Billionaires Broken Wife | ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ

Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ０２

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A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory

– STEVEN WRIGHT 

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🔱 A N T O N I A ' S P O V 🔱

So, this is the guy who bumped into me? I eye him, disbelief clouding my mind. Ya Allah, pull me back from punching him—or, better yet, You could always handle it for me.

He holds out his hand to help me, but I ignore it, brushing the damp spots on my skirt as I stand. I grab my bag, irritation prickling at my skin. My favorite skirt is drenched in coffee, and this guy has the audacity to look... amused?

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" I snap, letting my glare do the talking.

He raises an eyebrow, not even flinching. "I think you should apologize," he says as if it's obvious.

I nearly laugh out loud. Wow. Look who we have here: Mr. Nobody acting like he's some sort of royal highness.

"Excuse me?" My voice sharpens. "You bumped into me. So maybe you should apologize—and for ruining my skirt."

To my shock, he just grins, completely unbothered, and reaches out to touch my cheek. "You're cute when you're angry," he says.

Astaghfirullah. My hand flies up, slapping his away before he can touch me. "Don't touch me!" Where are the Haram Police when you actually need them? They're always in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I'm boiling with anger. If this were a cartoon, steam would be pouring from my ears. I narrow my eyes, giving him one final, burning glare before I turn on my heel and storm off. Behind me, I hear his low chuckle.

What is this guy's problem?

Pushing the thought aside, I hurry to class, my skin still prickling from his audacity. Alhamdulillah, my aunt is the professor for this class—at least I can vent to someone who'll understand.

"Assalamu'alaikum, Auntie," I say, my voice unintentionally holding a hint of a pout.

"Wa'alaikum Assalam, Antonia. Oh, my Allah!" Her face shifts from a smile to immediate worry. "What happened to you?"

I sigh, my irritation bubbling back to the surface. "This jerk ran into me, and he spilled his coffee all over my skirt." I can't help but frown down at the stain, hating the reminder of him.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," she says, gently patting my shoulder. "I have some extra clothes with me. Change and come back. You'll feel better."

The kindness in her voice helps. "Thanks, Auntie." She hands me the clothes, and I hurry to the bathroom to change, muttering a quick Ya Allah, please, just let the rest of the day go smoothly.

🔱 W A L I D ' S P O V 🔱

There she is—my Antonia. She hasn't changed one bit. She's still just as feisty as ever and even more beautiful than I imagined.

Watching her just now, trying to give me a piece of her mind, was like watching an angry kitten. She thinks her glare will intimidate me, but her voice is so soft, as if it's too gentle to ever really bite. She doesn't know what it's like to see her again.

But me? I'd recognize her anywhere. Even with her fire, I can only think about how she'll always be mine. Always was, and always will be.

I think back to when I left and how I thought I was doing the right thing. Ya Allah! I'm sorry, Antonia. Sorry for leaving you. If only she knew how I felt. But I'll show her. I'll remind her that she doesn't need some kid messing around with her heart. She needs someone who can protect her.