Billionaire, Let's Divorce!

His phone lit up and Bella's call came in again. His hand left my shoulder as he immediately picked call and that was my cue to leave.

up the

I stepped out of the car. Through the car's winded down mirror, I saw him trap the phone between his ear and shoulder and simultaneously inserted the key in the ignition.C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

A few seconds later, he dropped his phone and faced me, his hands were already gripping the steering wheel, ready to zoom off to his lover.

"This Sunday is your father's birthday party. Wait for me at home, we'll leave together!" He finished. Then he wound up his mirror and sped off.

I watched in annoyance, irritation and disgust as his car swiftly disappeared into the dark of the night.

"Get lost you asshole! I flinched as Grace's shout suddenly resounded in the night, I couldn't stop the grin that marred my lips as she came forward and continued to curse at him.

"You're disgusting! Go on. Go to your lover's bed!" Grace screamed into the night. By now, Mark's car was just a tiny light at the end of the tunnel.

"Relax, girl," I giggled and shook my head, "he definitely cannot hear you."

"He can," she murmured, then turned to me, concern filled her eyes. "Are you okay?"

I scoffed, "Why won't I be?"

"Don't be fooled by his sweet talks, okay? He'll only break your heart."

I laughed, "Mark doesn't sweet talk." I remembered the way he had gone mellow when he was speaking with Bella. "At least not with me," I added. "So you don't have to get all sentimental. There's no way he would break my heart with his sneers and shouts."

"Then he should keep sneering."

We both laughed. She wove her arms around my shoulder and we both strutted back toward the entrance of the bar.

Grace sighed by my side, her warm breath softly tickled my ear. "It's a pity, we didn't get to see that handsome Italian guy again."

"Hmm..." I murmured.

Then she chirped, an hopeful rise to her tone, "But it doesn't matter. I asked the bartender about him and he said the guy owns this bar so we'll definitely see him if we frequent here."

I skidded to a stop almost causing Grace to stumble forward. I had been half listening to her talk about the Italian guy but my ears had perked up when she said he owned the bar.

I turned to her, excitement built in me, overshadowing the glint of fear. "The Italian guy is the owner of the bar?"

Grace bobbed her head, "Yes, what's up?"

"I got his card," I blurted without any preamble.

"Shut up!" Grace's eyes widened and she drew back.

"I'm serious," my heart was beating faster than normal and my hands shook, whether from excitement or fear, I couldn't fathom.

My shaky hands slid to my skirt's back pocket and I pulled it out. "Are you talking about this owner?"

Together we examined the card: Luigi Matteo. His name, an Italian name, was right there along with his contact information. The look of disbelief on Grace's face as she gasped caused my heart to swell with pride.

"Babe," she drawled loudly and punched me lightly on the shoulder. I wobbled back a little, grinning. "How did you pull that?" Yeah, how did I pull that? No. The question should be 'how did he pull that?"

I shrugged, my lips curled into a smug smile.

"I underestimated you, girl. You still have it in you, huh?" She wiggled her brows, "Hooking such a handsome hunk so quickly."

I giggled as she put her arm back around my shoulder and pulled us toward the bar. "Now let's go see if your catch is still in there."

My steps were hesitant. Grace was this excited because she didn't know what I knew. I wondered, as we strolled back in there, if I should tell Grace what had happened the first time I met Luigi. How he had pressed his gun at my back and made me take care of his bullet wound but I decided against it.

Though I made a mental note to always stay alert. For me and for Grace. He might seem like an ordinary guy who owned a striving bar but he was much more. An ordinary bar owner wouldn't be sporting a bullet wound or breaking into people's houses and scaring them with a gun.