Billionaire's Ruin: Begging At Her Tombstone

EVE

The night before everything fell apart, I was in Sean's arms, his body warm against mine. Moonlight cut across the small bedroom of his off-campus apartment.

"Sean," I whispered, pressing closer to his chest, my face burning hot, "will we be together forever?" My heart hammered so hard I thought he might hear it.

His dark eyes locked onto mine. "Yes." Just that. One word, absolute and certain.

"Sean Winters," I said, "I love you." Tears welled up for no reason I could name.

He wiped them away with his thumb, then pulled me tight against him. His breath tickled my ear as he whispered, "Eve, you're mine. Forever."

Forever. What a damn lie that word turned out to be. Just something people say in bed. I learned pretty fast that "I love you" gets crushed under the weight of "I hate you."

Six weeks later, I sat in the witness box with sweaty palms and a knot in my stomach. The courtroom felt suffocating.

"Ms. Carter," the judge said, "please confirm: Were you with the defendant, Sean Winters, on Princeton campus the night of June 6th?"

My throat closed up. June 6th. My birthday. The night I should've been at some stuffy family dinner. Instead, I was in Sean's bed, his hands discovering my body for the first time. He'd been so careful with me, checking if I was okay, if he was hurting me. God, the memory burned.

"Yes, Your Honor," I managed to say.

"And did you witness Mr. Winters assault another student at the campus party that night, resulting in permanent injury?"

I looked up at Sean across the courtroom. The orange prison uniform hung on his frame – he'd lost significant weight during his time in detention. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles underneath. But when he caught my gaze, something softened in his expression, just for a second. It gutted me.

This was Sean Winters. Princeton's double-major genius. The guy professors called a once-in-a-generation talent. The financial whiz who could predict market movements before they happened. He should've been heading for Wall Street or a top law firm. Not prison.

The silence stretched too long. The judge smacked his gavel. "Ms. Carter, answer the question."

The truth clawed at my insides. Ryan, my half-brother, was the one who'd beaten that student half to death. Not Sean.

My father, Robert Carter – Mr. Mayor of LR City with his sights set on the governor's mansion – couldn't let his precious son face charges. Not with elections coming. He'd planned to force our driver's kid to take the fall.

Then Sean got arrested. When he wouldn't confess, Dad found another way.

"Eve," he'd told me, his voice hard as steel, "you will testify against Sean Winters."

I told him no. Repeatedly.

Until he took me to see my mother.

Margaret Carter hadn't moved or spoken in six years. Machines kept her breathing after her "accident" – falling down our mansion's stairs. Dad made sure everyone believed it was just bad luck. I knew better.

"Your mother needs specialized care," Dad reminded me, his hand resting on her shoulder in a gesture that looked caring but felt threatening. "Care that costs money. My money."

My stepmother Jessica stood opposite, dragging her finger across Mom's throat while Dad wasn't looking.

"Sean's young," Dad said. "Three years will pass. Your mother won't last three days without the right care."

I had zero options.

"Ms. Carter," the judge pressed, irritation clear in his voice. "Did you witness the defendant assault the victim on June 6th?"

I stared at Sean, trying to memorize everything about him. His jaw. His mouth. The way his hair fell when he didn't style it.

"Yes," I said, tasting bile. "At about 10 PM on June 6th, I saw Sean Winters attack the victim at the Princeton campus party, causing his injuries."

Sean went completely still. Something died in his eyes – that warmth he saved just for me, gone in an instant. The air between us turned to ice.

"Mr. Winters," the judge asked, "do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Sean never looked away from me. "Nothing," he replied, voice empty. A cold smile twisted his mouth. "I have nothing to say."

The judge nodded. "Given the severity of the injuries and clear intent to harm, along with your previous conflicts with the victim, I find you guilty of aggravated assault. Three years in prison and a fifty-thousand-dollar fine."

The gavel came down hard.

As the officers moved to take Sean away, he turned back. His eyes found mine, and what I saw wasn't just anger – it was pure hatred. It burned right through me.

I'd destroyed him. I'd taken a brilliant man with everything ahead of him and sent him to prison for a crime he never committed.

My nails broke skin. Blood spotted my palms.

Three days later, I sat across from Sean in the prison visiting room, thick glass between us. We held phones to our ears, my only connection to him.

"I'll get you out of here," I promised, pressing my hand to the glass. "I'll tell the truth, Sean. I swear I will."

He stared back, eyes dead. "Eve Carter," he said, my name sounding dirty in his mouth, "we're done."

"Sean, please—"

"Shut up." He pulled a small sketchbook from his pocket – my sketchbook, filled with drawings I'd made of him during our months together. Drawings he once treated better than gold.

"Remember this?" he asked, his voice flat.

Without waiting, he began tearing pages, ripping each one methodically. My drawings of him – sleeping, laughing, thinking – destroyed piece by piece.

"Sean and Eve," he said coldly. "It's over. Drop the fake concern. Go back to your mansion. I'll rot here."

"Sean, I'm sorry..." Tears ran down my face, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.

"This prison isn't for princesses." He crushed the paper under his palm.

"Please—"

"We're finished. Thanks to you." Each word hit me hard enough to bruise.

Thanks. To. You.

Four words that broke whatever was left of my heart.

The guard announced time was up. Sean stood, deliberately stepping on my torn sketches.

"Sean!" I screamed, slamming my palm against the glass.

He didn't turn around.

My hand covered my mouth to muffle sobs tearing through my body. "I'm pregnant," I whispered to his back. "We're having a baby, Sean."