His Broke Ex-Wife Has a Billionaire Best Friend

The fluorescent lights of the CVS pharmacy buzzed overhead like angry wasps as I fumbled through my wallet for the fourth time. My prescription bottle sat on the counter between us—thirty pills of Percocet that I desperately needed after last week's minor surgery—while the cashier's patience visibly thinned.

"Your Amex has been declined, ma'am. All four of them."

The words hit me like a slap. Behind me, I could feel the growing line of customers shifting restlessly. A mother with a crying toddler sighed loudly. An elderly man cleared his throat.

"That's impossible," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the store's generic pop music. "Try this one again." I slid my platinum card across the counter with trembling fingers.

The cashier—a tired-looking woman in her fifties with kind eyes that were rapidly losing their sympathy—ran the card through the machine. The harsh beep of rejection echoed through the small space.

"Declined."

My chest tightened. I could feel heat creeping up my neck as I dug deeper into my purse, searching for my backup cards. The Visa. Declined. The Mastercard. Declined. Even my emergency debit card—the one I'd barely touched in two years—came back with the same soul-crushing response.

The woman behind me with the screaming toddler let out an exaggerated sigh. "Some of us have places to be," she muttered.

I wanted to disappear into the floor. Instead, I stood there, my hands shaking as I stared at the small pile of useless plastic in front of me. These weren't just credit cards—they were my lifeline, my independence, my proof that I existed in this world as more than just Ryker's wife.

"I'm sorry," I managed, my voice cracking. "I'll have to come back."

The cashier's expression softened slightly as she set the prescription bottle aside. "No problem, honey. We'll hold it for you."

I gathered my rejected cards and stumbled toward the exit, my face burning with humiliation. The automatic doors couldn't open fast enough. Outside, the Austin heat hit me like a wall, but it was nothing compared to the cold dread spreading through my chest.

I collapsed into the driver's seat of my Tesla—our Tesla—and sat there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. My phone buzzed with a notification from the car's system, and my blood turned to ice.

*Tesla account access removed. Vehicle will be remotely locked in 24 hours. Contact account administrator for details.*

Even the car. He was taking even the car.

My hands shook as I dialed Ryker's number. It rang once, twice, three times before his familiar voice answered—cold and businesslike, as if I were just another client calling about a delayed payment.

"Ivy."

"What the hell did you do to my cards?" The words tumbled out in a rush, desperation making my voice higher than usual.

"I let finance do some housekeeping." His tone was so casual, so matter-of-fact, that it made my stomach turn. "Everything you've been using belongs to the company, Ivy. I thought