Claimed By The Billionaire Who Waited

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I spent seven years as Blake Warners dirty little secret.

The day his company finally went public, he walked onto the trading floor holding another woman's hand.

Gwen, I have to take care of her, he told me, his voice excruciatingly calm. Youre tough. Youve always been a survivor. Youll make it without me. But her? She only has me.

Adult breakups are supposed to be clean. Civil. Dignified.

But when my car finally pulled up to the driveway of the old family estate I hadnt seen in years, a familiar face was waiting under the porch light.

"Finally decided to come home?"

Chase stood there, his voice a cool breeze, though the grease-stained paper bag of warm cinnamon-sugar donuts he shoved into my hands was piping hot.

He leaned against the wooden railing, his eyes burning through the dark. "I've been waiting ten damn years for you."

The night before the IPO, Blake was relentless. He kept me awake until the sky turned a bruised, pre-dawn purple, pulling me into different positions on the mattress, desperate and feverish.

I was so exhausted I could barely move. I kicked him weakly beneath the sheets. "Tomorrow is your big day, not your execution. If you keep tearing me apart like this, how are we supposed to survive the rest of our lives?"

He had just stepped out of the bathroom, damp hair dripping water onto his shoulders. "What if I said we weren't going to survive it? Would you make a scene?"

"It's been seven years, Blake..." I propped myself up on my elbows, a sudden chill settling in my chest. "Are you out of your mind?"

Then the reality of his words clicked, and my breath caught. "Is there someone else?"

If this had happened seven years ago, I would have thrown myself at him, screaming, crying, begging for an explanation. But I was twenty-seven now. The fire had been replaced by a slow, freezing numbness.

I reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand and lit one. "What about the engagement party we planned? The deposit is already paid."

Blake reached down and took the cigarette from my fingers. "Don't start smoking. You know I hate it."

I watched him put the same cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. A sharp, suffocating ache bloomed behind my eyes. "Who is she, Blake? Who is she?"

Was she beautiful? Was her family wealthy enough to buy him the respect he had always craved? What did she have that gave her the right to steal the heart I had spent nearly a decade keeping alive?

A tear slipped down my cheek, betraying my forced composure. Blake frowned, looking more annoyed than remorseful. "Gwen, we're adults here. Let's not do the whole hysterical, tragic scene, okay?"

Blake had never been good at comforting me. In the beginning, when I actually let myself show anger, he would always wear this exact expressionthis strained, patronizing tolerance.

I hated it. So, I changed.

Over the years, he used to brag to his friends about me. My Gwen is so good, hed say. She doesn't throw tantrums or act needy like other girls.

But sitting on that bed, the truth finally tasted like ash.

Other girls threw tantrums because they had the security of being loved. They had safety nets. I was "good" because I had nothing else to lose. My reward for seven years of silence was being erased entirely, without so much as a proper goodbye.

I wiped my face, pulled myself out of bed, and began putting on my clothes.

Blake reached out and grabbed my wrist. I froze. The dim yellow light of the bedside lamp cast long, ugly shadows across his face, making him look like a stranger.

"Its barely four in the morning. Just wait. It's not safe to call an Uber right now."

His words were like a needle, piercing the very last pocket of softness left in my heart. I felt like a clown.

I wrenched my hand away, but he grabbed me again, his patience finally snapping. "Have you had enough? If you hadn't changed so much, do you think I ever would have looked at someone else? Gwen, why can't you just reflect on your own behavior for once?"

I almost laughed out loud.

He was the one who cheated. He was the one who broke every promise we ever made. Yet here he was, standing on his moral high ground, blaming me for turning into the woman his neglect had created.

The warmth inside me died. The tears stopped. I gently removed his hand from my wrist and quietly whispered, "Okay."

There was no point in arguing.

Blake had forgotten that beneath the quiet, compliant shell he had molded, I was still Gwen Taylor. I was born with a vicious temper, and I had never lacked the courage to cut my losses.

Seeing me calm down, Blake relaxed back into his usual detached, corporate persona. He began to talk about her.

"Her name is Cassidy Wells. Shes not even twenty yet. Shes sheltered, sweet, and incredibly innocent."

