I Forgot The Billionaire Who Came For Revenge

The diagnosis had a nameCerebral Small Vessel Diseasebut to me, it was just the timer on my life.
The selective cognitive impairment had done its damage during my teaching assignment, wiping out everything about the person I'd loved the most.
Then one day, the past barreled into the present. Beckett Thornethe ex-boyfriend Id cruelly walked out onroared up to the muddy, makeshift schoolhouse in a gleaming, mud-splattered Range Rover.
He looked at my chapped, wind-burned face, my rough hands, and let out a laugh that was pure, triumphant venom.
"Living out here in the middle of nowhere, smelling of kerosene and dirt. Is this what they call karma, Willow? Payback for chasing money and dumping the guy who couldn't afford a decent meal?" His eyes narrowed, burning with five years of stored-up malice. "Judging by the look of you, you're regretting that decision right about now. Come on, beg me to take you back."
I just stared at him, bewildered, my hand still gripping a stack of smeared student papers. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"Faking it? Go on, Willow. Keep the performance going. Five years, and your talent for acting has only gotten sharper." He kicked a nearby cinder block, sending it skittering into a pile of coal dust. His jaw was so tight I could hear his teeth grind.
1
A spark of understanding lit up my confusion. "Oh! I know..." I rubbed my hands together awkwardly, a little light dawning in my eyes. "Dressed like that, you must be a kind benefactor, here for a donation!"
I fumbled away, heading back into the shed we called an office, to grab the ceremonial "Thank You" scrollmade from cheap, faded red construction paper.
I carefully shuffled back out, holding the rolled paper like it was solid gold. "Sir," I said, offering it to him. "This is a certificate of appreciation. Thank you so much for the supplies for the kids."
He stared at the wobbly, handwritten calligraphy on the red paper.
"Willow, five years ago, your handwriting didn't look like chicken scratch. You used to cry in my library because you couldn't get the lines straight."
The words meant nothing to me. I just shifted the scroll forward again. "Sir? My arm is getting tired."
He let out a harsh, cutting laugh, snatched the paper, and ripped it down the middle with a vicious tear.
"You're playing games, Willow. You had plenty of spine when you told me you were leaving me for the money. Remember that?"
Before I could try to explain my confusion, the passenger door of the Range Rover opened. A pair of stiletto heelsgleaming crimson leatherstepped down, crushing the fragments of the 'Thank You' scroll.
Sienna emerged, pinching her perfect nose with one manicured hand as she surveyed the mud and dilapidation. "This is the place you were talking about, Beckett? Honestly, it smells like a farmyard."
Beckett pulled her against him, resting his hand possessively on her hip, his gaze challenging me. "Look closely, Willow. This is my fiance, Sienna. Younger. Prettier. Take a good look at yourself. What exactly do you have left to compare to this?"
I watched the beautiful woman they called Sienna, then glanced back at Beckett. It made no sense. It had nothing to do with me. I turned away, found a stiff straw broom, and started sweeping up the paper fragments, too busy to deal with this bizarre pair.
The paper had soaked into the mud. I had to scrape at it with my fingernail. I whispered a small, familiar mantra to myself: The red paper is lucky. Pieces bring peace. "I can dry it out," I mumbled. "We can still use the scraps to make art projects for the windows."
Beckett's breath hitched, loud and ragged. He stormed over and deliberately planted his expensive leather boot right on the paper I was reaching for.
"Willow! Do you find this amusing? I am talking to you! Stop playing deaf!"
I looked up at his gleaming boots, then back at the ruined paper.
What a waste.
Sienna saw the storm building in him and fanned her nose exaggeratedly. "It's a mess, Beckett. I can't even find a clean spot to stand." She pointed to a small, worn cloth backpack lying in the road. "Look at this trash. Is this what passes for cleanliness around here?"
He barely glanced at it before kicking it violently.
"Get this junk out of the road! Is this the quality of your school?"
The little bag flew through the air, scattering pencils and tattered notebooks across the mud.
"My bookbag!" Little Lily, one of my third graders, burst into tears as she ran up and saw the mess.
Right then, Finn charged. He might have the mind of a child, but hes fiercely protective.
"Bad man! Don't hurt Lily!"
