The Billionaire I chose

(Clara Evans’ POV)

If heartbreak had a sound, it would be the wet pop of cheap champagne bottles celebrating the wrong couple.

And if it had a scene?It would start with me wearing a red silk dress, holding a bouquet of peonies, standing frozen in my fiancé’s apartment doorway, watching my little sister ride him like she was auditioning for The Bold and the Brainless.

Yeah. Welcome to my life.

The air-conditioning hummed, calm and cruel. The room smelled like my perfume and betrayal. My world was burning, and somehow, the thermostat didn’t get the memo.

Ethan jerked upright, white sheets flying, panic flashing across his face. “Clara..wait...it’s not what it looks like!”

“Oh?” My voice was so calm it scared even me. “Because it looks like my sister’s naked in your bed, Ethan. And you seem… busy.”

Beside him, Sienna, perfect, glossy, forever-the-favorite .Siennaclutched the blanket to her chest, eyes wide with fake guilt. Her lipstick was smudged. My lipstick.

“Clara,” she breathed, “please don’t be mad. It just… happened.”

“It just happened?” I blinked. “What, did you trip and accidentally fall onto his...”

“Clara!” she squeaked, like I was the unreasonable one.

I laughed. It came out sharp, wrong, a sound that could cut glass. “You stole my fiancé, Sienna. I think underreacting would involve homicide.”

Ethan ran a hand through his hair, the gesture that used to make my heart melt. Now it just made me want to throw something heavy. “Clara, listen...we didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

“Like this?” I said, gesturing to their disaster of a love nest. “You mean naked?”

He had the nerve to look wounded. “You’ve been so distant lately. Always working. Always too tired.”

“So you solved that by sleeping with my sister?” I folded my arms. “You’re right, Ethan. I should’ve seen the logic.”

Sienna sniffled, tears running down her perfect cheeks. “You were always the one with everything together, Clara. Your job, your confidence. You didn’t need him.”

“And you did?”

Her silence was answer enough.

Something inside me cracked then not the soft kind of breaking that invites sympathy, but the violent kind that forges something new.

“Fine,” I said, voice low. “You can have him.”

Ethan’s face actually brightened, like I’d just gifted him emotional clearance. “Clara...”

“But I hope you both enjoy being miserable together.”

And then I turned around, picked up my suitcase from the hallway, and walked out.

Outside, Los Angeles was too sunny for heartbreak. The air shimmered, cars honked, a couple laughed somewhere down the street. It was all too normal.

I stood there, holding my suitcase and the remains of my self-respect, while the universe stayed indifferent.

By the time I reached my car, my hands were shaking. I climbed in, slammed the door, and stared at myself in the mirror. Mascara streaked down my cheeks, lipstick smeared, heart in splinters.

“Congratulations, Clara,” I whispered. “You’re officially the punchline of your own life.”

My phone buzzed. Nora, of course.

Nora: You alive?Me: Barely.Nora: Did you kill anyone?Me: I considered it.Nora: My apartment. Wine. Now.

I didn’t argue.

Nora’s place smelled like garlic bread and salvation. She opened the door before I could knock, her curls bouncing, her eyes widening. “Oh my God. You look like a Disney princess who lost her sponsorship deal.”

“Perfect,” I muttered. “Because my life just turned into an off-brand telenovela.”

She poured wine into the biggest glass she owned and handed it to me. “Talk.”

And I did. I told her everything, from walking in on Ethan and Sienna to the moment I walked out without crying. By the time I finished, she was staring at me like I had just survived a war.

“She slept with Ethan? Your sister?”

“Yup.” I downed another gulp. “Apparently sibling rivalry has new levels.”

“She’s insane. And Ethan...he’s basically human beige.”

“Beige doesn’t cheat. Beige discolors.”

Nora laughed so hard wine almost came out of her nose. “Okay, okay. But listen...maybe this is your moment.”

“To become what? A meme?”

“To start over.” She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Revenge doesn’t have to be loud. It can be glamorous.”

I groaned. “You’re about to suggest something insane, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “Guess who’s in New York right now?”

“I don’t know, Beyoncé?”

“Close. Adrian Blackwell.”

I frowned. “Adrian Blackwell as in the Adrian Blackwell? Billionaire, real estate king, Ethan’s ridiculously powerful uncle?”

She smirked. “The one and only. Tell me that isn’t poetic justice.”

“Poetic or suicidal.”

“Both!” Nora said brightly. “Date his uncle, Clara. The man’s a legend and single. Ethan will lose his mind.”

I stared at her, wineglass halfway to my lips. “You’re suggesting I seduce a man who probably has an assistant to reject women for him.”

“Exactly.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “You’re insane.”

“I’m effective,” she said smugly. “And it’s not about him, it’s about you. About reminding yourself that you’re more than what they did to you.”

Her words hit something deep. The room felt quieter. For a moment, I wasn’t the heartbroken sister, I was the woman who still had a future.

“I can’t stay here,” I said softly. “Every street corner screams their names.”

“Then go somewhere new.”

“New York,” I said, surprising myself.

Nora smiled. “You always said that city had your name on it.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Maybe it still does.”

A week later, I was standing outside JFK Airport with two suitcases and a heart stitched together with caffeine and denial.

Rain misted against the glass as my cab wound through the city. The skyline glowed impossible, alive, intimidating. The kind of place where you could lose yourself or find yourself, depending on the lighting.

When I reached the small brownstone Nora’s cousin had found for me, I was drenched. The wallpaper was peeling, the light flickered, and the floorboards creaked like they had gossip.

Perfect. Broken enough to match me.

I stood in the middle of the room, suitcase at my feet, and whispered to the empty air, “New life, new me. No men, no drama.”

Thunder rumbled, mocking me.

Three loud knocks echoed from the door ,steady and commanding.

I froze.

The kind of knock that didn’t ask, it announced.

I hesitated, then opened the door.

And there he was.

Rain dripping from his dark coat. Eyes cold and assessing. Adrian Blackwell in the flesh every inch the billionaire urban legend people whispered about.

He said my name like a sentence. “Clara Evans.”

And just like that, my fragile calm shattered.

(Clara Evans’ POV)

For three whole seconds, I thought maybe New York was playing an elaborate prank.

Like, “Welcome to your new life, sweetheart ,here’s a billionaire at your door. He’s tall, soaked, and possibly here to ruin everything.”

The rain outside was relentless , the kind that made the city look cinematic, all reflections and blurring lights. It streaked down the hallway window behind him, silver lines against black. The thunder grumbled somewhere far off, low and continuous, like the city’s own heartbeat.

And there he stood ,Adrian Blackwell.

Tall, tailored, and radiating the kind of self-control that could probably stop a war. His coat was still dripping, his dark hair slicked back from the rain, jaw sharp enough to slice bread.

The problem was that I knew exactly who he was. Ethan’s uncle. The one my ex used to talk about like a myth. “He’s ruthless, brilliant, doesn’t waste words,” Ethan had once bragge