"I have to protect her. She wouldnt survive a day in my world without a proper title. She needs me."

"Gwen, youre street-smart. Youre a survivor. Youll make it without me. But her? She only has me."

His voice softened as he spoke her name, his sharp jawline relaxing in a way I hadn't seen in years. He looked exactly like the twenty-one-year-old Blake Warner who used to lean against his battered motorcycle, holding my hand.

Are you sure about this, Gwen? he had asked me back then. There's no future for a bastard child like me.

Later that day, he drove that motorcycle across the city, sold it for forty-eight hundred dollars, and rented our very first studio apartment.

We were so poor we could barely afford heat, but we were so full of love that the cold never touched us.

At six in the morning, Blake's phone rang. It was Cassidy.

"Blake, I had a nightmare," her voice whimpered through the receiver, sweet and fragile. "I dreamed you left me."

She sounded so small, so beautifully helpless.

Without a single word to me, Blake grabbed his coat and rushed out the door. Ten minutes later, a text popped up on my screen:

Take your time packing. I'm taking her to a hotel for a few days.

Try not to leave any of your things behind. If she sees them, she'll cry.

I stared at the screen, my hands trembling. Then, another text arrived:

If you ever need help, you can still call me.

We can still be friends.

My fingers tightened around the metal frame of my phone. The next second, I threw it against the drywall with every ounce of strength I had left.

Blake, you cruel, arrogant bastard.

How terrified were you that I wouldn't leave? How pathetic did you have to be to offer me the scraps of your "friendship" just to ease your own guilt?

We had only lived in this penthouse for two years, but as I packed, I realized how much of my life had accumulated in the corners.

Outside, a gray, relentless rain began to beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I stood on a chair, reaching up to peel the very last Polaroid off the memory wall.

A friend of Blakes had taken it years ago in a smoky, subterranean pool hall. Blake was leaning against a cue stick, exhaling a plume of gray smoke. I was standing next to him, my face flushed red from coughing.

He had laughed, his eyes dark and lazy. Gwen, this isn't a place for a good girl like you.

In response, I had grabbed the hem of his denim jacket, leaned in, and took a drag straight from his cigarette.

He had panicked, pinching my nose and forcing me to exhale, laughing as I coughed my lungs out in his arms. Blake, I had gasped through my tears, wherever you are, that's where I belong.

Back then, his mother had just died, and his wealthy father refused to acknowledge his existence. He was working security at that pool hall just to have a cot to sleep on.

A regular customer had taken our photo with a Polaroid camera that night. We couldn't afford dinners or gifts; that cheap piece of film was our only treasure.

My thumb brushed over my younger face in the photo. So young. So fierce. So willing to burn alive for him.

A twenty-one-year-old Blake had squeezed my hand and looked at that photo. Just wait, Gwen. I'm going to make it to the top. And when I do, I'm going to give you the biggest wedding this city has ever seen.

My new phone vibrated in my pocket. A contact from our old circle had sent me a video link.

In the video, Blake was standing in a VIP lounge, his arm wrapped tightly around a young girl with straight, dark hair. This is my girlfriend, Cassidy, he announced to the room. Take good care of her, guys.

Her face was young, but there was something disturbingly familiar about her.

The friend who sent the video texted: What's going on? Are you guys playing games again?

I stared at the screen, then slowly crumpled the Polaroid in my fist and tossed it into the trash bag.

No games, I replied. This time, it's over.

Once my suitcases were packed, I didn't just leave. I hired a high-end demolition crew and paid them triple to strip the penthouse bare.

Every custom sofa, every piece of Italian marble furniture, every light fixture I had picked outI sold them to liquidators for pennies or had them hauled to the dump.

I wanted to return the keys to a space that was white, hollow, and blindingly empty. Just like what he had left of my chest.

Before I could leave the city, the companys head accountant, Natalie, called me in tears. There was a discrepancy in the audit before the final SEC filing, and she couldn't resolve it without me.

My abrupt departure had left my former team pulling ninety-hour weeks to clean up the transition. I felt a pang of guilt. They hadn't done anything wrong. So, I agreed to go in one last time.

