Part 3No Second Chances For The Cold Billionaire

For the next four weeks, my entire world shrank to the size of standardized testing binders and economic policy manuals.

Whenever I took a five-minute break, my social feed did the work of reminding me of the life I’d left behind. Garrett was everywhere, his timeline curated like a corporate romance. Photos of him escorting Serena to the annual charity gala; Serena seated beside him at the regional infrastructure summit; Garrett leaning down to whisper something in her ear while photographers flashed their cameras.

The comment sections were unanimous: The real heiress and the golden boy. Power couple of the year.

I scrolled past, closed the app, and opened another timed simulation on municipal bond structures.

Two weeks before the exam, my best friend Gemma staged an intervention.

"Natalie Mercer, if you don't step out of that box right now, you're going to turn into a fossil," she barked through the phone.

An hour later, she dragged me into a private lounge in SoHo. My neck was stiff from twelve-hour study marathons, and my eyes burned behind my blue-light glasses.

I regretted coming within five minutes.

At the center banquette, surrounded by our old circle, sat Garrett and Serena.

The moment we walked in, Garrett looked up. His gaze snagged on me, lingering on my plain oversized blazer and pulled-back hair, before he smoothly shifted his arm along the leather behind Serena, letting her lean against his shoulder.

Serena looked radiant, wearing the Patek Philippe watch.

The neon text flickered above the bar:

[Here she is! The fake heiress is about to stage a scene!]

[Watch her throw a drink at the new couple. She’s desperate!]

I rolled my eyes, slipped into the quietest corner booth in the back, pulled out a laminated cheat-sheet of administrative law doctrines, and ordered a club soda with lime.

The ambient chatter drifted over the music anyway.

"Did you hear? The Mercers moved her into some rental out in the suburbs."

"Seriously? Twenty years as their daughter, and they just packed her off?"

"Look at Garrett, though. He used to follow Natalie around like a shadow. Now he picks Serena up from the office every evening. Total upgrade."

I took a sip of my club soda. There was a dull ache somewhere deep down, but the memory of that floating text—the reminder that Garrett Price would have eventually driven me into ruin—washed it clean.

Before I could finish the chapter on federal regulatory compliance, Serena appeared beside our table, holding a porcelain plate with a slice of glazed mango tart.

"Natalie," she said softly, setting it down near my elbow. "Garrett had the kitchen prepare this specifically for our table. You always loved mango. You should have some."

Instantly, the conversation around us dropped. People turned, sensing blood in the water. Across the room, Garrett watched from his booth, swirling bourbon in a heavy glass.

"No, thank you," I said, sliding the plate back toward her. "I'm cutting sugar while studying. Spikes my insulin and ruins my focus."

Serena’s practiced smile faltered.

Across the room, Garrett’s voice cut through the lounge. "Are you actually still pretending you're going to take that civil service exam?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I met his gaze across the velvet-draped room, my tone deadpan. "A woman should build her own safety net. Begging for executive pity jobs is far too undignified."

I didn't even bother hiding the glare I tossed his way.

Garrett stared at me, his jaw tightening as if he wanted to cross the room. But Serena caught his sleeve, her voice carrying a sweet, pleading cadence. "Garrett, don't argue with her. Everyone’s waiting for us to toast the new project launch. Come on."

Garrett let himself be pulled back, but not before shooting me one last haughty look. "See that, Natalie? Serena's already closing commercial partnerships. And you’re sitting in a corner, memorizing municipal codes."

I didn't answer. I picked up my coat, said goodbye to Gemma, and walked out into the cool night air.

The autumn wind off the Hudson was sharp, making my eyes sting.

Gemma caught up with me outside, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Don't let them get to you, Nat. He's not worth the mascara."

I dabbed at the corner of my eye and managed a laugh. "I’m not crying over him, Gem. It’s just the wind."

"What's the plan now?"

"Take the test," I said, looking up at the high-rises slicing through the New York sky. "Take the test, move away, and make sure none of these people can ever touch me again."