The Billionaire's Discarded Lifeline

"Are we breaking up?" I kept my gaze locked on the man in front of me, taking in the crisp lines of his customtailored suit.

Just a few hours ago, he was still the broke college kid I kept afloat by scrubbing greasy diner plates and running endless Uber Eats deliveries.

Now, he was the heir to a multibilliondollar corporate empire.

Everyone thought I had finally hit the jackpot, that I was about to be elevated to the untouchable ranks of the ultrarich wives club.

Only I knew that exactly ten minutes ago, inside that ridiculously lavish VIP lounge, he had been ruthlessly mocking me with his bros, laughing about how this friedchickenscented delivery girl wasn't even fit to shine his shoes.

His gaze darted away before he forced a stiff, unnatural smile. "What kind of crazy talk is that?" "Save yourself the headache." I stepped back, putting distance between us. "I'll see myself out." I didn't waste another second looking at his face.

That night, I stripped our cramped apartment of every single thing I owned, tossing three years of my life straight into the dumpster. I zipped my duffel bag shut.

Chapter 1 "Are we breaking up?" Roman’s hand stalled in midair. His pupils contracted—a dead giveaway that I'd just ripped the bandage off his secret.

He quickly reached out to ruffle my hair, the gesture stiff. "What kind of crazy talk is that?" Just a few minutes earlier, I’d caught his conversation with his old high school buddies. "Man, your life is the ultimate glowup.

Even Genevieve has to throw herself at you now." [Back in the day, she wouldn't even give you the time of day.

You must be riding high right now.] [I heard your family is setting up a marriage between you and Genevieve.

So, man, how are you planning to get rid of your little delivery girlfriend who's always in those cheap hoodies?] I was naive enough to hold my breath, waiting for him to drop some epic, romantic line about how I was the only one for him.

Instead, he just stared into his drink and gave a casual shrug. "I've been meaning to end things for a while.

We don't even operate on the same wavelength anymore." "I'm just letting it fade out.

It's not like my family would ever let a delivery driver marry into the estate anyway." So that was it. All these years, I was just the pathetic, clingy girlfriend.

In his eyes, I was just a cheap delivery girl who didn't belong in his world. And to think, barely a month ago, he was holding me tight, whispering that we were endgame.

If he wanted out, he could have just been a man and said so. Why keep stringing me along? Why keep looking at me with those soulful eyes, making me feel like I was his whole world?

He dragged me in so deep that I actually managed to delude myself into thinking the feelings were mutual. I almost let myself forget that I was never his first choice.

Back in high school, his obsession with Genevieve was practically frontpage news, and I had a frontrow seat to the whole pathetic show. Roman was broke back then.

He wore the same faded hoodie through every season. Yet, somehow, he always found the cash to buy Genevieve vintage music boxes and soldout concert tickets.

To Genevieve, though, his bleeding heart meant nothing.

She had a dozen guys lining up to buy her vintage trinkets, and if she wanted concert tickets, some other trustfund kid would be shoving VIP passes into her hands five minutes later.

Genevieve never looked at him as anything more than a glorified lapdog. She ground his pride into the dirt on a daily basis, and he just kept wagging his tail, begging for scraps.

I couldn't even pinpoint the exact moment I started falling for Roman.

Maybe it was watching the way his eyes would shatter every time she rejected him, only for him to stubbornly piece himself back together.

He was just a wrecked kid, staring at the girl he worshipped, blind to the fact that he was bleeding out.

I saw every single one of his scars, and God help me, I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold his pieces together.

I hated seeing him get destroyed, so I even went up to Genevieve once and told her to at least acknowledge the guy who worshipped the ground she walked on.

She just sneered and called me a naive idiot. Later on, Genevieve was harassed at a frat party. Roman went feral, beating those punks so severely they ended up in the ICU.

He got slapped with a felony assault conviction because of it. And Genevieve? She refused to even give a statement in his defense.

Her parents immediately packed her up and flew her out of the country.

He had originally secured a fullride scholarship to an Ivy League school, but the acceptance was instantly revoked the second the charges hit his record.

