CHAPTER 128: KARMA OR THE WORLD BEING A FUCKING BITCH?

Alexia – POV

Of course I got lost.

Because why the fuck not? The universe hadn’t done enough, apparently. First, my emotionally constipated husband dumps me on a goddamn runway without a word, and now I’m wandering down streets that all look the same with zero clue where the hell I am.

Brilliant. Just brilliant.

The sun hadn’t even properly risen yet. It was that weird in-between time where the sky glowed faintly orange and blue, casting long, dramatic shadows that made everything look either abandoned or haunted. There was a chill in the air that clung to my clothes and turned my fingers numb, but my pride kept me walking. Or maybe it was the fact I had no other choice.

I mean, who needs a ride when your billionaire husband decides to go full soap-opera and abandon you because he suddenly remembered you whipped him five times a day in a previous life?

Ugh.

I pulled out my phone again, not because I thought it miraculously turned itself on, but because I was in that delusional state where hope makes you do dumb things. Still dead.

"Great," I muttered. "Absolutely fantastic."

I had the address scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper I’d tucked into my bra like a broke Cinderella clutching her last chance at the ball. I yanked it out, smoothing it with my frozen fingers, squinting at the almost-illegible handwriting. Aiden’s damn butler had the handwriting of a Victorian ghost.

Villa Serena, 19 Marello Lane, Monteview Hills.

Monteview Hills. Yeah. Hills. My ass should’ve known that meant elevation. Uphill. The kind of uphill that makes your thighs scream and your soul question its life choices.

I tried to follow the pathetic signs posted at random intervals, but they were spaced like someone had gotten drunk and just tossed them in the wind. I kept turning into the wrong streets—Monteview Drive, Monteview Court, Monteview Circle—like this neighborhood had some vendetta against my existence and wanted me to suffer slowly.

My boots were cute. Expensive. Completely not meant for hiking through suburban wilderness. After twenty minutes, my feet were screaming, my hair was frizzing, and I’d already passed the same statue of a half-naked cherub three times. The damn thing was mocking me.

"Is this a maze? Am I in a trap?" I hissed to no one, throwing my hands up. "What kind of asshole names every single road in a neighborhood almost the same thing? Someone call the city planner and punch them in the face."

Somewhere around the fourth lap through Monteview Lane—which, surprise, was not

the same as Monteview Hills Lane—my sass cracked like a brittle cookie. My legs were sore. My lips were chapped. I was sweating and freezing at the same time.

But I kept walking.

Because I refused—refused—to break down and cry in the middle of a street like a damsel in distress. Not today. Not after what Aiden did.

I took another wrong turn. Surprise!

I ended up on a cul-de-sac where all the houses looked rich and empty and judgmental. I stopped in front of one with a pretentious iron gate and double-checked the address, only to realize—again—I was wrong.

So, naturally, I screamed. Not a polite little gasp. A full-on, unhinged, horror movie scream.

"FUUUUUUUCK!" I shouted to the sky, startling some poor pigeon off a rooftop.

This was insane. I was cold, exhausted, lost, and absolutely seething. My shoulders ached from the tiny bag I’d slung over my back like a pack mule. My makeup had long since melted off. My hair? A tragic frizzy halo of despair.

How poetic.

I spun in a circle, holding the crumpled paper like it was the One Ring, and shouted at the empty road, "Nineteen Marello Lane! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

No answer. Because obviously the street signs were made of fairy dust and lies.

Eventually, I turned down what I thought was finally the right road—Marello something, at least—and started trudging uphill again. My thighs were crying, my calves on the verge of filing for divorce, but I kept going.

Until I realized I had walked into a gated community. With no call box. And no way in.

I tried to squeeze through the side, only to scrape my jacket and get stuck like a dumbass. I swear, if someone had taken a picture, it would’ve looked like one of those "rich girl tries camping" memes.

I finally pulled free, humiliated, and gave the gate the middle finger. "You know what? Fine! I don’t need you! I don’t need any of this fancy bullshit!"

I stomped away, which is hard to do with feet that feel like they’ve been turned into bricks.

I don’t even know how much time had passed—forty minutes? An hour?—but the sun was definitely up now, casting sharp light on the miserable mess I’d become. Sweat slicked my spine, despite the cool air. Every muscle hurt. My pride was in shambles. And the villa? Still nowhere to be seen.

Was this my punishment?

Had karma decided, "Oh, she wants to fix her mistakes from a past life? Let’s see how she handles getting ditched at dawn with no phone and a broken soul!"

