Billionairess By Survival

SIERRA'S POINT OF VIEW

Smack.

My head tilted slightly. Not from pain—just shock.

Logan didn’t say a word at first. Just stared at me like I was nothing.

“You always find a way to disappoint me,” he muttered.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I whispered, blinking fast. My voice was barely a breath. “I—I was only trying to help.”

“Help?” He scoffed, adjusting his cufflinks like the conversation bored him. “You call this help?"

I lowered my eyes. “I made your favorite, Sir. Toasted just the way you like it…”

He glanced at the untouched tray on the floor, now scattered. Fish. Toast. Juice. A morning I tried to make perfect—ruined.

“You think breakfast makes up for disrespect?” His voice was cold. Distant. Like a stranger wearing my husband’s face.

“I wasn’t disrespecting you, Logan. I swear.”

He stepped closer, towering. My heartbeat stuttered.

His hand didn’t rise again, but his words cut sharper.

“Next time, don’t try so hard. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”

I wanted to ask what I did wrong, but I stayed silent. I’d learned the hard way—questions made it worse.

Still, the ache inside me wouldn’t shut up.

“I love you, Logan,” I said quietly.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t care.

I stood there, holding my breath like it might hold the pieces of me together.

He turned away, grabbed his keys, and walked to the door.

No hug.

No glance.

Not even a goodbye.

Just the sound of his shoes echoing across marble as he left.

Again.

And the slam of the door behind him.

I exhaled. Shaky. Slow. Like I’d been underwater too long.

My legs folded beneath me as I sank to the cold floor, my hand brushing the edge of the tray. The juice was soaking into the rug. The toast was untouched. Just like me.

Why did I keep trying?

Why did I keep hoping?

I wiped my cheek with my sleeve. I wasn’t crying this time. Just tired. Tired of wondering what I did wrong. Tired of wishing for a version of him that only existed in memories.

Maybe I was foolish. Maybe I was broken.

But I still loved him.

Or… maybe I loved the idea of him.

The man who once called me his sunshine.

The man who used to laugh when I danced barefoot in the kitchen.

The man who… vanished.

Now, all I had was silence.

And silence was a cruel companion.

I looked around the empty room.

Luxurious. Quiet. Cold.

Like a cage with a view.

I whispered, “Please… just come back. Be the man I married.”

But deep down, I knew.

He was never coming back.

Not the real him.

And just as I picked up the broken glass with shaky fingers, the front door clicked open again.

Footsteps. Slow. Steady.

Logan?

My heart jumped.

But when I looked up…

The loud knock came like a punch.

I flinched.

Then again—bang, bang, bang.

It wasn’t just any knock. It was the kind