The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 08

The Billionaire Who Timed My Love And Gave Hers For Free Chapter 08

That night, for the first time, Julian sat at the dining table and waited.

Seven o’clock came. His phone stayed silent.

Seven–ten. No message.

Seven–thirty.

The window he’d rationed out to me like charity came and went with nothing in it.

He stared at the phone and typed:

[Mara. I’m here. I’m waiting.]

A red exclamation mark appeared beside the message.

He stared at it until something in his chest buckled. The sound that came out of him wasn’t quite a

laugh.

By the time it stopped, he couldn’t breathe.

He went to the study.

Everything was still on the keyboard where I’d left it.

The ring. The records. The test results. The ultrasound.

He hadn’t been able to look at them properly the night before. They’d felt impossibly light for

something so heavy.

This time he read to the last line. “Patient emotionally distressed. Family presence recommended.”

That night, her family had been holding another woman’s drink.

The edge of the paper sliced his fingertip. He barely felt it.

Underneath the medical records, a cream–colored notebook.

No name on the cover.

Just one line of small handwriting: “If there isn’t enough time at seven, write it down first.”

Julian read that line and couldn’t swallow.

He opened it.

March 12. Year one.

“Made his favorite chicken soup today. At seven he said I had twenty minutes and to get to the point.

So I didn’t say anything.”

June 27. Year two.

“102 fever. Doctor asked where my family was. I checked the time. Four more hours until seven.

August 10. Year three.

“Stomach pain so bad I couldn’t stand. Knocked on his study door. He said my time was up. Turns out even pain has to wait in line.”

The last page. The handwriting was barely there.

“Day 1,095. I have nothing left to say to him.”

Julian stared at that line.

He didn’t move for a long time.

He finally understood that I hadn’t left all at once.

I’d been leaving for years. One less word a day. One less minute of waiting. One less piece of love I

could afford to give.

Until there was nothing left to take.

His phone lit up.

Sloane.

[Mr. Whitmore, are you upset with me because of Mara? I can talk to her if that helps.]

For the first time, seeing my name in Sloane’s mouth made him flinch.

He called her.

Sloane picked up fast, voice already quivering.

“Mr. Whitmore, what did I do wrong? I just… I lean on you too much, I know that.”

Lines like that used to work on him every time.

Sloane made him feel needed.

And I’d been too easy to take for granted.

So agreeable he forgot I could bleed.

He closed his eyes.

“Going forward, keep everything strictly professional. Don’t contact me outside of work hours.”

Silence on the line.

“But you told me I never had to watch the clock with you.”

Julian’s face drained.

Word for word: the same thing I’d overheard from behind the living room door.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said quietly. “That was a line I crossed.”

The line went dead quiet.

Julian hung up and moved Sloane’s number into his work contacts.

Then he pulled up my contact.

The contact name still read: 7:00 p.m. to 7:30 p.m.

He deleted it. One character at a time.

Then typed: Mara.

He hit save and the emptiness of the gesture hit him in the same breath.

Changing a label didn’t bring a person back.

At ten, the lawyer texted.

[Mr. Whitmore, Ms. Langley requests that you sign promptly. If you continue to refuse, we’ll proceed with filing.]

He replied:

[I want to see her. One more time.]

The response came fast.

[Ms. Langley says that won’t be necessary.]

Julian stared at the message, and a memory surfaced before he could stop it.

I’d been standing at his study door, holding a glass of milk. “Can you just listen to me for a second?”

He hadn’t even looked up.

“That won’t be necessary.”

He’d never known how much those words could cut until they were pointed at him.