Alpha Billionaire Series

WILLOW

If I could drink, I would have a fifth of whiskey in me by now. I paced the floor of the apartment waiting for Charles tc return home. I had called his phone at least 20 times before I remembered having dunked it in water in that damn hotel room. My angry reaction had backfired, leaving me without a way to contact him on the night that I needed to talk to him more than ever.

When he asked me that question, I wanted to break down and tell him everything—my feelings, what I wanted, the baby. But the crowds moved in. I got nervous so I kissed him, and then Peter was there whisking us away. He was stupid to have asked me that question right then, right in the middle of that mess. Why didn’t he ask me this morning when we were getting ready? Or last night when we were falling asleep?

“Dammit, Charles!”

Every time a car pulled into the parking lot below, I hovered, thinking it was him. I tried to relax and watch a show, but every channel had a banner scrolling along the bottom of the screen revealing the results of the elections. Charles's name kept popping up, reminding me that he was not where he was supposed to be. I should have just answered his question there at the party.

I punched in the number to Peter's phone, thinking maybe that I'd raise him that way. My phone clock indicated that it was well past one a.m., and I'd left the party around ten-thirty. The call rang through to voicemail, and I suspected a little too much partying was going on, so I called again. And again.

Finally, when Peter picked up, he sounded more groggy and tired than drunk and partying. The room he was in was quiet, not exactly what I expected from a raucous party of political celebrants. It took a few seconds for him to speal but when he did, I knew I had made a mistake.

“Willow? What's wrong?”

“Charles... he's not home. Is he with you?” I lowered myself to the couch slowly, remembering my first night here and how Charles had expected me to sleep on this couch. Tears filled my eyes now, wondering where he was and why he wasn't here with me.Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

“No. It's well after midnight. I left the place around eleven, and Charles was already gone. He's not home?” Peter sounded more awake, and I felt bad for waking him up.

“No, he’s not. I thought the party was going on still” I sighed. “If you hear from him, call me.”

“He doesn’t have a phone, remember.” Peter yawned. “I'm going back to sleep. I'll call you in the morning. He's a big kid. He'll be fine. Get some sleep, Willow.”

I hung up, now worried. I had been irritated before, upset with him even. Now I feared something had happened to him. I saw the way he was drinking before I left. He'd had several glasses of champagne and I knew he had a tendency to overdo it sometimes. I chewed on my lip, wondering who I could call. I bet Nina would know where he was, but I didn’t have her number. I had liked it that way at first. It meant she couldn't annoy me. Now I wished I had just tolerated that annoyance for a while.

The longer I sat there worrying, the more it turned back to anger. My mind stewed on every instance where Nina had flirted with Charles, and he hadn't pushed her away. Early on, learning that she'd volunteered to be his arranged wife the times at different rallies where she rubbed his shoulders to relax. That day at the picnic when she served him like his little mini maid. And the outfits she wore were ludicrous, meant only to attract attention, but the only man she hung on was Charles.

I stewed, my mind yoyoing between wanting to hunt him down and prove that something wasn’t going on between him and the intern, and packing my shit so that first thing in the morning I could leave. The latter won out, and I found myself with my suitcases out, clothing being stuffed into them as I cried. I hadn't told him I was pregnant; he didn’t deserve to know that yet. I would wait until after the holidays when it was too obvious.

Why had he asked me about what I wanted? In that moment it appeared that he had wanted me to stay too, that somehow this whole arrangement had finally changed his heart and he was gravitating toward me again. But he wasn't home. He was out God only knows where.

I slumped onto the side of the bed, finding my cell again. This time my call went straight to Mel's phone. It was the middle of the night—I knew that. She would be sleeping. But I needed her, so I called a few times until she picked up “Hey, what's wrong?” Just like Peter, Mel was groggy, her words slow to form. “I'm here.”

“Mel, he’s not home. It's late and I left the party because I wasn't feeling well, and I wish I had stayed. He was supposed to come right after the party. I called the campaign manager and he’s at home sleeping. Where is Charles? “Ah, shit” Mel was now wide awake, probably sitting up in bed worried about me. “I'm coming over.

“No,” I told her, not sure how that would go over if Charles did come home. He knew about Mel's fascination with me “That's okay. Just talk to me.”

“Okay, girl. I'm here.” I could hear rustling of fabric, probably Mel climbing out of bed. Then she returned. “So, he didn’t come home. Where do you think he is?”

I didn’t know whether to cry or scream. My mind tried to rationalize things, use logic to deduce facts and turn them into reason. But my gut told me Nina had sunk her claws into him finally and he was off in a hotel somewhere with her—or worse, her home.

“l am terrified that he’s with that damn intern,” I hissed, finding my hand clenched into a fist. Why did I hate Nina so much?

“Okay, but this is an arranged marriage, right? You were partners with one purpose in mind, to help him win the election. And now you're mad that he might be going out on you? This is why I told you not to get emotionally involved. It's actually the reason I told you not to do it to begin with, honey. You still love him. Now you want him to love you, but he just used you as a means to an end. How do you know he wasn’t porking her the entire time?”

Tears won out. My eyes spilled over at Mel's lecture. She was right. He could have been having sex with ten different women this past year, and I was just his talking head—the trophy wife he dragged around on his arm. But the s*x hac been convincing. He made me believe that he missed me, that he felt sorry for what he did to me now eight years ago. He even bought me that anniversary present. Was that all a sham?

“Look, Willow, just grab your things. Call an Uber and come to my place”

“No. I can’t just leave. I have things to say to him still. I'll leave tomorrow. I will just go to my parents until after the holiday.” I calmed myself, using my sleeve to wipe my eyes. “Can I count on you to run the firm until January at least? Maybe later if I find a good place to open our new office.”

Mel was my rock. I knew I could count on her. She had never let me down before and I knew she never would, unlike Charles and his level of dependability. He'd done nothing but let me down for almost a decade.

“Of course, I have your back. You take the time you need. We're going to come out of this stronger, you know?”

“I'm still never going to date you.” I forced myself to chuckle and I heard Mel snicker.

“Well, that's okay. I met someone anyway. She's sweet. You'll like her

I felt better after speaking to Mel, good enough that maybe I could get some sleep. So, we ended the call, and I curled up in bed, flipping through my phone. I didn't need to call my parents to know they'd be okay with me coming to their house. And I didn’t need to speak to Charles about tonight to know I wanted to go home. I'd suffered the insanity of this emotional rollercoaster long enough.

Even if he came home professing his love for me, I wasn’t sure I'd stay. I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. All I knew was, I needed a break, and I wanted to be with my mom. I got on the Hopper app and booked a flight home, leaving at seven a.m., then set my alarm for five and went to sleep.