Love at First Night: The Billionaire's First Love-Chapter 62: When we first met

>Mara Bryce

Fuck. My head was ringing like someone had hit it with a hammer.

The door slammed shut behind us, the sound echoing through the apartment. I kept staring at it for a few seconds longer than needed, my vision shaking slightly.

Then the sharp pain hit slicing straight through my skull. I sucked in a breath and winced, my body giving up as I dropped onto the sofa. I leaned my head back against the cushion, pressing my eyes shut, hoping the dizziness would ease even a little. The smell of alcohol clung to me, heavy and bitter, making my stomach twist.

"Are you really this pathetic?"

Monique’s voice cut through the silence. I cracked one eye open and glanced up at her.

She was standing a few steps away, arms crossed, looking down at me like I was something she stepped on by accident. Her lips were tight, her eyes cold. I couldn’t help it—I smirked.

What does she know?

"Leave me be," I muttered. My voice came out rough. "It’s none of your concern." I shut my eyes again, not wanting to deal with her, not wanting to deal with anything.

She let out a tired sigh. "You’re out of your mind," she said. "But that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have ever gotten attracted to someone like you."

I heard her footsteps move closer, the soft sound of her heels against the floor. Her shadow fell over me as she stopped right in front of the sofa. I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my head to look at her. Her face was tense, but there was something else there too.

She looked hurt.

A strange, heavy feeling settled in my chest, dragging me down.

"What?" I said with a crooked grin. "You wanna sleep with me or something?"

Slap

My head snapped to the side as pain exploded across my cheek when the slap landed. For a second, everything went quiet. I raised my hand slowly, touching the spot where she hit me. My skin burned. When I looked back at her, tears were already running down her face. She wasn’t even trying to wipe them away.

"You always talk about Mal," she screamed. "Mal this, Mal that! Does she even know the things you did for her? Does she know how much you ruined yourself?"

I swallowed hard. My throat felt dry, bitter. My hand tingled where she slapped me, but I didn’t care about that. I pushed myself up from the sofa, gripping the armrest to steady my shaking legs. The room spun for a moment, but I forced myself to stay standing.

"Go home," I said flatly. "I don’t need you here."

"She will never like you!" she shouted.

Something inside me snapped.

Before I even realized what I was doing, my hand shot out and wrapped around her neck. Her eyes widened in shock, her hands flying up to grab my wrist. My grip wasn’t tight enough to choke her, but it was enough to scare her.

I leaned closer, my vision darkening, my head buzzing with more than just alcohol.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" I snapped. "Just because I told you I’m interested in you doesn’t mean you get to lecture me." My voice was low. "Get your head straight and keep doing your job. You’re my secretary. Nothing more."

I shoved her away. She stumbled back and fell to the floor with a dull thud. She didn’t look up. She just sat there, frozen, her shoulders shaking.

"I don’t ever want to hear her name from your mouth again," I said coldly.

I turned away without waiting for her response and walked straight into the bedroom. Each step felt heavy, like my body was fighting me.

I shut the door behind me and collapsed onto the bed, my back hitting the mattress. The ceiling above me was blurry, spinning slowly as I stared at it.

My thoughts wouldn’t stop.

"Why do I have to be reminded of those memories again?" I whispered.

I clenched my jaw, my hands curling into fists at my sides. I was doing everything for her sake.

Everything.

That’s why I stayed away. I ignored her messages. I buried myself in work, in drinking, in anything that kept my mind busy. For months, I kept my distance.

So why did she have to appear in my dreams again?

Why did her face still haunt me when I closed my eyes? I thought I already moved on.

I let out a shaky breath and covered my face with my arm.

I fucking hate this.

_____

I don’t remember exactly when I realized my feelings for her. There wasn’t a clear moment or a sudden spark. It just happened slowly, without warning.

But when I look back, I know it all started on that rooftop.

I was set on ending everything that day. The cold wind scraped against my skin and even now it feels so real, as if it happened just yesterday. My hands were numb, my chest tight, and my thoughts were empty. I wasn’t scared anymore. I was just tired.

That was the day our happy family fell apart.

My father ruined it himself when he brought another woman into our home, because he couldn’t keep his affair hidden. The image of my mother’s broken face burned into my mind, over and over again. It crushed whatever strength I had left.

I stood at the edge of the rooftop wall, my shoes only inches from the drop. I stared down with lifeless eyes, the field far below looking small and unreal. I didn’t have the energy to step back. I didn’t have the energy to move at all.

Then I heard it—a soft rustling sound behind me.

The faint flip of pages. The sound of someone shifting their weight.

"If you’re planning to end your life right now, do it some other time." The voice was calm.

"I don’t want you to spoil my mood. This was a good romance book."

I turned my head slightly and saw her.

Mallory was sitting under one of the shaded corners of the rooftop, legs crossed, leaning comfortably against the wall. She held an open book in her hands and waved it lightly. Her expression was relaxed, almost bored.

For a moment, I just stared at her.

Something about the situation felt ridiculous. I felt awkward. Annoyed. And strangely embarrassed.

I didn’t want an audience. I didn’t want questions. I didn’t want someone else involved in my mess.

So I sighed and stepped back from the edge.

"Fine," I muttered under my breath.

I walked away from the wall and dropped down beside her, my back against the concrete. The cold seeped through my clothes, but I didn’t care. She went back to her book like nothing happened.

Starting that day, she showed up every time I did.

No matter the hour, no matter the weather, she would always be there in the same spot, sitting in the shade with a book in her hands.

Sometimes she’d glance at me. Most times, she didn’t. It became her routine.

"You’re out of luck," she said one day, closing her book with a soft thud. "I finished what I was reading and found a better one."

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. "Are you not studying?" I snapped, frustration slipping into my voice.

She looked up at me and grinned, completely unbothered. "Well, no. Reading fiction is far more interesting," she said, her smile was cheeky.

I didn’t reply.

Not long after that, when the urge to end everything finally faded and the weight on my chest felt lighter, I realized something.

The book she was reading the day we first met wasn’t a romance novel at all.