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2025-08-04 10:49:17
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My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back 65
Lionel's POV “Uhm—”“Can I see her now? Is she okay? What happened to her?” I follow questions upon questions, barely giving the doctor a second to respond. My voice trembles with urgency.The doctor watches me for a few quiet seconds, his face unreadable.“Please, come to my office,” he says finally.My heart nearly drops to the floor.There’s something terrifying about those words. When a doctor asks you to follow him to his office, it rarely means anything good. My chest tightens. Just when I thought I could breathe again. Without saying another word, he turns and walks down the hallway, leaving me to follow.I trail behind him, my legs suddenly feeling like lead. We reach the door to his office, and he pushes it open. I step inside after him and quietly shut the wooden door behind me. The office smells faintly of antiseptic and something citrusy. I sink into the plastic chair opposite his sleek black desk, which is neatly arranged with medical files, books, a BP checker, a pack o
My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back 64
Lionel’s POVI’ve been pacing for what feels like hours. My legs are tired, my brain more so, but the restlessness just won’t leave me. It’s like I’m stuck in this cycle of regret and confusion, haunted by Evelyn’s silence and that last moment we shared—if you could even call it a moment.She didn’t say much, but her eyes… they said everything. Anger. Hurt. Maybe even betrayal. I don’t know anymore.I drag a hand over my face, then over my head. The air in my apartment feels tight, suffocating. I’ve sent messages. Called a few times, not too much—I didn’t want to be that guy. But who am I kidding? She’s blocked me. I can feel it in my gut.And still, I like her.More than like, maybe.I don’t know how, or why, or when exactly it shifted, but it has.And then there’s Melissa.The worst timing possible.Of all the days to come back into my life, she had to choose now. I’ve already scheduled a meeting with her. I want closure. I stop pacing and glance at my phone again. Still nothing.
My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back 63
I wake up the next morning as early as I did yesterday. Maybe even earlier. Sleep and I have been at war lately, and I’m losing badly. No matter how exhausted I feel, my mind just won’t shut off. I’ve tried all the tricks—warm milk, deep breathing, calming music—but nothing works. Last week, my doctor prescribed me some medication to help, but even those feel like a temporary bandage over a wound that refuses to close.So instead of lying there tossing and turning, I drag myself out of bed, wrap my robe around me, and head to the kitchen. I cut open a ripe avocado, scoop out its soft green flesh, and blend it into a smoothie with banana, oat milk, and a handful of spinach. It’s not the most delicious thing in the world, but it feels clean and nourishing. Plus, my doctor recommended it. I take small sips while staring blankly out the kitchen window, the silence in the apartment stretching like a rubber band.After finishing the drink, I change into a black two-piece tracksuit, tie up m
My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back 62
I turn around to see Lionel standing behind me. He's in a simple pink shirt and a black trouser. A black sun shades dangle from his hand. I quickly yank my hand off his and step back a little. “What do you want? What are you even doing here? Are you following me?” I ask, gritting my teeth. He opens his mouth to respond when I stop him with a light chuckle. “Your baby mama is here. I almost forgot. How could I?” I smile at him. I ignore him and return my focus back to my phone in atempt to complete my order for a ride. He starts talking and he's moving closer to me. “I've been trying to get through to you since. It's driving me crazy but I told you that I don't know that woman, Eve. I don't for real” he pauses “what are you even doing here” I look at him and shake my head. He is in no position to ask me what I am doing here. He has no right to ask me that. So, I don't answer, I ignore his question but I look at him and say.“Just walk by. Pretend you never saw me here. That we ne
My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back 61
We stare at each other for what feels like the longest minute of my life, the air between us thick with words unspoken. Her eyes, sharp but trying not to be, hold mine for a few seconds longer before she finally breaks the silence.“Hi,” she says, lowering her gaze to the open file in front of her as if I hadn't just walked into the room.I part my lips to respond, to say something clever or cold or at least civil, but nothing comes out. My tongue feels like sandpaper. I glance briefly at the door behind me, tempted to turn around and walk out, pretending this meeting never happened. I mean, really—what am I doing here?She speaks again, like she senses the tension between us. “Hi, again. I remember you.”Of course she does. I shift in my seat.“I believe we didn’t meet in a good way,” she continues, her voice even and professional, her tone not revealing anything—no bitterness, no resentment. Just business.Still, I say nothing. I can’t read her, and for someone like me who lives off
My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back 60
One Month LaterThe morning light spills lazily through my curtains as I drag myself out of bed. My feet hit the cool tiles, a small shock to my skin, but it wakes me up just enough. I stretch and walk over to my laptop, the lid still open from the night before. On the screen, a checklist glows softly—a plan, finally. Not just ideas scattered like breadcrumbs but a full, breathing business plan. My pastry shop. My future.I smile at the screen. For the first time in a long time, it feels like I’m actually going to win. Not just survive, but truly win. I reach for my phone beside the laptop and scroll to Maya’s contact. The moment I dial, she picks up before the first ring even finishes.“You didn’t even let the phone ring,” I say with a laugh, already feeling lighter.Her voice comes through, bold and bright. “This device was already in my hand,” she says, probably rolling her eyes with that signature grin of hers. I can imagine it clearly—her, in a headscarf, barefoot in her apartmen
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