The Heiress Who Erased Her Billionaire Ex

ng her canvas sneakers. She looked up at the Core Club, its golden light bleeding through the massive glass doors and spilling onto the wet pavement of

arm a hundred times, hesitated. His eyes scanned her soaked jacket, the worn hem of her jeans, and the can

screen of her phone to her dripping hair.

screen of her phone toward him. It was a text from Axel Carroll. The doorman sighed, the rigid line of his shoulders dr

he said, though his tone sugges

ers squeaked against the polished marble floor as she made her way down the long hallway. She held the garment bag tightly in her right hand. Inside was a Tom Ford suit. Axel had ruined

ll and pushed open the heavy

lit, the jazz music soft and low. Claire's eyes swept the room. Axel was sitting in the center of the burgundy leather secti

him, like a second s

on for miles and a face that launched a thousand campaigns. Right now, her long, manicured fingers were tracing lazy circles on Axe

sitting in the armchair across from them. He stopped talking mid

he kept her face perfectly still, a mask she had spent three years perfecting. She walked straight to the coffee ta

pletely devoid of humor. She looked Claire up and down, her nose w

cut through the jazz. "The dry cleaning delivery girl

e. Someone would insult her, Axel would sigh, tell them to lay off, and then apologize to her later in private. She wa

r. There was no apology. There was just a vague sense of irritation, like she was a fly

s chair with a grin. "I guess your little charity project is finally up

p clink. He looked at Claire, his expression bor

The sound was lo

exts. I'm tired of feeling like I'm babysitting. It's over. Hayes will contact you tomorrow. He'll

or the show. They wanted tears. They wanted a scream. They wanted her to fall on her knees

iron door she had built inside herself-the one that held all her excuses, all her rationalizations, all her pathetic hope-swung

had cooked for, the man she had stitched her entire identity around

was a small, pr

Her voice was clea

a second. A flicker of something-surprise, annoyance-crosse

walked straight to the heavy oak door, her wet shoes silent on the rug now. She pulled the door open, let it cl

. But the air felt clean. It felt new. She stood on the curb, her arm raised, and a yellow taxi screec

er asked, not lookin

opened Axel's contact page. She saw the custom text tone she had set for him-a special song she thought was romantic. She s

him off the top of her message list. She didn't block him. Blocking implied she still cared enough to keep