There were many perks to having a billionaire as a boyfriend; this was not one of them.

As Betsy turned the car on to her street, a small lane of honeysuckle covered cottages, they were all waiting for her. The vultures. 

Cameras flashed at her approach and, as her little red hatchback came to a stop outside of her rented cottage, she could hear them too. Their voices were muted by the glass separating her from them but they could have been shouting in her ear for all the difference it made. She heard each and every word. 

Betsy tightened her grip around the steering wheel. She didn't need to be here. It would be so easy to turn the key and drive away. She could do it. It would be so easy to run away and let them chase her from her house. But when would it stop?

They had already chipped away at her life.

"I can't let them win." Betsy muttered to herself, forcefully loosening her white knuckle grip on the steering wheel. "You can do this."

Releasing the seatbelt, she took a moment to get herself ready for the onslaught. At least, as ready as she could be.  

Not even slightly bolstered by her pep talk, Betsy drew in a deep breath and pushed open the car door. The swarm of paparazzi flooded towards her, like a dam had burst and released a torrent of uncomfortable and unwanted attention. Lights flashed close to her face causing white spots to dance across her vision.

Placing one hand on the door, she fought to gain her bearings. With her bag held protectively in front of her and her door keys clutched painfully between her fingers, she blinked to clear her vision. 

But it was relentless.

It was an assault on her senses from all sides. Noise. Light. Touch.

Shoulders barged into her. Then, as a bearded man thrust his camera lens in her face, she was assaulted by the smell of garlic and onion which lingered on his breath. Her stomach churned uncomfortably in response. There was no consideration for her personal space. There was no thought about her at all other than the money she would earn them. Hands grabbed at her body as they all fought for her attention.

It was too much.

Betsy ducked her head, slamming the car door behind her. Her hands trembled around the keys as she fought her way forwards, one step at a time. It was as if she were wading through treacle. The paparazzi parted slowly - reluctantly. The flashes didn't stop for even a moment. Their voices only grew louder, and their invasion of her personal space more persistent, the longer she ignored them. 

"Betsy, is it true you're engaged?" A voice bellowed into her ear, their phone eagerly pointed at her face.

"What can you tell us of the rumours Nicholas is stepping down?"

"Can you confirm reports that you have set a wedding date?"

"Is it true Nicholas cheated?"

The questions kept coming, becoming more ridiculous and outlandish as the seconds passed. She kept her head down and kept moving. Even so, her chest grew painfully tight. Her palms were clammy and her heart thundered so hard so she could hear the rapid beat of her pulse. Panic had become a familiar and unwelcome friend and Betsy could already feel it's claws digging in. 

Reaching the gate, Betsy broke free from the crowd and rushed towards the blue painted door to her cottage. None of the vultures made an effort to follow past the garden wall. Instead, Betsy hurried path alone and into the welcoming warmth and safety of her house. 

But was she safe?

Even after the door was shut firmly, each of the five locks and bolts firmly in place, her body still trembled. Her keys dropped from between her limp fingers and crashed on to the wooden floor. Gasping, she leaned against the door. Pressing one hand over her heart, Betsy closed her eyes and grasped desperately for the calm she needed. It hovered just out of reach. Her frantic breaths grew more rapid and black spots appeared across her vision.

"Calm." She croaked, turning so that her forehead pressed against one of the vertical panels of glass that was inset into the door.

Betsy hastily scrambled to remember the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her. Drawing deep breaths in through her nose and releasing them slowly through her mouth, she watched the glass fog up under her breath before rapidly dissipating. 

It helped. Focusing on the familiar routine grounded her and allowed her to take back control. Minutes passed as  she repeated the process over and over again. Finally, the panic receded.

Shame quickly followed.

It had been over six months since her attacker had been sentenced to jail. Her mind and body still remembered the brutality as if it had happened yesterday. She had been safe. Or at least, she had felt safe at the Davenport Estate. Her attacker hadn't cared about that. She had boldly come right up to the door and knocked. 

Everything had happened swiftly afterwards. 

At times, Betsy couldn't remember anything other than the pain and fear which had kept her frozen in place. 

Other times, she could remember everything so clearly it felt as if it was happening all over again.

Betsy loathed herself for it. She had been weak. She had been incapable of fighting back. 

She was still weak. 

Even in the times without panic clogging up all of her senses, she didn't feel safe. The smallest confrontation could still send her into an emotional tailspin. She had felt safe on the day of her attack but any illusion of security had been irrevocably shattered. Now, not even multiple locks or an intruder alarm could offer any comfort. She was always looking for danger. She frequently jumped at her own shadow. Fear had contorted Betsy into the person she was now. And the vultures outside of her door, waiting for even a single moment of weakness, were only tightening the grip that fear and anxiety had on her.

Betsy hated to admit it - would never say it to his face - but Nick was right. The paparazzi were not going away. They were getting only getting worse. And if she was being completely honest, she couldn't handle them on her own. It wouldn't be a weakness to accept his help.

And Nick would only be too happy to help. 