But when I swiped my card at the glass turnstiles of the corporate headquarters, the biometric scanner buzzed red. Access denied.

The young receptionist looked up, her eyes widening when she realized who I was without my heavy makeup and tailored power suits.

"Miss Taylor?" she stammered.

She escorted me up to the financial department personally. Before she left, she whispered, "Gwen... you look so beautiful today. You look so young with your hair down."

I had naturally soft, youthful features. But for seven years, I had dressed in razor-sharp stilettos and severe, dark blazers to help Blake command respect in boardrooms.

My feet ached so constantly I had forgotten what it felt like to walk on flat ground.

Natalie was waiting for me with a stack of ledgers. After we corrected the errors, she walked me back down to the lobby.

It was five o'clock, and the elevators were pouring out employees. Within seconds, a dozen of my former staff members surrounded me, their faces heavy with genuine regret.

"Gwen, it's not the same without you. The client from the Eastside project threw a fit this morning."

"Exactly. Without you leading the negotiation, we had to slash our margins by 5% just to keep them from walking."

I kept a polite, professional smile on my face, refusing to say a single negative word about Blake.

Adults leave quietly.

I had bled for this company. I had built its foundation from the ground up. Even if I was being discarded, I didn't want to burn down the house I had built.

During our first few years, Blake's father had planted corporate spies and hostile executives to sabotage us. I was the one who went to war, taking the hits in public while Blake quietly consolidated power behind the scenes.

It took us three years of absolute hell to purge his father's men from the board.

"Is this company really going to collapse just because we lost one Gwen Taylor?"

The cold, mocking voice cut through the lobby like a blade.

The crowd of employees instantly fell silent, parting to create a wide path.

Blake walked through the double doors, his fingers locked tightly with Cassidys. He glared at the gathered staff, his eyes dark with displeasure.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think Gwen was the one signing your paychecks." He raised an eyebrow. "If you miss her so much, feel free to submit your resignations and follow her out."

No one dared to breathe. In this building, Blakes word was absolute law. He had grown comfortable in his tailored Tom Ford suits, carrying himself with the ruthless authority of a man who answered to no one.

But none of them had expected him to kick out the woman who had put him on that throne the moment he arrived.

Cassidy tugged gently on his sleeve, her voice dripping with a soft, delicate innocence. "Babe... is this Gwen? She looks... different than I pictured."

Her eyes drifted down to my feet, and she gasped softly. "Oh! We have the same shoes..."

Blakes brow furrowed as he scanned me from head to toe.

It wasn't just the shoes. My camel trench coat and black baseball cap were from the exact same luxury designer.

When I had seen that video of Cassidy the night before, I knew she looked familiar. Seeing her in person, the truth was almost laughable.

She looked exactly like me at twenty. The same pin-straight, waist-length black hair. The same pale, clean skin. The same wide, quiet eyes.

A bitter smile touched my lips. Blakes taste in women really was incredibly consistent.

"Gwen, we agreed there would be no scenes," Blake said, his voice dropping into a warning register.

I let out a soft sigh. "I didn't seek her out, Blake. Believe whatever you want."

Cassidy bit her lower lip, looking terribly slighted. "But these boots just came out. Blake bought them for me two days ago as a special gift..."

I knew exactly what she was trying to imply.

But what she didn't know was that I was a black-card VIP at that boutique. The boots had been delivered to our penthouse before they even hit the retail floor.

In fact, Blake had been the one to sign for the package at our door.

I kept my mouth shut, waiting to see what he would do.

Blake made a sharp, clicking sound with his tongue, his fingers tapping against his thighhis signature tell when his patience was entirely exhausted.

"It's pathetic, Gwen."

"Why are you doing this to yourself? It's embarrassing."

"Go to the department store across the street and buy something else. Change out of those clothes."

He gestured to his secretary, who immediately handed him a leather checkbook. He unscrewed his fountain pen, his hand hovering over the paper. "How much do you want?"

"Give me a number. Lets make this a clean break so you don't have to keep pulling these desperate stunts."

Natalies grip on my arm tightened so hard it bruised.

