My Roommate's Billionaire Boyfriend Broke My Heart

The bass from the house vibrated through the soles of Dianna Stevens's shoes, a frantic, synthetic heartbeat against the grass.

Her palms were damp, fingers twisting the thin fabric of her graduation dress.

Across the manicured lawn, past clusters of laughing seniors. Holden Barron, heir to the Barron family fortune, is the man Dianna has always liked.He leaned against the railing of the pool deck. He was alone, the profile of his face was sharp, clean, and impossibly distant.

Dianna's throat felt tight, a knot of fear and hope.

She closed her eyes for a second, forcing the image of that night to the front of her mind. Four weeks ago. The beach house. The memory was a blur of salt air, the low murmur of waves. When she fell in the darkness, a strong arm caught her, a deep voice whispered in her ear, and the way he kissed her was so tender, it couldn't be wrong.

She was sure it was him. It had to be.

Taking a breath that did nothing to calm the tremor in her limbs, she started walking. Each step felt disconnected from her body, as if she were watching someone else move across the lawn. The world seemed to narrow until there was only the shrinking distance between them.

He must have sensed her approach. He turned his head, and his dark eyes landed on her.

There was no surprise, no welcome. Nothing. Just a cool, assessing gaze that made her feel transparent.

She stopped a few feet in front of him, the carefully rehearsed words dissolving on her tongue.

"Holden..."The air rushed out of her lungs in a single, shaky exhale. She had to know. "Four weeks ago," she began, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. "At the beach house... that night. Was that you?"

She watched his jaw clench. A short, sharp sound escaped his lips. It wasn't a laugh. It was the sound of something being crushed.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." he said, his voice low and flat.

The blood drained from Dianna's face. She opened her mouth to explain, to describe the feeling of his hand on her arm, the specific timbre of his voice.

But he cut her off, taking a step forward. The space between them vanished, and his height suddenly felt overwhelming.

"I' m not interested in what you're saying, please don't bother me." His voice was icy, each word like a sharp shard of glass.

He turned, a clean, dismissive movement, ready to walk away and melt back into the party.

Panic gripped her. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed, her fingers clutching his sleeve tightly. ""Don't go. I actually wanted to tell you, I'...Actually, I've noticed you for a long time, I ...""

Dianna paused, meeting Holden's eyes, swallowing nervously, before finally speaking with a defiant air: "I've always liked you, liked you for a long time, you..."

Holden suddenly raised his hand and forcefully pulled at Dianna's small hand that was gripping his sleeve.

Dianna increased the pressure of her fingers to resist Holden's attack, while continuing to ask, "...Do you like me?"

Holden was prying open Dianna's fingertips when he trembled slightly, and his strength suddenly stopped.

His slight loss of composure made Dianna feel as if she could hear the sound of flowers blooming in her heart.

He definitely had feelings for her; otherwise, why would he have touched her that night? And why would he have froze when she told him she liked him tonight?

Dianna tilted her head back, looking into Holden's eyes, which were bright and full of surprise. Holding her breath, she spoke again solemnly, each word distinct: "You're willing to be my boyfriend..."

Before Dianna could finish speaking, Holden abruptly shook off her hand. The action was so sudden and violent that she staggered backward.

His eyes blazed with an undisguised disgust that felt like a physical blow.

"Don't touch me, I don't like you, I have absolutely no interest in you."

Heads were turning now. A few of their classmates paused their conversations, their curious glances landing on Dianna's pale, horrified face. The private humiliation became public, multiplying its weight.

She stood frozen, tears stinging the back of her eyes. She refused to let them fall.

Holden was already gone, his back to her, disappearing into the throng of bodies by the house. It was as if their entire exchange had been a figment of her imagination, a bad dream that left a bitter taste in her mouth.

The world tilted on its axis. The music from the party was no longer a backdrop of celebration but a grating, painful noise.

Why? Why would he lie? Was that gentle touch, that quiet moment of connection, all in her head?

A wave of nausea washed over her. She turned, her only thought to escape. To run from the pitying stares, from the thumping music, from the memory of his cold, hard eyes.

She pushed through the crowd, ignoring a friend who called out her name. She didn't stop until she was out on the street, the cool, salty air of Santa Monica hitting her face.

It felt like his rejection, cold and sharp.

She wouldn't accept it. She couldn't. The person at the beach house was real. The feeling was real. And she knew, with a certainty that defied all logic, that it was him.

She had to find out the truth.

Tomorrow, she decided, her jaw setting with a resolve she didn't know she possessed. Tomorrow, she would find him. She would ask him again. She would get an answer, no matter how much it hurt.