Chapter 2 He locked himself away from everyone. I ignored the shattered glass he hurled at the wall and marched right up to him.

It wasn't until a warm trail of blood trickled down my calf from a stray shard that he finally froze. His hand trembled as he held out a BandAid. "Just leave.

Stop wasting your time on me. I'm trash now. Let me rot." He was in a fullblown downward spiral.

Terrified he'd do something permanent, I showed up every single day, rain or shine, forcing three square meals down his throat.

I scoured the internet for motivational crap, trying to pull him out of the abyss. Then came the phone call.

His drunk of a foster dad slurred through the receiver that Roman was in the ER, bleeding out from sliced wrists.

His foster dad stood in the sterile hospital room, spewing pure venom. "If you're gonna kill yourself, do it outside! Don't stink up my house!

I only took your smart ass in so you could pay for my retirement, and now I'm stuck with a useless burden!" I couldn't stomach another word.

I grabbed Roman by the collar of his cheap hospital gown and yanked him forward. "Get your shit together, Roman!" I yelled. "Look around! Who out there has it easy?

You hit one speed bump and act like the sky is falling." "Instead of fighting back, you just want to tap out! So your acceptance letter got revoked? Big deal!

Start over!" "If you can't even handle this, no wonder Genevieve wouldn't look twice at you!" Since the incident, I had been walking on eggshells around him, terrified of triggering an explosion.

Now, my brutal honesty leveled him. He stared at me, his eyes bloodshot and wide with raw shock. In that toxic dump of a foster home, his geniuslevel intellect was his only armor.

I wiped a stray tear from his cheek with my thumb. "You're too damn smart to end up like this.

Push through this hell, and we'll figure it out." I don't know where I found the nerve, but I packed up his meager belongings and dragged him into a cramped rental apartment with me.

My grades were aggressively average; community college was my ceiling. My own family just wanted me out in the workforce to wire money back home.

They handed me a miserable five hundred bucks and told me to go conquer the world so I could pay them back. Seeing us scraping by on pennies, Roman offered to drop out.

I shut that down instantly. I told him his only job was to hit the books; I'd handle the rest.

I scrubbed dishes like a maniac in the back of greasy fastfood joints by day, ran backtoback Uber Eats deliveries by night, and spent my weekends shoving cheap flyers into people's hands on street corners.

That was the only way we barely kept the lights on. One night, desperate to earn enough for his pricey textbooks, I took on dozens of delivery runs. Exhaustion finally won.

I blacked out and crashed my scooter right by the bridge. Later, Roman stared at my heavily bandaged leg, his eyes rimmed with angry red.

I forced a smile and lied through my teeth, telling him it didn't hurt. He yanked me into his chest, burying his face in my neck and calling me an idiot.

He swore I was his lifeline. He swore he’d give me the world one day. Unsurprisingly, he ended up using his brains to get into a halfdecent state university.

Years later, when Roman's biological, ultrarich family finally tracked him down and found out how I'd kept him alive, they slid a sleek bank card across a table toward me.

I just stared at it, numb. Three years of blood and sweat, and they thought they could buy it all away with plastic.

Roman used to promise me the world, but I never gave a damn about mansions or sports cars. A simple, solid life with him was all I ever wanted.

The fact that they thought they could just pay off our three years together felt like a slap to the face. It was almost laughable.

My friends kept hyping me up, saying my struggle days were over and I was destined to be a billionaire's wife. But I wasn't an idiot.

There was no way a corporate dynasty was going to let someone with fry grease under her nails marry into the family. They wanted old money. They wanted status.

They wanted someone exactly like Genevieve. Chapter 3 Roman’s first choice was always Genevieve. What he felt for me was probably just gratitude, a debt he didn't know how to pay.

Honestly, the disconnect probably started the second he stepped onto campus. He’d talk about highlevel academic theories, and my eyes would glaze over.

I’d try to tell him about the psychos I dealt with on my delivery routes, and he’d just tune out. The conversations dried up. I've always been desperately insecure.

