The Billionaire's Second Chance

  The Billionaire’s Second Chance

  Henley Maverick

  Contents

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Also by Henley Maverick

  To Jolie and Hendrix,

  for being such powerful characters.

  Copyright © 2019 by Henley Maverick

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  Time felt endless.

  It was almost as if she was caught in a cycle, a loop playing on repeat. Life was suddenly like one of those old records with a scratch that kept repeating the same line, no matter how many times it started over; always fixated on the same flaw, the same error. She remembered what it felt like to hear her father reminisce about the time of the record player—a gramophone. Even the name sounded exotic, like it belonged to a different time.

  Her father had always said that radios, speakers, and sound systems were nothing compared to the gramophone, the rich and authentic way it rang out. He had even managed to hang onto the one her grandfather had, kept it in pristine condition. Whenever he’d play it in the house, she would be transported back in time, back to when she was a kid and life was simpler.

  Jolie had no idea why she was remembering all of this now. The particular memory had been relegated to the back of her mind, left to collect cobwebs until she dusted it off and took it out into the sun. Now, her brain decided to latch onto it, today of all days.

  It wasn’t an ideal time, not by a long shot. If anything, it was just plain shitty. Though she supposed that could be why her subconscious presented her with that particular memory, one she held close to her heart. It was to counteract the horror show that had become her day-to-day existence. Listening to the gramophone with her father, sitting across from him, watching him as his eyes squeezed shut and witnessing the expression of pure bliss etched onto his features. The wistful smile that would inevitably follow stayed with her, all reminded her of the last time she was truly happy.

  It felt so long ago now, too long ago, another life, one that was on a different timeline and belonged to another person altogether. Jolie folded in around herself, as if that would somehow make her smaller, or disappear all at once, and a small whimper escaped her lips in spite of her best effort to hold it in.

  How had her life taken such a drastic turn? She was once one of the most popular girls in college, with a doting father, great friends, and the campus hunk. With her sun-kissed skin, long, golden, curly locks and emerald green eyes with flecks of gold, she was the epitome of Homecoming Queen. She’d led an enchanted life, one she was grateful for. The only blip on her radar had been the man in her life at the time, her longtime boyfriend, Kyle Walsh. Now all that was gone.

  Jolie wished she could travel back in time, prayed for it so often it felt embedded in her bones. She was young and foolish back then, oblivious to the signs that were pulsing like neon lights atop his forehead, warning her of the danger that lay ahead. But she ignored it, plunged forward, and thought that she could make the most out of a bad situation.

  At eighteen, she believed, like most young girls, that she could change the man she loved; fix him, and inspire him to become a better human being. Steadfastly, she held onto that notion, even from a very young age, that she should never turn her back on someone who needed her, and Kyle had fit the profile. He’d been damaged when they first met and it seemed so endearing to her, his cry for help tugged on her heartstrings. Convinced her that she could be the one to save him, to be his knight in shining armor.

  Oh, how wrong she’d been.

  She’d been enamored with him; his perfect smile, those dark brown eyes that held her gaze steadily, and his quiet demeanor. Looking back now, she realized that he had stayed quiet to mask what lay beneath the surface, a calm veneer housing the monster within. She remembered it so clearly now, the first time she saw a burst of his anger, like a firecracker, sudden and crackling. She’d been startled but hadn’t done anything because it was gone as quickly as it came. He had convinced her he was just having a bad day. It was years before she witnessed something similar, his anger had been reigned in.

  From then on, she noticed the warning signs, the ones that indicated that he was about to erupt; the way his mouth would press into a thin line, the slight tick in his jaw. And the way his eyes blackened, turning into a fathomless pit, an abyss from which there was no return. Still, he kept his anger in check, and she was able to push it to the back of her mind, especially when he bonded with her father, the only man to ever do so.

  Back then, Kyle was over at her house most days, the sound of his voice intermingling with her fathers as they bellowed for the same team. It had warmed her to see her father take to him so well and she was convinced that, if Kyle had a more stable home life when he was younger, he wouldn’t feel so angry about trivial things all the time.

  By the time she realized Kyle’s true nature, it was too late. Her father was on his deathbed, dying a slow and painful death, cancer eating away at him. His last request was for her to marry Kyle. She’d hesitated, thinking of another man at that moment, one she’d developed unexpected feelings for, in spite of her best attempts not to.

  Hendrix’s face popped in her mind’s eye but she’d pushed it away, guilt coursing through her veins. She hadn’t done anything, but just the fact that she was in love with him was enough. She had no idea when she’d stopped loving Kyle but she did accept it as a fact, even though she hadn’t acted on it.

  Still, she didn’t have the heart to say no, not when her father had pleaded her to do it. So, against her better judgment, and in spite of the way her heart contracted painfully in her chest at the thought of being separated from Hendrix, she’d said yes.

