The Billion Dollar Girl

(Chapter 8)

Ͼ Ella Castillo Ͽ

I stayed still. I clenched my fists together, so hard that my knuckles shone white against my skin. I forced the air in and out of my lungs, keeping my breaths even. My head pounded, and my chest was tight.

I was going to kill him.

I heard footsteps, but I didn't look up. I just grit my teeth, pushing the violent urges down.

"Darling?" Ash said. He was right in front of me. I could see his jeans, and his t-shirt. "Shall we go?"

My head was spinning. Darling?!

Oh, right. We were meant to be in love. His Dad must still be watching.

I didn't move, but stayed perfectly still.

"Let's go," Ash repeated, a hint of steel in his tone.

I said nothing.

"Honey, we must pack your bags, so you can move into the penthouse tonight. You still want to be my...wife, right?"

I flinched. To me, it was like he'd said: You still want the money, right?

Slowly, I nodded. I was completely and utterly humiliated.

Of course I couldn't do anything to hurt him. The contract.

Ash smiled. "Then, do you want to go?"

"Yes."

***

ῼ Ash Castillo ῼ

I opened the door for Ella, who ignored me, and went in the other side. I almost laughed. Cute. Very cute.

Once I was in the car, I glanced at the little slip of paper in my hand.

The Carlyle Restaurant

Tomorrow, 9 PM

Don't take your wife.

No backing out, this time.

My forehead creased. What the hell?

Wait...my Dad couldn't still be...?

I almost laughed.

***

The Next Day

***

Ͼ Ella Castillo Ͽ

I stepped out of the polished black car, onto the sidewalk. Dazed, I thanked the chauffeur, who nodded merrily, and drove away. Whoa. Is that how a chauffeur acts? Is that how anyone acts? I wasn't used to this treatment. I guess people treating you better was just another upside to marrying to the son of the fourth richest person in the world. The car had come, first thing in the morning, exactly on time. Completely rare for cabs in New York, New York.

No, Ella! Stop being so superficial!

I turned around, gaped.

Wow.

The building was about sixty stories high, and even here, I could see that the walls were completely made out of glass. There was heavy, cream, lace-trimmed curtains that separated the insiders from the outsiders. I looked up, and gulped. Whoa. That was high. I was going to live at the very top.

Not good, since I was afraid of heights.

I looked back down again, staring at the faint reflection of myself in the glass wall, behind of which was the marble-floored reception. Everyone in the reception was shiny and perfect, in their expensive suits, clutching their iPhones.