I was so close

to sitting down on the curb and crying.

But I didn’t.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from being a former princess, a waitress, and now a woman possibly on the verge of divorce—it’s that the world doesn’t hand out mercy.

You get up. You keep walking. Even when it hurts.

Even when the man you love leaves you behind.

Even when you have no clue where you’re going.

Even when you’re just a girl in boots, lost in a city too big to care.

So yeah.

I got lost.

But I wasn’t done yet.

*******

By the time I made it out of that maze of elite, name-stealing streets and useless iron gates, I was more than just tired. I was hungry, dehydrated, and walking that tight line between rage and a full-blown emotional breakdown. My boots were cutting into my heels. My legs felt like overcooked noodles. And my mouth? Dry as hell.

I had made it out of the Monteview Hills area and crossed over to what I could only describe as the "you-went-too-far" part of the neighborhood. Fewer trees. Fewer manicured hedges. No golden retrievers with cute bandanas in sight. Just cracked sidewalks, graffiti-tagged walls, and trash bins that smelled like regret.

I should’ve turned back. I should’ve tried a different road. But no. Stubborn Alexia decided to power through. Because she’s strong. She’s independent. She doesn’t need anyone—not even her ice-hearted husband.

So I kept walking.

I didn’t notice them at first. Two guys sitting on a low wall, half-shielded behind an old food truck that looked like it hadn’t served a damn taco since 2008. I wasn’t even thinking about safety. I was too busy cursing Aiden and his stupid villa and his stupid face and my own stupid heart for falling in love with him like some gullible fool.

And then one of them whistled.

Loud. Sharp. Like I was a damn dog.

"Hey, baby," the one on the left called out. His hoodie was ragged, and his jeans had more holes than denim. "Where you goin’ in a hurry? Lookin’ fine like that."

I paused mid-step. Slowly turned my head. My spine locked up, and I did what any half-delirious, pissed-off, emotionally ruined woman would do in that moment—I glared so hard, I swear my eyes nearly caught fire.

"Don’t ’baby’ me," I snapped. "I’m not in the mood."

The other guy laughed—big teeth, missing a few. "Ohhh, she got fire," he said, hopping off the wall like this was some fucking playground. "Where you headed, sweetheart? Lost?"

I took a step back, clutching my bag tight. "Nope. I’m good. Just walking."

"Don’t look like you’re from around here," the first guy said, getting up too. "You look like the kind that gets driven everywhere. Not the kind that walks."

"Maybe I’m trying something new," I said, lifting my chin. "Now move."

But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t.

"C’mon," the second one said, stepping into my path. "Ain’t nobody around. We just wanna talk. You look like you could use some company."

I blinked slowly. My pulse was thudding in my ears, loud and angry. I was so done. So very, very done. But I was also alone. No Aiden. No driver. No phone. Just me and a pair of skeezy assholes who thought I looked like easy prey.

They were wrong.

I reached into my bag. Not because I had anything useful in there, but because the bluff always works better when you do it with flair.

"Last warning," I said, voice dropping cold and sharp like broken glass. "Get the fuck out of my way before I make you regret every life choice that led you to this exact moment."

They laughed. One of them stepped closer. "Oooh, feisty—"

That’s when I threw the bag.

Right at his face.

He ducked with a yelp, giving me just enough room to shove past him and run. Not jog. Not power-walk.

Run.

My lungs burned. My legs screamed. But I didn’t stop. I heard them shouting behind me, something between "Come back here!" and "Crazy bitch!" but I didn’t care.

I was crazy.

I was crazy tired, crazy angry, and crazy heartbroken.

And if they thought they could mess with me on top of everything else?

They had another thing coming.

I ducked into a narrow alley and ran until I couldn’t hear them anymore—just my ragged breaths and the pounding of my heart.

Eventually, I stumbled out the other end, gasping, bent over, hands on my knees, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. Not from fear.

From fury.

From exhaustion.

From heartbreak.

Because even after all that—even after getting lost, harassed, humiliated—I still wanted to find Aiden’s stupid villa. Still wanted to look him in the eye and ask him why he left me on that damn runway like I was nothing.

I wiped my face, grabbed my bag off the ground, and straightened my spine like I wasn’t shaking on the inside.

"Fine," I muttered, eyes stinging. "Let’s keep going. What else could possibly go wrong?"

Oh, sweet summer child.

Famous last words.

Because two streets later?

I got chased by a fucking dog.

(...but we’ll get to that disaster in a minute.)