  Now, here she was, three years later, still paying for the lapse in judgement, for not having had the courage to stand up to her father and say no. Jolie’s life had gone downhill from there.

  Suddenly, the world around her shifted back into focus, and she winced in pain as Kyle landed another blow to her gut, this one even more painful than the last, more merciless. One eye peaked open, staring at his face, his once handsome features twisted into something feral and inhuman, as his eyes blazed with anger. His hands were curled into fists at his side and he reeked of alcohol.

  Jolie’s eyes squeezed shut, hoping that if she couldn’t see what was happening, then somehow she wouldn’t feel it, that she’d just wither away and disappear. She shifted slightly, hoping to keep the blows away from her liver so that he wouldn’t damage it again.

  The last time he’d hit her that hard, she’d had to rush to the ER and the doctor had warned her about the extensive damage done to her liver. She’d stumbled over an excuse, her face aflame with shame and embarrassment, but eventually, she’d managed to convince the doctor that the reason behind the bruises was that she took MMA classes.

  As far as excuses went, it wasn’t the most original, and it definitely didn’t hold up under scrutiny, especially under the doctor’s penetrating stare. The doctor had pursed her lips
, shook her head, and warned her to take it easy, otherwise they’d have to take part of her liver out. Jolie saw it in the doctor’s eyes, the disbelief and worry, but without any actual proof, she wasn’t going to step in and help Jolie. It wasn’t her place.

  A gasp of surprise escaped her lips as she felt Kyle’s leg draw back and slam into her gut again, the wind in her body leaving in one fell swoop. Jolie felt as if she’d been curled up in the fetal position for days, each second agonizingly long. She wasn’t even sure how much time had passed since he’d started hitting her. It could’ve been hours or mere minutes.

  The pain was excruciating. Every breath of air felt like fire searing her throat and her limbs felt useless, laden and heavy as if they were weighed down by cement. She felt lightheaded and discombobulated as if she were floating on thin air, like a bob.

  She felt his hot, putrid breath dance across her face, barely keeping herself from shrinking back in fear. Every nerve in her body tensed up, her fight or flight instincts kicking in.

  “Open your fucking eyes and look at me,” Kyle hissed, spittle flying out of his mouth.

  Obediently, her eyes flew open and her heart careened inside her chest, thudding painfully and reminding her that, in spite of the pain, she was still alive.

  “How many times have I told you to wash the dishes as soon as we’re done with dinner?” Kyle asked, threading his fingers through her hair and yanking hard.

  Tears sprang to her eyes and her mouth moved, but no words came out. She swallowed heavily. “Plenty of times.”

  “And yet, I go and wash my hands after dinner and the dishes are still there when I come back,” Kyle pointed out, his grip tightening, sending prickles of pain shooting up her skull.

  God, please make it stop, she pleaded.

  She should’ve walked away the very first time Kyle hit her. She’d even packed up her stuff, convinced that there was nothing he could say or do to make it up to her. The angry, red welt on her face throbbed, reminding her of the consequences and how she’d been ready to leave. She was halfway out the door when he got down on his hands and knees, tears streaming down his face, his chest heaving with sobs, and his voice mangled and broken.

  That was the beginning of the end. The second she walked back into that house, she’d all but sealed her fate and made a deal with the devil. After that, she was too afraid to leave, convinced that he’d follow through on his threats and hunt her down if she ever even entertained the idea. So strong was his hold on her that she believed it.

  The part of her that remained and told her she could get help was eventually silenced, buried under a mountain of doubt and insecurity.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feebly.

  Kyle snorted in disgust. “Sorry isn’t enough. I work hard all day to provide a good life for us, so the least you can do is clean the damn house. It isn’t that hard. Jesus, even a child could do your job, and you can’t even manage that.”

  Her throat burned with anger and resentment, the weight of every hateful thing she’d ever thought forming a lump in her chest, threatening to pour forth. But she held it back. Despite what he said, she wasn’t stupid. She knew what she had to do in order to survive and, one day, she would gather the courage to get up and walk out that door, never once glancing back.

  For now, she needed to keep her head down and bide her time. Yes, she knew what people would say, how they’d judge her over the fact that she’d fallen for it like so many others before her.

  Jolie gulped, “I’m sorry, Kyle.”

  Kyle reeled back, disgust marring his features. “Don’t beg. It’s an unattractive trait in a female, unless it’s in the bedroom. But since I’m not fucking you right now, it isn’t desirable.”

  Jolie blinked and averted her gaze, trying to cast her mind back to a happy place, anything to get her out of the desolate hell hole she was living in.

  Kyle yanked her hair back, forcing her to look up. “Did I say we were finished? You stupid, dumb bitch. The next time I tell you to get up and wash the dishes right away, I don’t want to hear any excuses. Do you understand me?”

  Jolie let out an inaudible response, her eyes fixed on his, adopting a meek expression so he wouldn’t see the vehemence burning in their depths.