Sienna, already wobbly in her stilettos, was knocked off balance by Finns desperate shove and pitched headlong into the muck.
"My suit!" Sienna shrieked, scrambling to her feet, her face speckled with mud.
Beckett completely lost it. He grabbed Finn by the collar, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fist.
"How dare you! A simpleton like you touches my fiance?"
Finn didn't understand the words, but he understood the malice. His face contorted, and the small hand-axe he used for kindling shot up above his head.
If Finn hurt anyone, he'd be locked up for life. I didn't think. I threw myself forward, wrapping my arms around Finn's uplifted, axe-gripping arm.
"Finn! Stop! Put it down! Listen to me!"
The fury in Finns eyes slowly dissolved into a wounded whimper. I sagged with relief, then spun back toward Beckett, bowing over and over.
"Please, sir, don't be angry! He's developmentally disabledhe doesn't understand! Please, don't hold it against him, punish me instead!"
Beckett's fury burned hotter seeing me so desperate.
"Fine, Willow. You really are something." He spat the words out. "You'll throw away your dignityrisk your neckfor a fool, but you wouldn't do it for me? You were so proud a minute ago, so dismissive."
He laughed, a cold, dangerous sound. Then he turned to his assistant.
"Get the convoy on the horn. Lock down the supply truck. Not one pound of grain, not one piece of coal, gets unloaded!"
"Since this dump is so 'noble,' they can figure out how to survive the winter on moral high ground!"
To save the winter supplies, I cleared out the small, single-room barracks I called home.
Beckett sat on my rickety cot, layering several old newspapers beneath him in disgust. Sienna fussed with her makeup, complaining constantly.
"This place is awful, Beckett. Not even hot water. Let's just go, I can't stay another minute."
Beckett ignored Sienna, his eyes locked on me.
"You wanted to atone? Go cook." He pointed to the corner kitchen setup. "It better be edible. Or the supplies stay locked up."
I nodded, turning toward the makeshift kitchen crammed into the corner. All I had was a bag of sprouting potatoes and a half-jar of dried beans. I struggled to get the woodstove going; the smoke burned my eyes and throat, but I kept going. I couldn't risk a delay.
Thirty minutes later, I brought two plates in. Just roasted potatoes. I hadn't controlled the heat well, and the skins were charred black, like lumps of coal.
I placed the plates on the three-legged table, my hands trembling. "Sir, this is all I have... please, just try to eat something."
Sienna gasped, clutching her mouth dramatically.
"Oh my God. Is that even human food?"
"Willow, are you doing this on purpose? Trying to gross us out with this pig slop?"
With a dramatic flourish, she slapped the table, shattering the plates. The charred potatoes tumbled to the muddy floor, picking up dirt and stray straw.
"Sir, it's not pig slop! It's still good, you cant waste food!" I crouched down to retrieve a potato.
"You think its not wasted? If you think it's so good, you eat it," Sienna challenged. "Pick it up and eat it right now, and Ill believe you!"
I opened my mouth, lifting the dirty potato toward my lips.
A hand shot out, striking my wrist hard, knocking the potato away. It hit the wall and broke apart.
Beckett stood over me, his chest heaving.
"Are you that pathetic, Willow? Are you really that desperate for those few supplies? Youd eat dirt for money, wouldn't you?"
His shouting made my ears ring. I didn't understand. He told me to eat it. Why was he angry now that I tried? Moneyed people were impossible to figure out.
He took a deep, ragged breath, regaining control. Then he pointed to his boot.
"Clean my shoes." He extended his foot. "If they arent spotless, I'm pulling the funds right now."
A tiny smear of potato mud was on his expensive black leather boot.
I knelt down, trying to wipe the boot. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. The tremors grew worse.
He noticed, but his expression was still cruel.
"Willow, when you walked away from me, did you ever imagine this moment? This is your penance."
I pressed my quivering wrists together, trying to stop the tremors.
Don't shake, don't shake. Please, just hold still. Clean the shoes. The children need the heat.
Becketts foot suddenly pulled back.
"Enough!" He bent down, gripping my chin, forcing me to look up. "Do you remember these boots, Willow?" His voice was thick with repressed emotion. "You told me youd marry me the day I could afford a pair like this. I knelt in front of you then, swearing Id make it. Are you thinking about that now, kneeling here?"