In my eyes, he was this untouchable genius surrounded by coeds, and I was terrified he'd realize he could do better. I needed constant proof that he loved me.

I was toxic enough to constantly throw it in his face: "Don't forget whose tips are paying your tuition!" During our worst fight, I cornered him in our cramped apartment, demanding he pull out that cheap engagement ring and swear we'd have a wedding the second he graduated.

He froze for a long time before finally fishing the ring out of a drawer. He claimed he'd bought it ages ago.

The band pinched my skin, entirely the wrong size, but I shoved it on anyway, forcing myself to live the lie.

I stared him down right now, some pathetic, lingering delusion pushing me to ask one last time. "Seriously. Do you want out?" His forced smile vanished. He didn't say a word.

I almost laughed at my own stupidity. What was I even holding out for? I already knew the answer, yet I kept playing these mental gymnastics, praying I was somehow wrong.

But the ring he had physically slipped onto my finger was still there. I had poured years of my life into this guy; how could I not be delusional?

I spun around, grabbing a watering can for the potted orchids on the fire escape. We had bought them together from a corner bodega.

He had asked me since when I had a green thumb, and I just told him they looked nice. The real reason was the cheesy little tag stuck in the dirt that read: Absolute Loyalty.

He stepped up close behind me. "Gemma," he murmured, "you'll always be the most important person to me." My grip tightened on the plastic handle. "And Genevieve?" Dead silence.

I stared out at the city skyline, letting the cold air hit my face. I set the watering can down, turned back to face him, and aggressively yanked at the ring.

It was a size too small. I had practically bruised my knuckle jamming it on back then. Pulling it off now left my skin raw, but the relief was instantaneous.

I shoved the cheap metal into his palm. "Keep it." I glanced at the deep, red indent left on my ring finger. "Sorry I stretched out the band." His jaw parted, but whatever excuse was loading, I wasn't sticking around to hear it.

The front door swung open. A couple of Roman’s frat brothers spilled into the apartment. They caught us standing inches apart. "Man, we've been knocking for five minutes.

Didn't realize we were interrupting a moment." "Sorry not sorry for killing the mood," the other one smirked. "But real talk, we brought good news.

Your thesis just won the department award." Roman's college buddies were decent guys—polite and wellmannered.

They all knew exactly who I was, always respected my hustle, and constantly reminded Roman how lucky he was. Over the last three years, they practically lived in our tiny apartment.

They knew we were broke, so they never showed up emptyhanded, always hauling in groceries or takeout.

Chapter 4 Roman walked over and took a seat, casually flipping through his awardwinning thesis. One of his buddies slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Look at you go, man.

All of Gemma's blood, sweat, and tears finally paid off." He shot me a quick glance, his response painfully stiff. "Yeah.

It's all thanks to Gemma." His friend threw an arm around his neck. "You have to bring Gemma to the academic conference in New York.

We can all hit up a highend restaurant in Manhattan and properly celebrate." Roman looked up at me, waiting for me to chime in.

Another guy chimed in. "Seriously, if we posted about everything Gemma did for you, she'd go viral." I knew Roman didn't actually want me there. "I'll pass," I said dryly. "I wouldn't know the first thing about rubbing elbows with you academics." The first guy immediately sat up straight, entirely offended on my behalf. "What the hell kind of talk is that?

We all respect the hell out of you! I've never met a woman willing to work three brutal jobs just to put her man through school.

Especially a woman who looks like you!" Roman finally spoke up. "Just come. You haven't taken a real vacation in years.

Think of it as just a few good friends taking a trip." The air in the room instantly evaporated. Everyone's eyes snapped to Roman.

The hottempered friend slammed his beer can onto the table. "Good friends? Are you out of your damn mind?

The whole circle is talking about how your billionaire daddy is forcing you into an arranged marriage, and the bride is that toxic ex who got you a felony charge back in high school!" When Roman didn't immediately deny it, the room exploded.

They tagteamed him without mercy. "Are you kidding me? You're actually considering this arranged marriage bullshit?" "Is your brain broken?

