The Divorced Wife And Her Billionaire

The heavy door clicked shut, and Aurora stepped out onto the bustling Manhattan pavement. She gripped the handle of her suitcase.

The crisp autumn sun hit her face. Without the invisible, suffocating chains of the Huffman family dragging her down, her legs felt incredibly light.

She walked three blocks until she found a Chase Bank.

She sat at the teller's window, slid her ID under the glass, and asked to close out the only independent checking account in her name.

The teller typed rapidly on her keyboard. A moment later, she slid a cashier's check across the counter. "Ms. Valdez, after the closing fees, your total is $15,230."

Aurora stared at the number. This was the secret stash she had scraped together over five years, saving pennies from her grocery allowance while playing the role of a billionaire's wife.

To the Huffman family, fifteen grand wouldn't even cover the cost of a limited-edition handbag.

But to Aurora, right now, it was her entire life. It was the foundation of her dignity.

She folded the check carefully and tucked it into the deepest zipper pocket of her wallet, pressing it flat against her chest.

She walked out of the bank. With the tension finally draining from her muscles, her stomach let out a loud, hollow growl.

She hadn't eaten a hot, decent meal since she was discharged from the rehab center.

She dragged her suitcase down the sidewalk, wandering aimlessly until she turned onto a quiet, tree-lined street in Greenwich Village.

A rich, heavy scent of roasted meat and rosemary drifted out of a storefront and caught her attention.

She looked up. A rustic wooden sign hung over the door: The Rusty Anchor - Artisanal Bistro.

The outside was low-key and inviting. Through the glass windows, she could see warm yellow lights and a long, polished oak bar.

She pushed the heavy door open. A brass bell chimed brightly above her head.

The bistro was mostly empty. Soft, slow jazz played from the speakers. The atmosphere instantly loosened the tight knot in her shoulders.

A heavy-set man with a thick beard and a linen apron walked up to her. He was Gus, the manager.

"Welcome in. Just one?" Gus handed her a handwritten menu. His smile was as warm as an old friend's.

Aurora nodded. She picked a dimly lit booth in the far corner, near the window. She shoved her suitcase deep under the table to hide it.

She studied the menu and ordered the signature slow-roasted short ribs and a glass of sparkling water.

Gus noticed the scuffed suitcase under the table. With typical New York bluntness, he asked, "Just moving to the city, or heading out?"

The corners of Aurora's mouth lifted. Her eyes were bright. "Starting over."

Ten minutes later, a sizzling plate of meat was set in front of her. The smell was intoxicating.

She cut a small piece of beef and put it in her mouth. The meat melted instantly. The rich, savory flavor exploded on her tongue.

She closed her eyes. She let herself sink into the feeling. It was her first meal in five years where she didn't have to worry if the salt level was exactly to Conrad's liking.

While she was eating, the slatted wooden doors leading to the kitchen swung open.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out. He was wearing a dark navy, perfectly tailored suit. He was casually rolling up his sleeves, exposing strong, veined forearms.

Gus immediately rushed over to him. His friendly tone shifted into deep respect. "Boss, what are you doing here today?"

The man's voice was low, magnetic, and carried a natural weight. "Just checking the ledgers. And hiding out for a bit."

In the corner booth, Aurora's fork stopped halfway to her mouth. Her heart skipped a violent beat. That voice.