I desperately tried to focus my eyes, to connect this handsome, angry man with any kind stranger I might have known. The harder I looked, the more foreign his face became.
I was terrified of him getting angry and leaving without the supplies. I whispered, "Big Boss... If theyre not clean enough, Ill start over."
"Big Boss?" His laugh was a choked gasp of disbelief. "We were together for five years. You slept in my bed for five years. And now Im 'Big Boss'?"
He believed I was using this feigned ignorance to inflict a final, deep wound. Hed have preferred hatred or rage. He grabbed my collar, pulling tight until I choked.
"Im sorry, sir... I truly don't know you... I just need the coal... please, give us the coal..." I shoved at his chest, desperate to escape.
The door slammed open. Finn rushed in. He saw Beckett holding me, saw my pain.
"Let go of Ms. Willow!"
Finns strength was terrifying. His fist connected with Beckett's face, hard. Beckett stumbled back, a line of blood instantly appearing at his mouth.
But Beckett was trained. He recovered instantly, striking Finn with a brutal counter-punch to the stomach. Finn doubled over, collapsing. The bodyguards rushed in, pinning Finn to the ground.
Beckett wiped the blood from his lip, his eyes lethal.
"You hit me? Perfect. Tie the idiot up! Call the local sheriff! Assault with a deadly weaponthat's a few years he can spend in a cell!"
I didn't hesitate. I slammed my head against the concrete floor. Hard.
"Sir! Please! Don't arrest him! He's not responsible! It's my fault, I should have watched him!"
"Please, just let him go! Punish me however you want!"
A searing pain shot through my skull. A warm, viscous liquidbloodtraced a line down my forehead, blurring my vision. I didn't dare wipe it away; I just kept knocking my head.
Beckett froze, watching the blood stream down my pale face. His rage didn't diminish; it became a white-hot fury fueled by my self-sacrifice.
"Willow, you are incredible... I knelt in the pouring rain, begging you not to leave, trampling my dignity just for one glance back. And you walked away easily! Now, for this imbecile, youll split your head open?"
...
"You win, Willow... You want to save him?" Becketts eyes were raw. "Fine. Ill give you a chance."
The rain intensified. Beckett stood at the doorway, pointing to the flatbed truck outside, loaded high with coal. Rain hit the black tarp, creating a misty haze.
"That's about three tons of coal." He looked me straight in the eye. "You. Alone. Move every bag of it into that warehouse."
"If it's not done before sunrise, the idiot goes to jail, and the supplies are gone."
Finn, gagged and tied, was crying and shaking his head, his tears washing clean tracks in the dirt on his face.
I climbed onto the truck, hoisted a heavy sack of coal to my shoulder, and began to move.
One bag. Two bags. Three bags...
Every step was a fight against gravity and my own failing body. My breath came in short, painful gasps, but I couldn't stop.
If I stop, I won't get up again. If I stop, Finn goes to jail. If I stop, the children freeze.
Beckett stood under the eaves, chain-smoking, his eyes glued to my figure in the downpour. A cigarette burned down to his fingers before he even noticed.
Sienna, standing next to him, was starting to look genuinely frightened.
"Beckett... maybe that's enough." She whispered. "She looks like shes going to collapse. She could really die out here."
"Shut up. This is an act! Shes trying to manipulate me! She wants me to soften! I won't!"
...
I told myself: Just a little further. You can do this, Willow. Almost halfway. Almost...
The back of my mind felt like it was being drilled. My limbs grew heavy, numb. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, trying to use the pain to stay present.
I tried to stand, but my legs wouldnt obey. My consciousness receded into a dizzying blackness. I crashed, the coal sack landing on top of me, into the mud.
The last thing I heard was Finn's agonizing, muffled scream.
...
"Willow! Get up! Stop playing dead!" Beckett threw his cigarette and sprinted toward me, cursing under his breath.
He saw my ashen face and blue lips and his hands started to tremble.
"Willow! Willow!"
He scooped me up. As he lifted me, several small, white, unlabeled pill bottles tumbled out of my soaking-wet shirt pocket. They hit the stone path with a sharp, chilling clink.

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