The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 10

The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 10

“I confirm,” Julian said. His voice barely held.

The judge’s stamp came down. A small, quiet sound.

But I heard it.

Like a door locking from the inside. Finally.

10:26 a.m. I held the final divorce decree in my hands.

I slid it into my bag.

He watched me do it.

“Mara.”

I looked up.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a ring.

Mine.

He’d had it polished. It gleamed like new.

His voice was wrecked.

“Can I keep this?”

I looked at it.

When we first got married, I’d held that ring up to the light for him.

“Doesn’t it look like a tiny moon?”

“Don’t be childish,” he’d said.

I wore it through three years of dishes and dinners and drafting messages I deleted before sending.

I looked at him.

“Keep it if you want.”

His fingers closed around it, trembling.

He finally understood. The worst thing she could do to him wasn’t anger.

It was indifference.

Camille’s car was idling at the curb.

She rolled the window down and waved.

I turned to go.

Julian’s voice stopped me.

“What if I’d picked up that night?”

I stopped.

Wind stung my eyes. I didn’t turn around.

“There’s no what–if.”

“Julian, the phone rang nine times that night.”

I walked down the steps without looking back.

Camille looked at me as I climbed in. “Done?”

I nodded. “It’s done.”

The car pulled away from the curb and kept going.

In the rearview mirror, Julian was still standing there.

The ring in his hand, clutched like a moon that had already set.

I didn’t see him again for a long time.

Camille helped me move into a small apartment across town.

It wasn’t big, but the balcony caught the morning sun.

She showed up with a pothos plant. “These things are bulletproof. You literally cannot kill them.”

I laughed and told her she was being dramatic.

But the pothos did thrive.

So did I.

I started eating on schedule. Made every follow–up appointment. When I woke in the dark and reached across the empty bed, my hand didn’t go for my phone anymore.

At seven o’clock, I stopped waiting.

Some nights I was making pasta.

Some nights Camille and I watched movies.

Some nights I just sat on the balcony and watched the sky go dark.

Life could be whole without being scheduled around someone else.

Three months later, I ran into Julian outside a bookstore.

He’d lost weight. A lot of it.

His suit was still immaculate, but his eyes had lost that unshakable certainty.

He saw me and stopped mid–stride.

I had two books tucked under my arm. Camille was grabbing coffees next door.

Julian glanced at the books and said softly, “You always talked about opening a little bookshop.”

That caught me off guard.

He remembered that.

“Yeah. Just doing some research for now.”

He nodded. His mouth tried for a smile and didn’t make it.

“That’s good.”

Camille came back with two cups. She clocked Julian and her expression went cool.

“Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

As I passed him, he said, barely above a whisper, “Could I still call you? At seven?”

I paused.

A year ago, those words would have broken me open.

Now I just watched the streetlights flicker on along the road.

“Julian.”

“I don’t live by that clock anymore.”

Whatever small light was left in his eyes dimmed and went out.

I didn’t look back. Camille and I walked to the corner together.

Camille pressed the warm cup into my hand and bumped my shoulder.

“Fondue at seven. Don’t be late.”

I slowed for half a step.

Seven.

That number used to be a cage. Thirty minutes of permission to exist in Julian’s life.

Now it was just dinner with a friend.

I smiled. “Okay.”

Behind me, Julian stood at the bookstore entrance and watched me disappear into the crowd.

On his phone, the contact that once read “7:00 p.m. to 7:30 p.m.” had been changed back to my

name.

But he’d never get a call from me again.

And he would never again have the right to a single minute of my time.