You're going to throw away a rideordie like Gemma for her?" "If you actually pull some ungrateful stunt like that, Gemma won't even have to lift a finger.

I'll destroy you myself!" "Anyone who would do that is absolute trash." Finally, the guy sitting next to him grabbed Roman in a headlock and looked right at me. "Don't even sweat it, Gemma.

We'll beat some sense into him. This idiot doesn't have the guts to pull something like that." I managed a stiff smile.

The conversation quickly moved on to other things, but Roman never uttered a single word in his own defense.

My own friends had warned me about this exact scenario a hundred times. "Gemma, are you really going to do this? Feelings change in the blink of an eye.

You see this exact story online every single day. Can you guarantee he'll stay loyal once he makes it big?" "The higher he climbs, the wider the gap between you two gets.

Are you sure he'll still marry you when he reaches the top?" This whole thing had always been a highstakes gamble. I had just lost my shirt.

Back then, I used to hesitate, too scared to say the answer out loud. Now, the answer was brutally clear. No. Roman was never going to marry me.

The guys were already huddled back together, throwing around academic jargon that flew over my head. Maybe Roman and I were never meant to exist in the same universe.

I stood up and walked into the bedroom. This cramped room was suffocating with memories. I remembered our very first place—a basement apartment with a leaky roof.

It was freezing outside, and freezing rain dripped through the ceiling cracks straight onto Roman's back.

I threatened to break up with him right then and there if he didn't swap spots with me.

I ended up shivering from the freezing water, and he held me so tight, swearing on his life that I was the only woman he'd ever marry.

I stared at the glowing contact list on my phone for a long time. Then, I hit dial on the Roman family estate.

Chapter 5 My voice was tight as I spoke into the receiver. "Ma'am, about that black card…" Her tone on the other end was pleasantly condescending. "So you've finally thought it through.

It's an eightfigure sum. Take it, spend it however you like.

We truly appreciate how well you've taken care of our Roman all these years." "If…" She caught herself and pivoted sharply. "You're a smart girl.

Take this money, start a little business.

You won't have any trouble supporting yourself." She wanted to say that if I wasn't a girl who smelled like delivery grease, if my bloodline was just a little cleaner, she would have let Roman marry me.

But reality didn't deal in 'ifs.' I gave a low murmur of agreement and hung up. I stood in the bedroom, scanning the cramped space for something, anything, worth taking.

The closet was stuffed with clothes, but only two or three threadbare, faded flannels belonged to me. I yanked them off the hangers and pitched them straight into the trash.

My eyes drifted to the framed photo on the nightstand. We had taken it on that cheap Ferris wheel at the downtown pier. Ten bucks for three rotations.

I had dragged him into the pod, snapping selfies like a maniac. I picked the frame up. My thumb brushed the glass once. Then I tossed it into the trash can.

In the end, the only thing I walked out with was that plastic card. As I headed for the door, one of Roman's frat brothers called out. "Gemma, it's late.

Where are you heading?" I tossed out a frictionless lie. "A friend's birthday party.

Just making an appearance." "Let us tag along!" he offered. "The more the merrier." I forced a polite smile. "Nah, she's not great with big crowds." Roman knew exactly what I was doing.

His gaze snapped up, locking onto me with heavy suspicion. I didn't have a wide circle. Maya was the only real friend I had left, and her birthday was months ago.

I gave a casual wave, letting my eyes meet Roman's one last time. "I'm heading out." I zipped my jacket. I was never coming back.

At 11:00 PM, I walked out of that apartment, leaving three years of my life behind. I took the payoff. Like Maya always warned, I wasn't going to walk away completely emptyhanded.

I had bled myself dry to push Roman to the absolute top, and he chose to throw me away. This eightfigure sum was the cheapest severance package on the market.

I earned every single cent. I took that massive payout and opened a highend, independent coffee roastery in the most bustling district downtown.

The prime location made the shop an instant hit.

With cash flowing in like water every day, I was too busy counting profits and planning my next location to waste a single brain cell on a piece of trash like Roman.

Whenever a drenched Uber Eats driver sprinted through my doors, I'd slide an extra iced coffee across the counter. It was a reflex.

