The Day I Left the Billionaire at the Altar Chapter 2

I didn’t stay on the stream long enough to see his answer.

His empty spot at the altar was answer enough.

Harrison’s inability to let Sienna go was never a secret.

Two years ago, a recurring lumbar injury flared up, leaving me barely able to stand. New York had some of the finest orthopedic surgeons in the country, but Harrison insisted on flying me hundreds of miles north to a private clinic in Montreal.

Predictably, we ran into Sienna in the lobby.

She looked just as she did in the cracked photograph he kept hidden in the inner sleeve of his leather wallet—young, delicate, entirely unguarded.

Harrison had his hand resting on the small of my back. When Sienna appeared, his face went rigid, his eyes shuttering into something unreadable.

Only I felt it: the instant she stepped into view, his fingers clamped around my waist with such sudden, bruising force that I had to bite my tongue to keep from flinching.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking an awkward step back toward the automatic doors. “I didn't know you’d be here… I’ll go. I swore I wouldn't bother you.”

The muscle in Harrison’s jaw twitched.

I stood beside him in silence, my gaze drifting to her collarbone. She had a tiny, faded tattoo there: a line-art sketch of a golden retriever.

It was an exact match for the black cat inked beneath Harrison’s left collarbone.

“Move,” Harrison said, his voice like dry ice.

Yet when we stepped into the elevator, his eyes never left the glass doors until they slid completely shut.

“Keep a hold of that,” I told Sienna quietly as we passed her. “Don't lose it.”

She was clutching a black titanium card in her hand—an authorized user card tied directly to Harrison’s primary account. In business, Harrison destroyed anyone who crossed him without a second thought. That unlimited line of credit was the only mercy he had ever shown an enemy. A lifeline thrown to a woman he claimed he never wanted to see again.

On our drive back across the border, the skies opened into a torrential downpour.

Harrison drove with one hand on the wheel, his mind visibly elsewhere. When his phone screen lit up with an unsaved number, he glanced down and slammed his foot on the brake.

The seatbelt caught, but the force hurled me forward anyway. My forehead slammed hard against the windshield.

Warm blood immediately welled up, dripping down my temple.

“Harrison…” Sienna’s voice came through the car speakers, choked with tears. “I know I shouldn't call… but my mom’s vitals crashed. The doctors said it’s critical, and I don't know who else to turn to… I’m so scared…”

Harrison turned to look at me, the panic in his eyes spilling over.

“Hazel, get out here and call an Uber. I have an emergency.”

I had never seen him look like that. Not during hostile takeovers, not when the markets plummeted and his board threatened a revolt.

He was so panicked that he made me get out on the shoulder of an unlit highway in freezing rain.

He was so panicked that he floored the accelerator, sending spray across my shins as he sped off into the dark.

He was so panicked that he completely forgot it was twenty-five degrees outside, and I was wearing nothing but a thin cotton sweater.

He left.

I stood on the gravel shoulder, shivering so violently my teeth clicked together. It was a dead stretch of road; no ride-share app would dispatch a car out there. I stood under the howling sleet for nearly four hours before I saw the twin amber beams of his hazard lights cutting through the fog.

When he stepped out, his face was lined with exhaustion.

“Sienna passed out,” he said, not meeting my eyes.

I looked down at the slush soaking my flats.

“I got to the clinic and found out her mother had just been admitted for observation,” he continued, taking my frozen, raw hands into his warm ones. “She panicked and exaggerated. I turned around to leave, and she hyperventilated and collapsed. She’s stable now.”

He blew warm air onto my knuckles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have left you out here so long… Her mental state has been fragile lately. I was afraid she’d do something stupid.”

A dry ache settled in the back of my throat.

“Have you really let her go?” I heard myself ask.

If he was still this tangled up in her, I didn't want to stand in the way. I had no interest in being a placeholder in a tragic romance.

We drove in silence for miles before he finally spoke, his voice barely above a murmur.

“There’s nothing to let go of. I’m not an idiot, Hazel. I don't cling to dead things.” He paused, gripping the leather of the steering wheel. “She’s completely alone out there. I just… I felt sorry for her.”

Right.

He hadn't let her go at all.

After that night, Harrison made a conscious effort to scrub every mention of Sienna from my presence. I knew what he was doing, but I never pressed him. Whenever he crossed paths with her, he would quietly compensate me: a deed to a brownstone in Brooklyn, a pair of sapphire drop earrings from Harry Winston, an equity portfolio in my name. Gifts that would take a normal person two lifetimes of grinding to acquire.

So what did it matter? A girl like me couldn't afford to sacrifice generational wealth on the altar of petty pride.