  “What was that?” Kyle asked, leaning in closer, his eyes flashing dangerously.

  “Yes, I understand,” Jolie said, a little louder this time. She hated Kyle with every fiber of her being and vowed to herself, in that moment, that she would find a way out, no matter how long it took or what she had to give up. The bastard had taken too much from her already.

  However, much to her dismay, her moments of clarity, of fierce and righteous indignation, only lasted for a short time. After that, it was back to living in fear. In the past, she had never understood how a woman could stay with a man who beat her; it perplexed and angered her to no end. But, that was before she became one of those women and understood how helpless the situation really was.

  Kyle had the ability to get inside her head, capitalizing on every single weakness she’d shared during a vulnerable moment and use them against her, twisting them to get what he wanted. Predators were usually like that. They weren’t big and sinister, lurking in the shadows with thick moustaches, cackling evilly as people make them out to be.

  No, in most cases, it was the golden boy in high school, the one with the picture-perfect smile, who was the real threat. Kyle was no exception. No amount of vigilance could’ve prepared her for this, and she was struck with a renewed sense of sympathy for those women who felt stuck, paralyzed by their own fear, unable to escape.

  Kyle grunted and loosened his grip. “Make sure that you remember that next time.”

  “I will,” she promised, hoping her voice didn’t tremble with fear. This was usually the part where he threatened her life and ranted about how she should be grateful he was supporting her, even though she brought nothing to the table.

  Kyle stood up and narrowed his eyes, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. Suddenly, and without warning, he began to kick her again with renewed vigor, as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. There were days when he was like that, running on fumes and his own perverse desire to inflict pain.

  Jolie curled up and turned her head away, angrily dashing away the tear that slid down her cheek and onto the floor. She could feel her body grow immune to the pain, folding in on itself with each blow, until her body spasmed and she started coughing.

  Her eyes grew as wide as saucers as blood gushed from her mouth. Finally, the bleeding stopped and Kyle made a small noise of discontent in the back of his throat, put off by the red liquid he was witnessing. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She tried not to choke on it, convinced that if she died in a pool of her own blood, Kyle would try to bring her back just to clean up the mess.

  She heard him leave the room, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging forward as she struggled to push herself up; her muscles ached in protest. She froze when Kyle entered the room a while later, holding a dark towel in his hand.

  Wordlessly, he held it out to her. She took it, not daring to question this sudden lapse of humanity. More likely, he was worried about the mess she was making. Whatever the reason, she didn’t care. It made him stop.

  In the back of her mind, she worried about the kind of damage he’d inflicted upon her because of the blows, but that was tomorrow’s problem. She’d deal with it in whatever way was necessary, as efficiently as possible.

  “Don’t get any blood on the carpet,” Kyle said, coldly. He gave her one last, long look, shook his head, and glanced around the room. “And clean up this mess.”

  The chair she’d been sitting on was toppled over on the other side of the room and there was a red stain where her head was. She ran the towel across her mouth, resisting the urge to stare down at it, and nodded.

  A minute later, she heard the stairs creak as Kyle climbed them and the sound of running water filled
the house. Tears began to spill steadily down her cheeks. She pushed herself to her feet, her arms trembling with effort as she walked over to the sink, and washed the towel, wringing out the blood. The sight of it didn’t faze her as it should’ve, but she focused on the mechanical gesture, how soothing it was.

  Once she was done wringing out the towel, she washed out her mouth with warm, salty water and spat, her chest heaving with effort. Her head fell forward as she leaned over the sink, breathing heavily through her nose.

  She’d been through this before, so she knew what to do, but tonight was different. Usually, Kyle was more careful about where he inflicted his blows, mindful of what people would think, but today, he didn’t care, almost as if he’d been possessed.

  For the umpteenth time, Jolie wondered where he’d draw the line. Would he only stop if she was nothing but a corpse beneath him? Maybe not even then. The thought made her shudder, and she angrily righted herself, reaching for the dishes and turning on the water.

  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  Someday, soon I’ll get out of here.

  Chapter 2

  The scene felt vaguely familiar. Or rather, the memory of it did. Almost as if he’d reached out and painted it, using bright and vivid strokes to accentuate certain parts and hide certain others. Yet, deep down, he knew it was a dream. He could sense it.

  Hendrix couldn’t say why or how he felt it, he just knew that he did, and the more he tried to chase after the feeling, to catch it in the palm of his hand, the harder it was to make sense of it. He knew he wasn’t lucid dreaming or he would’ve been able to control the outcome. Instead, he was left to witness the same scene play out over and over, as if someone had run out of film while shooting that particular scene.

  Why was he forced to relieve one of the worst moments of his life over and over? He thought he’d put that part of his life behind him, put it to bed, so to speak. In spite of everything he’d done to forget, it still haunted him, drawing on his subconscious to fill in the blanks where necessary. He told himself to wake up, to just let the past be, but his brain refused to cooperate.