The Billionaire's Angel Obsession

JULIE

“The surgery will only take a couple of hours,” I say to my husband, Tyler. We're both lying on stretchers, except Tyler looks sickly and anxious. “I'll be right here when it's over.”

As he coughs, his face crumples, and I can tell he's in excruciating pain. Stage four chronic kidney disease is no joke. The doctors say I'm the best match for a donor.

He reaches for my fingers and holds tightly, only managing a warm smile.

“Thank you, Jules,” he whispers. “For everything. I've been thinking.”

“About what?” I ask.

“Children.”

That stops me short, so I remain silent and pretend to listen.

Tyler chuckles lightly. “I know I said we weren't ready, but it would be nice to hold a baby, perhaps a boy, and you know? Keep the house alive. Remember when we were in foster care together, we promised to have a real family. When I get better, we could be complete. Everything will be alright.”

My heart gallops.

This was coming from the man who threw dishes because it didn't taste like yesterday's. He spent years secretly blaming me for missing a juicy job opportunity in London because of my miscarriage.

When Tyler fell sick, he seemed kinder, but asking for children after losing the last one was unbelievable.

Before I can respond, the attendants come through the door and announce it's time.

My feet keep shaking, and my breath becomes rapid as sweat pours down my forehead.

Inside the theater, the doctor places the anesthesia mask over my nose, and a sleepy sensation overwhelms me.

Six hours later, one of my kidneys is now in Tyler's body, giving him an extra chance at life.

Many of my coworkers send flowers and well-wishes, and surprisingly, so does the CEO of the company. Even though it's written by his secretary, the gesture feels awfully nice.

It takes another few days for me to be discharged before Tyler. He pleads for me to wait for him, but the stench of the ammonia and pills is too overwhelming.

At home, I do my best to clean up the place. I finally move to Tyler's home office, and a blue folder from an attorney's office catches my attention.

I open it. I don't know if it's the stress from pushing myself to be active, slowly draining my energy, or the first words I read: "Divorce Petition."

My knees buckle, and I grab a chair for support as I sink into it.

My fingers quiver as I flip through the pages; my name appears in all of it, and my eyes burn at the date it was filed, just days before I agreed to the donation.

So, he only stayed just to get my kidney.

What a fool I was to believe his lies.

Out of anger, I toss the document across the room, grabbing fistfuls of my dark hair.

“Why?!” I scream.

The pain starts to diminish as I pant in heavy breaths.

No more of this. I’m done.

So, I packed my things and left the house that we once shared for a smaller apartment. He calls my phone numerous times, but I don't answer, and when I do.

“I thought you were going to pick me up,” Tyler says, half-annoyed. “My friend had to come—”

“Whenever you're ready,” I interrupt. “I'll sign the documents. The one you've been hiding from me all this time.”

Tyler goes silent. Of course, he would.

He finally speaks with a strained voice. “I'm so sorry, Julie.”

“Why are you sorry?” I ask in disbelief. “This is what you wanted. You've won. You've taken fourteen damn years of my life and taken my kidney for a souvenir. Congratulations.”

I disconnect the call.

I stare numbly at the rain streaking down my windows. How does one recover from this situation? Why does God punish the ones he claims to love and reward the evilest of hearts, like Tyler, with mercy?

Why didn't I let him die?

Well, today I'm going take my life into my own hands.

The final divorce proceeding doesn't take more than a week. I don't get anything major out of it because of the prenup. I will be getting half the money from selling the house we bought together.

Back at work, I pretend not to notice my coworkers watching me strangely; the news of my divorce must have spread like wildfire. Thankfully, no one says anything.

Except while I'm in the bathroom stall, I hear Sylvia Carter, who has the third desk from mine, talking to someone.

“...heard she gave her kidney to her ex, who dumped her right after. So, last night, I saw him at the Olive Garden...”

I pause.

“With another woman,” Sylvia whispers.

The other ladies gasp in unison and excitement, while I glare at the door.

Drawing a deep breath, I storm out, and their cries die into an awkward silence as I wash my hands at the sink.

I bury myself with designing ideas for homes; there's an opening for a senior design artist, and I'm going to take the opportunity.

“Congratulations...” My supervisor told me one afternoon while I was in my cubicle.

My heart drums with excitement and anticipation.

“You've qualified for the position, Mrs. Alvarez-Demetri.” My supervisor says.

“It's just Demetri now.” I correct her.

She nods.

I smile with relief while I listen to the stakes involved. I have to compete with the other top three candidates to design beach homes, which will be judged by the board and the CEO.

“Oh, thank you so much for believing in me,” I tell her.

As the weekend approaches, the tension rises, especially because Sylvia has ties to the Board, and I do not. So I pour my heart into my drawing sheet, determined to defeat her.

Inside the beach house, I direct the workers on painting the walls and moving furniture when I hear an unfamiliar voice.

“Wow, everything looks so flawless here.”

I frown. “Sir, you can't be in—”

I turn around to see him, dark-haired, standing bare-chested and in blue swimming trunks and holding a surfboard. I widen my eyes.

Even some of the workers stop to watch him.

My cheeks burn pink. “Mr. McKnight, I'm so sorry; I didn't know it was you.”

Hunter McKnight flashes a warm smile at me. “I look like a beach bum, don’t I?”

I clench my teeth, staring awkwardly. “No, you do not.”

He snaps his fingers quickly as he shuts his eyes. “Julie Demetri, right? The kidney woman.”

He says it like it's my alter ego or something.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Glad to see you're okay, and just for you and your husband,” he says. “I donated some cash to the donor hospital.”

Even though it brought back a painful memory, I nod again. “That's very kind of you.”

Hunter leans in with a whisper. “Don't tell anyone, but my PR guy says goodwill is perfect for my portfolio.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he winks, quickly waves, and jogs out of the house and straight for the waves.

“Rich guys,” I shake my head.

Before I can get back to work, I catch a glimpse of Hunter getting wiped out by a wave, crashing into the ocean.

I step outside and grab the patio railing as my heart sinks.

“Come on, Hunter,” I whisper to myself.

Then I started counting, reaching thirty seconds, but Hunter didn't come up for air!