The Billionaire's Secret Heartbreak

The moment I knew—truly knew—that Mark was keeping someone on the side came three days after I'd pressured him into getting married.

He had insisted on one last night out as a single man, a transparent excuse to get drunk enough to force my hand, to make me back down.

Seven years together doesn't mean you have to get married, you know?

"Do women just shrivel up and die if they don't get a ring?"

And then, the drunken whisper that gutted me: "If I marry Grace… what about Lexi? She's only twenty-one. She can't live without me…"

After that, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just did exactly what he wanted and called the whole thing off.

And then, he had the audacity to show up at my new apartment, banging on the door in the middle of the night. "Grace," he slurred, his voice wrecked. "I can't sleep without you."



1

Mark and I had been a single entity since college. Seven years of navigating life from campus to our careers, building an empire from nothing. We were the couple everyone pointed to—a success story in love and business, a partnership of equals.

He was stable, patient, a perfect partner in every way but one: he had absolutely no intention of marrying me.

But I dreamed of it. I wanted the dress, the vows, the public declaration. So, at the launch party for his company's biggest project, I took a breath, gathered all my courage, and proposed to him.

In front of everyone we knew, the easy smile on Mark's face froze. The mask of unflappable composure he wore so well cracked, just for a second.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched him. These were our friends, people who had watched us grow together for years. If he said no, here and now, the humiliation would be absolute.

He just stood there, his face a cold blank.

My friend Wendy, bless her heart, saved me. She smoothly took the ring box from my trembling hands and pressed it into Mark's. "Don't just stand there," she hissed playfully.

He took it, but said nothing. Gave no answer.

The night before our engagement party—a party he'd reluctantly agreed to—Mark insisted on his "last night of freedom."

Around midnight, my phone buzzed with his name. I answered, but it was clearly a pocket dial. I could hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of glasses. I whispered his name, got no response, and was about to hang up when I heard his voice, sharp and laced with contempt.

"Who the hell does Grace think she is, pulling a stunt like that? Forcing my hand in public?"

"I thought she was different," he continued, his voice thick with alcohol. "I thought she understood me. Turns out she's just as basic as every other woman."

I froze, the air leaving my lungs in a silent gasp. Then, another man's voice chimed in.

"But come on, man, Grace is a knockout. She was the queen of Northwood's campus. And she's been with you for seven years."

Mark scoffed, a bitter, ugly sound. "And that means I have to marry her? Let me tell you something, after seven years with any woman, you'd be bored too."

"She's like my buddy now. The feeling's gone. Honestly, if any of you guys want a shot, I'll even set it up for you."

"I get it," another voice slurred, followed by a wave of knowing laughter. "Grace is like a Michelin-star dinner. Amazing at first, but you can't eat it every night. Sometimes you just want a fucking burger."

The laughter was the soundtrack to Mark's final, soul-destroying confession. "Besides," he slurred, his voice dropping. "If I marry Grace, what about Lexi? She's only twenty-one. She can't live without me…"

It felt like a lightning strike, a physical blow that left my entire body buzzing and hollow.

I don't know when the call ended.

But in that moment, with the silence of my apartment pressing in, I knew we were over. That night, I booked a one-way ticket to Carmel.

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

2

The next time I saw Mark was at our friend Wendy's birthday party.

I pushed open the door to the private room and the scene hit me like a physical blow. Mark, lounging on a velvet banquette, with a girl nestled in his lap. She was young, her cheeks flushed as she tilted her head back, nibbling on one end of a cracker while Mark leaned in to bite the other. A stupid, intimate game.

The boisterous laughter in the room died the second they saw me. The air crackled with awkwardness.

Wendy jumped up, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the table with a strained smile. "Grace! You made it! My birthday wouldn't be complete without you."

I managed a weak smile back, handing her a gift. "Happy birthday, star."

The girl in Mark's lap turned bright red and tried to stand up, but Mark's arm tightened around her waist, holding her in place. "Where are you going, little one?" he murmured, his voice a low tease.

Her blush deepened as she shot him a playful glare.

Mark grinned, a wide, genuine smile full of an adoration I hadn't seen directed at me in years. He was completely captivated by the girl in his arms. It was a bitter pill to swallow, remembering when I was the girl in his arms, the center of his world. The sight was a knife twisting in my gut.

Wendy's voice was ice. "Mark, that's enough. Grace is right here."

Sam, one of Mark's closest friends, spoke up before he could. "Who's the one out of line here? She's the one who canceled the engagement without a word and just disappeared. You don't get to play games like that, Grace. If you didn't want to marry him, why the hell did you propose?"

He was right, in a way. Our engagement party was supposed to have been two weeks ago. The venue was booked, the invitations sent. But on the morning of, I'd left a single, breezy note—The world is too big, and I want to see more of it—and vanished. I'd only just returned to Seattle.

To them, I was the selfish one, the villain who broke his heart.

Fine. If that's the role they'd cast for me, I'd play it.

I gave a small, cool smile and slipped the engagement ring from my middle finger, placing it gently on the polished wooden table. My eyes met Mark's, his face an unreadable mask. "Mark," I said, my voice steady. "The engagement is off. Congratulations, you're free."

3

A collective gasp went through the room.

"Is she kidding?"

"Everyone knows she's crazy about him. She practically gave up her career to be a stay-at-home girlfriend when Mark's stomach issues got bad."

"She's just trying to get a reaction."

"Grace, you're twenty-eight. Are you really going to throw a fit over some meaningless fling? It's just how things are."

None of them believed me. Even Mark was looking at me with a flicker of amusement, a condescending smirk playing on his lips as if he were watching a child's tantrum.

I sighed internally.

I guess I really had been the doormat for too long. They'd all forgotten who I used to be.

The woman who never backed down.

"Mark," I said, my smile never reaching my eyes. "I'm twenty-eight. In your eyes, that obviously can't compete with a younger model."

The corner of his mouth ticked up in that infuriatingly smug way, daring me to lose control, to become the hysterical, crazy ex-girlfriend he wanted me to be.

In the two weeks I was gone, Mark hadn't called me once. Instead, he'd curated a perfect victim narrative on social media, posting photos of our empty apartment with captions about how quiet and lonely the house was. The comments section was a predictable sea of sympathy from his friends, all rushing to console him. It was almost funny. Men will always have each other's backs.

My smile widened, becoming brighter, sharper. "Don't worry, I'll survive without you. And by the way, a mature woman has something called allure. Do you even know what that is?" I leaned forward slightly. "A woman is like a fine wine; she gets better with age. And men? You peak at twenty-five and it's all downhill from there."

I paused, letting the words hang in the air before delivering the final blow.

"And Mark, a little secret? For the past few years… I've been faking it. Every single time. I'm done with the performance. I suggest you find a new leading lady."

I savored the look of pure shock on his face, threw him one last dismissive glance, and walked out of the room.

4

It took less than an hour to pack up my life with Mark.

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