Her boyfriend, Nicholas Davenport,  had been one of Britain's most eligible bachelors before she had caught his attention. With a multi-billion pound empire to run and a handsome face to match, Nick was sought after by many and well versed in unwanted attention. Unfortunately, as their relationship had hit the headlines, that unwanted attention had turned its ugly head in her direction and showed no signs of disappearing. From paparazzi and 'fans', to Nick's deluded ex-employees, she had felt the negative attention of them all.

A small terrified part of her wanted to walk away.

Yet, even with all of the problems that came with dating a Billionaire, Betsy couldn't and wouldn't leave. Not unless he told her to.

They were still figuring out their dynamics but there were some things she knew for certain; she loved Nick, and he loved her. Betsy even loved his children as if they were her own. It was true they both had baggage which would never go away. And these days, Betsy's baggage seemed to consume most of her life. Yet, in her heart, she knew that the Davenports were worth fighting for.

The panic continued to ebb away until it was only a background hum; though it was never completely gone. Betsy released a weary sigh. Her shoulders slumped, the mental and physical toll of the panic attack dragging her down.  Even the jean jacket felt as if it had been filled with weights.

Backing away from the door, Betsy crossed the five steps towards the sofa and dropped in an ungainly heap on the padded cushions. It was always the same. There was an intense rush of panic which rolled through her body in an unstoppable tide before it seeped away leaving a bone deep tiredness in its wake. And there was no one else to blame for it; it was her own body and mind holding her captive.

The jangle of her ring tone dragged her from her thoughts. Easing her bag off of her shoulder, Betsy quickly pulled her phone from her handbag. It gave another ring, vibrating within her hold as a name flashed up on the screen.

Nick.

Swiping her fingers across the touchscreen, Betsy quickly lifted the phone up to her ear with shaky hands.

"Hi Nick," She answered, a small smile appearing on her lips even if he was not there to see it.

"Betsy," He murmured in response. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," she answered with a small sigh. "At least I am now."

"That doesn't sound okay."

Bringing her free hand up to her face, Betsy rubbed at her eyes. "I'm just tired. They were in front of my house again."

There was a crackle as Nick covered the mouthpiece and attempted to muffle his next words. But she heard each and every curse that escaped his lips.

Chuckling, Betsy sank further into the cushions. "Nick, while I appreciate the sentiment, there's no point getting too angry about it." She ran a hand through her messy curls, ignoring the way they snagged around her fingers. "They're just reacting to the 'hot news'. What we really need to find out is who is leaking these so-called stories to the media.  Most of what they say is absolute rubbish I can ignore. Today was different. They asked me if you were stepping down, Nick."

"Don't even worry about it. I've already got my PR team tackling the rumour mill. I've also got someone investigating the supposed 'leak'. I'd like to know who has it out for me enough to give false information to the press. With the current contracts I have with legal, false claims like this -." Nick paused and then sighed. "Enough about that. Please tell me I am still going to see you tonight?"

A loud creak echoed down the phone line. Betsy could picture him, leaning back in his leather chair as he looked out over the London skyline. 

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." Betsy replied, as she kicked off her shoes and attempted to get comfortable. "I can't wait to see you and the kids. It feels like its been too long." 

"It's been twenty four hours." Nick replied, his amusement clear without even seeing his face. "But I agree. It's been far too long."

Her smile widened while her heart warmed at his words. It felt good to know she wasn't alone in what was happening between them. That he was invested too.

Betsy had already been through marriage and divorce once and she hadn't even turned thirty. It had been amicable separation but there were still marks left behind. It allowed fear to find its way in. And fear had a way of finding each and every one of her doubts.

It was too fast.

She was confused.

He used to date super models. How could she compare?

In truth, the ink had been dry on her divorce decree for over a year and, despite her fears, she already she found herself thinking about the future with Nick. She even found herself thinking about the dreaded 'M' word.

"Dinner at six then?" Betsy asked, absently twirling a blonde curl around her finger.

"Sounds good to me." Nick agreed, his voice a soothing balm. "We'll pick you up. Delilah said to wear a dress."

"Did she now? Are you sure it wasn't you who came up with that idea?"

Nick chuckled, his previous tension long forgotten. "I'm one hundred percent sure." 

"Then tell Delilah I'll see what I can do."

"And you're staying over, right?"

Betsy shook her head. She wasn't even sure why he asked. Though she rented the cottage, she found herself spending more and more time at the Davenport Estate. It was only her own stubborn need to take things slow which prevented them from taking the next step. Though it was getting more difficult by the day to stick to that decision.

"Yes, if you'll have me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Loud ringing echoed down the phone line. There was a brief pause before he apologised, "I'm sorry but I really have to take this call."

"Don't worry about it." Betsy reassured him. "Take the call and I'll see you soon."

"See you tonight." Nick replied before adding softly. "I love you."

Before she could say the words back to him, the call disconnected abruptly. She pulled the device away from her ear. She watched as the screen faded to black  before holding it against her chest and murmuring softly into the quiet room, "I love you too."

It was another unwanted perk to dating a billionaire businessman; the job would always be a large part of the equation. Magazines always told of the glamour in dating a billionaire. The money. The luxury. 

In reality, work would always intrude on their moments together. 

Yet, as her eyes drifted to the framed picture of Nick and his children nestled upon the mantle, Betsy knew if was a sacrifice she would gladly make.