a handful of mementos from a life I had largely moved on from. The movers operated quickly, transporting my belongings into the new apartment. Once they were done, one of them came up to me holding an envelope.

"Miss, this is from Mr. Ford," he said, offering it to me.

"Thank you," I said with a forced smile, yet my voice sounded dull. Strangely at ease, strangely anxious, I observed the two movers leave, shutting the door behind them to finally be alone in my new apartment for the first time.

Intrigued, I ripped open the envelope and took out a cheque booklet. My breath became stuck in my throat.

"This…this doesn't seem right," I murmured. The figure written on the cheque was an affront. Nowhere close to what we had agreed on.

Frustration surged as I picked up my phone and called Seb’s number. The call received no response. I attempted once more, and then again, but every time, it went directly to voicemail. I clutched the phone more firmly as a surge of helplessness engulfed me.

“Bastard,” I muttered quietly.

Not able to contact him, I stuffed the cheque booklet into a drawer and chose to occupy myself by unpacking. The tiny apartment gradually started to come together, although the process was long and exhausting.

It was late in the evening when my phone vibrated. Seb’s name appeared on the screen, and I picked up right away, my tone cutting.

"What the heck, Seb? That cheque—”

"Calm down, Renee," he cut in, his voice as smooth and patronizing as usual. "I will explain all the details. My chauffeur is downstairs, waiting for you. He will bring you to me. I have something to offer you."

"What might you possibly—"

"Just come here," he interrupted me once more. The call disconnected before I could argue more.

My gut told me to stay put, but my curiosity—and a residual anger—drove me to put on my coat and make my way downstairs. The dark town car was awaiting. The driver, a serious-looking man in his fifties, acknowledged me with a nod as I got into the backseat.

The journey was brief, yet it felt laden with suspense. I sat rigidly, my hands balled into fists in her lap. I held my breath as the car finally halted; I looked out the window to see our location. I noticed the structure we had parked in front of and…

My stomach dropped.

Westbridge Theatre.

I hadn't returned here in all this time, but seeing it felt like a stab to the stomach. What was once a magnificent facade now stands as a mere shadow of its former glory, its exterior damaged and worn. The marquee was in disarray, featuring letters that had previously illuminated the titles of sold-out performances.

This theater was my family’s. The location that was the center of my youth. Seb had snatched it from me, just like he had taken everything else.

The driver unlocked the door, and I got out, my breath apparent in the chilly night air. Seb was standing close to the entrance, his figure lit up by a nearby streetlight. He appeared entirely as the formidable businessman he had always been, his perfectly tailored coat fitted expertly, his expression inscrutable.

"You have quite a lot of nerve," I remarked as I got closer to him, my voice shaking with rage.

Seb grinned, unfazed by my frustration. Silently, he presented me with a group of keys and a bulky envelope.

"What does this mean?" I questioned warily, gazing at the objects.

"Your final severance present," he responded nonchalantly.

I paused before accepting them. I unsealed the envelope, my eyes growing large as I retrieved a collection of papers.

“The deeds,” Seb replied, addressing my silent question. "Westbridge belongs to you once more. Well done."

My heart missed a beat. For a brief instant, I was unable to talk.

"Are you returning it?" I finally forced out.

Seb’s grin faded, and his eyes moved to the dilapidated structure. “It’s practically useless now. I have no reason to keep it and it’s a weight I no longer wish to bear. Think of it as...closure."

I glared at him in disbelief, feelings swirling within, confusion and fury. He had allowed my family's theater to decay and was returning it to me? Pretending to be a kind-hearted king? However, I then remembered the check.

"What is this separation fee?" I hissed, gripping the envelope firmly. "That payment was far from what we agreed to."

Seb's smirk returned, but this time it was more intense and frigid.

"Did you check the agreement prior to signing it?" he inquired, his voice laden with sarcasm.

I felt a drop in my stomach.

I parted my lips, yet no sound emerged. Because I hadn't gone through it. I had been overwhelmed by my feelings, too pained and eager to end it all quickly .

"No," I replied just above a whisper.

Seb's chuckle was soft and malicious. "Well, that’s on your head, isn't it?"

The burden of my error crashed into me like a freight train. Before I had the chance to reply, a piercing noise sliced through the air.

Boom!

I recoiled as a bullet zipped by Seb’s ear, lodging itself in the wall behind him.

“What the bloo—” Seb turned around quickly, his eyes wide open.

A choked cry caught our attention. The driver, who had been close to the vehicle, collapsed to the floor, with blood gathering underneath him.

My cry became lodged in my throat as I pivoted, my heart racing. Suddenly, time slowed down while chaos broke out all around me.