Page 12 of The Billionaire's Distraction

Gratitude swelled so sharp in her chest it almost hurt.She whispered a silent thank-you, though Naomi couldn’t hear it.

When the boys had gone back home, Melissa reached into her worn purse and pulled out the small spiral notebook she’d bought yesterday.The edges were crisp and clean, the cover now bent after spending time in her purse, but the pages inside were slowly being filled with scratchy handwriting.It wasn’t much, but it was hers—her lifeline, her proof that she hadn’t imagined everything, that she wasn’t what Tom had painted her to be.

She clicked a pen and stared at the blank page.The words came slowly at first, her hand stiff from weeks of stocking shelves and carrying grocery bags.

April 10th.He told the court I’d screamed at the boys.That I’d thrown dishes across the room.It wasn’t true.I raised my voice once, after Jacob nearly darted into the street.I was terrified.I pulled him back, held him so tight I worried I might crush him.I was crying, not screaming.Tom twisted that emotion into rage.

Melissa paused, biting her lip, the memory cutting deep.

April 22nd.He said I couldn’t hold down a job.That I was erratic at school.The truth: I’d worked at the same school for twelve years.I mentored new teachers.I was nominated, twice, for teacher awards.The principal used to call me her ‘rock.’Until Tom whispered poison into her ear.

Her pen hovered, then pressed harder.

May 3rd.He told them I was unstable, that I was a danger to the boys.But I never missed a parent conference.I never missed a bedtime story.I was there every single day, even when I was exhausted from grading papers until midnight.How could they believe him?How could they believe a man who spent more nights in strip clubs than at home?

She stopped, her breathing ragged.But then she forced herself to continue.

Possible counters: Ask Naomi if she would testify, if she would speak about how the boys behave around me—versus how they behave with him.Find old colleagues: Mrs.Dugan, Mr.Reeves, even the student teachers I mentored.Someone must be willing to speak for me.Collect awards, certificates.Documentation.Something solid.

Her handwriting was messy, her hand aching after months of not writing anything, but the words poured out faster now.Each sentence was a crack in the cage Tom had built around her.

Melissa glanced up from the page, watching the fluffy clouds float across the bright, blue sky.

Her throat tightened and she wished she could still see her children, but this time, the tears that spilled over were not just grief.They were gratitude.Hope.

For the first time in months, she didn’t feel crushed.She felt…stronger.

She closed the notebook carefully, sliding it back into her purse.One day, maybe soon, those scribbled pages would be the foundation of her fight.

One day, she would get her boys back.

Chapter 8

“Callthebombsquad,”Tony commanded.“Everyone out.Protocol seven.”

For a moment, his team hesitated, their eyes darting to him as if to confirm that he was serious.Had they heard him correctly?Was this a test?Or a joke?

“Now!”Tony roared, the sheer force of it compelling them into action.Chairs scraped, papers scattered, keyboards clattered as his people bolted for the back door.

Tony hit the red button on the wall—a button no one dared touch.Sirens blared, a low wail reverberating through the underground halls as every server blinked and began its emergency cycle.Files encrypted, data streamed into the cloud, even though he hated that option.The cloud was too exposed.There were too many cracks in the armor.But this was the only way.He couldn’t risk losing the information on these servers.

The air thickened with urgency as he sprinted through the building, bellowing orders, shoving open doors, scanning rooms with a predator’s precision.All the rooms were empty.Good.He ran for the tunnel, the reinforced blast doors slamming shut behind him with deafening thuds, locking each corridor like a vault.

Sweat prickled at his temple as he burst into the second house, checking every room.Empty.Into the third.Empty.His lungs burned, but he kept moving, his mind cataloging every room, every shadow.

When he finally surfaced on the ground floor, he checked the GPA trackers.Gianna was already safe—nestled in Sal’s arms, Sal and Catarina were in a SUV that screeched away from the curb.

Tony exhaled once, sharply, then turned toward the threat.

The suspicious box sat silent and ordinary on the sidewalk, the stillness around it more terrifying than if it had been ticking.The bomb squad’s robot inched forward, metal arms extended, the men tucked behind armored screens, every movement deliberate and tense.

Tony’s eyes swept the scene.Across the street, the playground was clear.His guards had corralled the crowd to the far side of the green space, mothers clutching their children, wide-eyed and pale.The buzz of frightened voices carried on the wind.But there were too many gawkers.He scanned them quickly, instincts clawing—arsonists and bombers often returned to watch their destruction.Someone here had to be responsible.

Then he froze.

Naomi.

She wasn’t across the street on the safe side of the park.She wasn’t safe with the others.She washere, too close, her face stricken with horror.Her chest heaved as she pushed against the line of guards, frantic, tears streaking her cheeks.