I’d look at them and wonder if they were killing themselves working double shifts to put some ungrateful partner through school, just like I did.

If I could rewind the clock, would I be stupid enough to do it all over again? But life didn't offer resets.

After a grueling shift, I collapsed onto the mattress of my new apartment, staring blindly at the ceiling.

My mind was blank, but hot tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, soaking into the pillowcase. I wasn't crying over Roman.

I raised my left hand, staring at the deep, angry red indentation still carved into my ring finger. I just wanted to know when the damn mark would finally fade.

Just as exhaustion dragged me under, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I answered it. Dead silence on the other end.

I pulled the screen back and saw Roman's name glaring in the dark. "What?" I asked. The silence stretched tight.

Finally, his voice came through. "Did you touch the stuff in my lockbox?" Chapter 6 Roman had a lockbox he treated like a holy relic.

I’d accidentally opened it once and found his entire soul laid bare—and every inch of it belonged to Genevieve.

There were photos of her, and pages upon pages of every single conversation they’d ever had, transcribed in his own handwriting.

I had been livid back then, and for the first time in our relationship, he’d actually exploded at me.

They say a man’s "First Love" is an untouchable sanctuary, a raw nerve you’re never supposed to poke. Eventually, I’d caved.

I told him he could keep the box, as long as he never opened it again. "Roman," I said into the phone, my voice as flat as a dial tone. "We’re over. Our promises are void.

You can open that box whenever the hell you want now." I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head. "I know how much that stuff meant to you… I won't touch it." He sounded like he was choking on a mouthful of gravel—guilt, maybe.

Then he asked, his voice low and hesitant, "The photo on the nightstand… you really threw it out?" "Yeah," I said, leaning against the cold glass of my balcony. "It was going to end up in the trash eventually.

I just sped up the timeline." The call lapsed into a long, suffocating silence. I didn't have anything left to say, so I just hung up. Sleep was a lost cause now.

I stepped out onto the balcony and stared up at the pitchblack sky, wondering where my life had gone off the rails.

I started spiraling into the ultimate question: Why doesn't loving someone ever equal being happy? I had loved Roman with every scrap of my soul. I’d bled myself dry for him.

So why did I feel like I was starving?

It took me a long time, staring at the dark horizon, to reach the only conclusion that mattered: You have to love yourself before you can love anyone else.

Looking back, I had spent my entire life trapped in a "peoplepleasing" loop.

As a kid, I bent over backward to make my parents notice me, only to receive a fraction of the affection they showered on my brother.

Then came Genevieve—I was her shadow, doing every dirty job she didn't want to touch, only for her to treat me like a loyal pet. And then there was Roman.

I had tried to win over everyone in my life, but I’d never once tried to win over myself. That night, I didn’t hesitate.

I used every last cent on that card to pay cash for a luxury penthouse downtown with 24/7 elite security. The following months were a blur of adrenaline and espresso.

I was busy overseeing the renovations on my new place and managing the explosion of growth at my coffee roastery. I didn't have a single second to wonder if anyone loved me.

I was finally living for myself. The freedom was intoxicating. My only regret was that I hadn't woken up sooner. I’d wasted years on a man who wasn't even worth a weekend.

I ran into Roman again right outside the gates of my community.

His frat brothers were surrounding him, shoving him around with that loud, aggressive energy they always had. "Roman, if you don't win Gemma back, we’re officially done with you," one of them barked. "Seriously, man.

You’re a moron for letting a woman like that walk away." Even that guy from high school was there, nodding along. "I'm with them.

Gemma is ten times the woman Genevieve will ever be." It had been over a year, but Roman still stood out in a crowd like a literal movie star.

His features were sharp, his jawline like a razor, but those long, dark lashes always gave him this deceptive edge of softness.

He shrugged off his friends' comments with a casual, bored look. "I have to actually find her first." Conveniently, I was standing right behind them.

The second I heard his voice, my instinct was to pivot and dive into the nearest cafe to hide.

