My Second Chance with A Billionaire

It was raining outside, and I stared at the screen, clicking straight into the hot forum thread—"The apocalypse hits, and you can only take two people with you. Who do you pick?" The vote count for the "frumpy wife" option stayed at zero the whole time. My chest tightened, and I quickly typed a new post: "Same question, if the apocalypse really came, would you ditch the 'frumpy wife' at home?" Attached the original post's link and sent it. Refreshing the page, replies instantly flooded in: "You are nuts? Who'd bring a useless cook anyway?" "Exactly! My husband said ages ago, if shit hits the fan, he'd save his mom and kid first and let me fend for myself." A DM notification popped up from Lydia Miller, whose profile pic was a red rose: "Fiona, are you mad at Mr. Shaw or what, posting stuff like this?" She's the girl Henry Shaw saved in his phone under "Lydia." I've seen her photo—big eyes, and when she smiles, she looks like a harmless little cat. Before I could even reply, Henry's phone blew up. "Fiona Scott! What the h*ll kind of post did you put up?" His shout was so loud it made my eardrums hurt. "It was just a discussion post." I moved the phone farther away from me. "Discussion?" He was furious, "Do you even know what everyone at the company's saying? That I'm bad to my wife—are you trying to ruin me?" "Ruining you?" I smiled at the empty living room. "Henry Shaw, do I really have that kinda power?" "Just wait!" He hung up the phone in a rage. Half an hour later, the door lock clicked, and Henry stormed in with his briefcase. "Delete that post! Delete it right now!" "Why delete it? Everyone was just telling the truth." I kept my hands on the keyboard. "The truth?" He turned and glared at me, eyes freezing cold. "Fiona Scott, look at you right now—dressed like a maid, hair all messy. What else do you do besides cook?" "I can, and it's not just cooking." I stood up, half a head shorter than him, but didn't lower my head. "What else can you do? Post online begging for sympathy?" He sneered, "Cut out the childish tricks, just live your life like a decent person." "My life?" I repeated, suddenly finding it ridiculous, "Henry Shaw, my life is just watching you take different women out for dinner and movies, then waiting for you to come home late at night?" "That's just business!" His face changed, then he straightened up, "Fiona Scott, don't cause trouble without a reason." "Does business involve hugging and touching? Does business mean handing out limited edition bags?" I grabbed a stack of photos from the drawer and tossed them in front of him. In the photos, he had his arm around Lydia Miller at the mall, and when he tried the necklace on her, his eyes were full of tenderness. His Adam's apple bobbed as he bent down to pick them up. "It's a misunderstanding, she's a client's daughter. I was just helping out," he said. "Misunderstanding?" I crouched down, held his hand, and played the recording on my phone. Lydia's sweet voice came through: "Mr. Shaw, when are you gonna divorce that frumpy wife of yours? I can't wait anymore." Henry's face immediately turned purple, and he jumped up, slamming the photos onto the floor: "Fiona Scott! You actually dared to dig into me?" "I just want to know if the home I've been holding onto is even worth it." I slowly stood up, looking at the scattered photos. "Looking at it now, it's not worth it." "Fiona, I know I've been ignoring you lately—that's on me." He suddenly softened his tone. "Don't call me Fiona." I cut him off. "It sounds gross coming from you." He clenched his fists and finally slammed the door as he stormed into the study. I closed the post on my computer; deleting it didn't even matter anymore. I wasn't after sympathy from strangers, just my own clarity.