My nails dug into the palms of my hands, breaking the skin. My chest tightened, my stomach twisting into a hard, painful knot.

"Blake," I said, my voice rising, vibrating with raw fury. "You think this is about money?"

Blakes expression turned to ice. "You gave me seven years. Think of this as severance. It's only fair."

Outside of our executive circle, very few people in the company knew the true nature of our relationship. We had kept it hidden in the early years to protect the company from his father's attacks.

Once the danger passed, Blake simply never brought up making us public again.

I had spent years imagining the day we would finally share our love with the worldthe congratulations, the shared smiles.

I never imagined that when the truth finally came out, it would be to paint me as a bitter, money-grubbing ex-employee who refused to let go.

Cassidy leaned her entire body against Blake's shoulder, looking up at him with adoration.

Even during our most intimate years, Blake had rarely held my hand in public, always claiming he wanted to keep "professional boundaries."

Yet here they were, Cassidys lips practically brushing his ear. "It's okay, babe. She doesn't have to change. I understand Gwen. When a man is as incredible as you, any girl would find it hard to let go."

She turned her wide, doe-like eyes to me. "I just feel so incredibly lucky. As long as you love me, Blake, nothing else matters."

Blakes gaze softened instantly. He leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her lips, right there in front of his entire staff.

Something inside me shattered into fine, sharp dust.

The words tasted like copper in my mouth. I watched him stroke Cassidys cheek, whispering, "You're so good to me. I won't let anyone make you feel small. I've got you."

I bit my lip until I tasted blood, using the physical pain to force my voice steady. "Fine. There is one thing I want."

Blake looked down at me, a smug, victorious smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Name your price."

I took two steps forward, reaching out until my fingers wrapped around the silver chain resting against his collarbone. Hanging from it was a hand-carved silver medallion.

The year his father had handed him that failing subsidiary, Blake had been terrified of failing. I had spent weeks working twenty-hour days, drinking myself into a stomach ulcer just to land the accounts that saved us.

The day we signed the contract, I collapsed and was rushed into emergency surgery for a ruptured ulcer.

That was the first time I had ever seen Blake look truly terrified.

He had sprinted through the hospital corridors, covered in mud and sweat from a fall on his way there. He looked worse than I did.

He had taken my hand, tears streaming down his face. Gwen, does it hurt? I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.

He stayed by my bedside for four days straight. As the anesthesia wore off, I kept calling his name in my sleep.

Every single time I called out, he answered. He didn't sleep; he barely drank water.

When I finally woke up, his voice was completely gone, his throat raw.

The nurse had smiled at me. While you were asleep, he never stopped talking to you. He kept telling you not to be afraid, that he was right here. He must love you very much.

He did love me. Once.

The day I was discharged, he disappeared for twelve hours. When he came back, his knees and forehead were scraped and bleeding.

But he had smiled like a fool, holding out two matching, hand-carved silver medallions of Saint Jude, the patron of lost causes. He had hiked up a steep, rocky trail to a remote mountain monastery to get them blessed.

They say if your lover places this around your neck, youll belong to each other for a lifetime, he had whispered, his hands shaking as he clasped the silver chain around my neck. Gwen, with this, well never be lost.

A lifetime.

It turned out a lifetime only lasted seven years.

The tears finally spilled over my lashes, hot and fast, as I looked Blake dead in the eyes. I watched the smugness in his expression slowly turn into a cold, hollow panic.

"I want this, Blake," I whispered. "Seven years of my life, paid in full with this."

I yanked the chain with everything I had.

He let out a sharp gasp of pain as the metal clasp snapped.

Originally, the medallion had been on a simple, sturdy cord. But as Blake grew wealthier, he had insisted on replacing it with a heavy gold chain.

More expensive. But far more fragile.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my own matching silver medallion.

Seeing them both in my hands, Blake reached out, his voice suddenly desperate. "Gwen, don't"

But it was too late. I threw both silver medallions onto the polished marble floor with all my strength.

The silver struck the stone with a sharp, echoing clatter, rolling into the dark corners of the lobby.

A broken mirror can never be made whole.

"Goodbye, Blake."