But the universe had other plans. "Gemma!" one of my baristas shouted, sprinting toward me from the other direction. She looked frantic. "What's wrong?" I asked.

She stopped in front of me, glancing nervously over my shoulder. I followed her gaze. Roman’s friends were already midshove, cheering him on. "Look! She's right there!

Go get her!" "You hit the jackpot once in your life with a girl like Gemma, Roman.

Don't blow it!" "If you lose her again, don't come crying to us!" The whole scene felt like a distorted echo of a life I didn't recognize anymore.

Chapter 7 During his sophomore year, Roman fell for some girl. She was pretty, had an easy smile—and was a dead ringer for Genevieve. He started acting sketchy.

When I finally cornered him, he confessed. He told me he couldn't control himself, that he was biologically wired to want her.

I dug my fingernails into my palms to stop the tears, nodded, and walked away. I was a massive idiot back then.

I was so terrified he’d starve himself trying to buy his new obsession designer gifts that I drained my own bank account and wired him every last cent.

It wasn't long before he came crawling back, shoved along by his frat brothers just like today.

I looked at his pathetic, disheveled state and forgave him before he even opened his mouth. Looking back, I was a hopeless case.

It was the classic toxic dynamic—one person willing to dish out the abuse, and the other begging to take it.

I snapped my attention back to my barista. "Ignore them," I said. "What's going on? Talk to me." She shifted her weight, stammering. "It's just, Gemma… I have a family emergency.

Can I take a few days off?" My shoulders dropped in relief. "Do I look like a tyrant? Take as much time as you need.

Handle your family stuff and come back when you're ready." "Thank you so much, Gemma!" I watched her jog off.

It wasn't until Roman's voice broke the air that I realized he was standing right behind me. "Gemma." I turned around.

He stared at me, his jaw working, but whatever lines he’d rehearsed died in his throat. His boys were hyping him up from the sidewalk. "Come on, Roman! Look alive!

Apologize and get your girl back!" In the past, I would have killed for a single apology from him. But he never gave me one.

He was pathologically incapable of lowering his head to me. Now? I didn't want to hear it.

He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at his audience, then forced out a stiff, halfassed question. "So, when are you moving back in?" It was obvious he thought I was just throwing a tantrum.

He probably figured I’d cool off and come running back the way I always did. He clearly believed he hadn't done anything wrong, which is why he refused to apologize.

But the fog had cleared for me. His family had bought out my three years of suffering with a massive eightfigure check, setting me up for a life of pure financial freedom.

Even if I hadn't wasted those years funding his tuition, a girl with my background would never have reached this level of wealth on her own. I didn't lose.

I looked him dead in the eye. "I'm not coming back." His gaze darkened. He let out a low grunt, spun on his heel, and stalked off toward his crew.

The second he was in range, they swarmed him, laughing and throwing punches at his shoulder. "Well?

Did she take you back?" "Did you give her the ring back?" "Man, just marry her already.

This backandforth drama is exhausting to watch." "We didn't make up, and I'm not marrying her." Roman's voice was sharp, coated in heavy irritation.

The entire group went dead silent. He raised his voice, making sure it carried. "I was never into her in the first place.

Why the hell would I marry her?" "Just because I owe her a favor?

I'm supposed to tie myself to someone I don't even like for the rest of my life?" "I only ever saw her as a friend." Hearing those words physically ignited my blood. Three years.

Three years, and now he claims he never liked me. If he wasn't into me, why the hell didn't he say so three years ago? What was I to him? A convenient ATM he could screw on demand?

I closed the distance between us with no warning. I pulled my arm back and delivered a brutal, fullforce slap straight across Roman’s arrogant face.

The sharp crack echoed down the street, instantly silencing the entire group. "This slap, plus your mother's hushmoney check, makes us entirely even!" "Consider those three years my charity work for hauling trash out of the dumpster!

You want to get married? Please. A piece of garbage like you isn't even fit to touch me now!" "Listen to me clearly, Roman.

I dumped you!" The guys stared at me, mouths hanging open in absolute shock. I rubbed my stinging palm. My only regret was that I hadn't slapped him years ago