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Chapter 66: Helen's POV
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2025-05-06 23:27:13
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Mr Billionaire's Regret: Ex-wife Returns With His Triplets. Chapter 174: Rose's POV
I was still in the mall’s parking lot when I remembered I needed to call her.Mrs. Fletcher. Ashton’s mother.I set my grocery bags down gently in the back seat, shut the car door, and slid into the driver’s seat. I didn’t even start the engine, just pulled out my phone and tapped her name. The line rang once. Twice. Then that familiar clipped voice answered."Rose, darling. I was just about to call you.""I beat you to it," I said, smiling. "I just left the store. Thought I should update you.""Tell me everything."She always said it that way. Like she was starving for gossip, but underneath it, I knew it wasn’t hunger—it was strategy. Every detail mattered to her. Every sigh, every silence. She knew how to read between the lines better than anyone I’d ever met."I got news that Ashton showed up on Helen’s set and was acting nonchalant.""Really? On that movie project she’s been obsessing over?""Mmhmm. I got a few texts from people on the crew. Said he didn’t even stay long. Barely
Mr Billionaire's Regret: Ex-wife Returns With His Triplets. Chapter 173: Rose's POV
There’s something delicious about a quiet morning at the grocery store—clean aisles, the scent of fresh citrus near the produce section, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.I push my cart slowly, savoring the unhurried pace. No one bumping into me, no screaming children, no crowds. Just me, the list in my head, and the gleam of satisfaction warming my skin like sunlight.I wear a beige trench coat and dark jeans, hair tucked behind my ears in a way that makes me look softer, more maternal. Polished, approachable. The kind of woman people smile at without really knowing why. I’m good at that—appearing harmless. It’s funny, actually. How easy it is to wear masks when you need to.I stop in front of the apples and select a few Honeycrisps, one by one. I turn each in my hand, carefully checking for bruises, and imperfections. Then gently place them in the bag, careful not to let them bump too hard against each other.Good things need care. They need protecting.Just like Henry.I
Mr Billionaire's Regret: Ex-wife Returns With His Triplets. Chapter 172: Helen's POV
I knew something was off the second I opened my eyes.There was no lightning flash. No thunderclap of realization. Just... a stillness in the air that didn’t belong. A quiet edge to the light in my bedroom. Something instinctual that curled low in my chest and whispered: You’re going to see him today.I sat up slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. The digital clock on my nightstand read 6:12 AM. I’d woken up before my alarm.That never happened.For a moment, I sat in the quiet, listening to the subtle thrum of life in the apartment—the hum of the refrigerator down the hall, the soft creak of pipes behind the walls. I glanced toward the window. The sky outside was a soft bruised blue, the kind that threatened rain but hadn’t committed yet.Something was coming, I didn’t know what, but I just... knew. I exhaled, long and steady, and swung my legs out of bed.No time to sit in it.I had a self-taped audition due at 9, plus an early scene setup on set the same hour. I hated double-stack
Mr Billionaire's Regret: Ex-wife Returns With His Triplets. Chapter 171: Third Person's POV
He hadn’t moved.The photo still sat on his desk, face down now—he couldn’t keep looking at it. Couldn’t handle the version of himself frozen in time next to a woman who had once believed in him like gravity.His phone buzzed again, but he didn’t even glance. It was already past 11 now. The boardroom was probably empty. His schedule technically had the next block open. He told himself he’d use it to recalibrate. Maybe run through the Jakarta numbers again. Or respond to the dozen investor emails flagged in red.Instead, he stared at nothing.Until a quiet knock broke through the quiet.Dan stepped in, tablet in hand, expression careful. “I didn’t want to bother you again, but you’ve got something we can’t move.”Ashton ran a hand down his face. “What is it?”“It’s the on-set check-in for Harbor Lights.”Ashton blinked. “The indie project?”Dan nodded. “The one we’re financing eighty percent of. That director you liked—Chioma Grace—is already on site. They want a rep from Newhall to w
Mr Billionaire's Regret: Ex-wife Returns With His Triplets. Chapter 170: Third Person's POV
The conference room buzzed with the familiar rhythm of quarterly strategy talk—charts, revenue projections, phrases like “cross-market leverage” and “quarterly burn rate” tossed around like poker chips. Ashton sat at the head of the table, suit sharp, posture rigid, eyes glazed. He heard every word, but none of it registered in his head.Ed was halfway through a slide deck, pacing with the energy of a man trying to sell revolution in bullet points. “If we don’t pivot aggressively into Southeast Asia now, someone else will eat our lunch. The metrics are all here.” He stabbed a finger at the projection screen. “We’re hesitating. We’re bleeding edge, but we’re playing it safe. That doesn’t work in this market.”Someone down the table nodded. Someone else scribbled a note. Ashton said nothing.He wasn’t thinking about Jakarta. Or the numbers. Or market share.He was thinking about her.Not Helen exactly. Not even the message he’d mistakenly sent her at 2:13 AM and instantly regretted—no
Mr Billionaire's Regret: Ex-wife Returns With His Triplets. Chapter 169: Helen's POV
The house was too quiet when I got home. Too still. The kind of stillness that doesn’t feel peaceful, just... hollow. I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my heels, and walked barefoot across the hardwood floor that echoed with every step. The silence wasn’t comforting. It was accusatory. Like the walls had been waiting all day to ask me what the hell I thought I was doing. My body ached. Every muscle. Every nerve. Like I’d run a marathon barefoot through fire. I walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared at the contents like they might offer answers. They didn’t. Just leftovers, a half-empty bottle of wine, and a drawer full of vegetables I hadn’t touched all week. So I grabbed the wine, poured a glass, and didn’t bother with a coaster.I took one sip and winced. It tasted like yesterday’s grief. I moved to the sink, rinsed it out, muttering, ‘Not tonight. I couldn’t afford to numb out right now.’The house was dimly lit. A single lamp in the living room casts warm
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