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Author: sheilla
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-02-03 19:04:12

HER fist sank into the mattress with a muffled thud. The sting of failure shot up her arm, but it wasn’t physical pain she felt, it was fury. Every muscle in her body tensed as she gritted her teeth, nails digging into her palm.

Her mind raced, spinning through every possible angle she could have taken, every word, every gesture, every strategy that had failed spectacularly. She had imagined this moment a thousand times: Charles weak, tempted, vulnerable. She had seen him in her mind’s eye, tra
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    IT was Gaddiel’s idea, which meant it didn't come as a subtle suggestion they had agreed on. He announced it at breakfast on a Saturday, three weeks after the hospital. “We should go somewhere,” he spoke up immediately. “All of us. Like a trip?" Amelia looked up from her food and stared at her son. “Where did you have in mind?” “The nature park.” He said it like it was obvious. “With the birds and the walking trails and the place where we had the picnic that one time.” “The one where you dropped your sandwich and blamed Gabriel?” Amelia asked with a small smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t blame him,” Gaddiel said. “I just said he was nearby.” “I was in the car,” Gabriel corrected his twin. “You were near... by the car.” Gaddiel didn’t even pause. Amelia looked between them, her suspicious heckles rising. “Who else is coming on this trip?” “You,” Gaddiel said. “Me. Gabriel. Hazel.” He paused and lowered his voice. “And Dad.” She put her cup down. This was the fifth time thi

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    THE days after were the slow kind. Amelia was in her office when Ryan knocked and leaned against the doorframe the way he always did when he was about to say something she didn’t want to hear.“You need to take the week off,” he said worriedly, his brows drawing together.She didn’t look up from the file she was reviewing. “I’m fine, Ryan. I've already told you that.”“That’s what you always say.” Ryan pointed out.“Because it’s always true.”Ryan came in and sat down across from her. He didn’t say anything else. He just sat there with his arms crossed, watching her with the careful attention of someone who had known her long enough to know exactly how stubborn she could be.She made it three more minutes before she looked up. “What do you want? Why are you still here, Ryan? I'm trying to work!”“Work? You haven't been productive ever since you came to work, and you know it. I'm sorry, I know I may be pushing my boundaries right now, but you need to take some time off from work so you

  • Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back)   149

    THE corridor of the hospital was cold, with pale blue colours that just made Amelia's depression worse. It smelled offensive in the antiseptic kind of way. T strip lights made everything look slightly unreal. Amelia sat in a plastic chair with her back straight and her hands in her lap and her eyes fixed on the set of double doors at the end of the corridor, which had not opened in forty-seven minutes.She was still in the clothes she had been wearing on Chambers Street. She had not looked at them directly. She understood, from the way the paramedic had handed her a small sealed bag of something at the scene, that this was a practical consideration she would have to attend to at some point. She tucked it away, not caring to check what it was.Ryan arrived first, having apparently been called by someone whose identity she would ask about later. He sat beside her and did not immediately speak, which was one of the things she had always valued most about him. He was simply there, which w

  • Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back)   148

    THEY were on Chambers Street when it happened.It was a Saturday afternoon and they had come back to the gallery district because Ifeanyi had been told by a colleague about a bookshop two doors down from the gallery that specialized in architectural texts, and he wanted to find a specific out-of-print title. Then, Amelia had said she would come because she needed a Saturday that did not involve spreadsheets and the bookshop was supposedly excellent.It was excellent. She spent forty minutes in it and left with three books she hadn't planned to buy, which she considered a mark of quality.They were walking back toward the car park on the broad tree-lined pavement, Amelia with her books under one arm and Ifeanyi explaining something about the relationship between post-war housing design and community deterioration, which she was genuinely following despite everything, when she saw him.It was the rigid pose that caught her attention first... the way he was standing on the opposite pavem

  • Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back)   147

    FRIDAY was unremarkable. That was the thing Amelia would think about afterward. Of how completely ordinary it had been.She had woken at six-fifteen, made breakfast for the boys, sent Hazel off with her project materials, sat through a morning of back-to-back calls about the resort expansion, eaten lunch at her desk, and left the office at four-thirty because Ryan had told her she was starting to look like someone who lived there, and that was not a compliment.Ifeanyi had texted her at noon: *Free tonight? There is an architecture exhibit at the gallery on Chambers Street. Opens at six. Come with me, it will be good.*She had replied: *I have to sort the boys first. Seven-thirty?**Seven-thirty works.*She went home, fed the boys, helped Gabriel with a particularly contentious maths problem that turned out, once they worked through it, to be less contentious than he had believed, and read with Gaddiel for twenty minutes before Hazel came to take over the bedtime routine."You are goi

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    CHARLES had stopped answering the door which was a knew thing to his friends that new him very well. Charles had always been a man who moved towards people and always made himself the center of attraction in whatever room he entered because he understood instinctively that presence was money, and he had spent his whole life cashing it. But right now, he drowned in self hatred. With all the money he had made, he never thought of getting his own place, instead of crashing at his friend's. Who knew this would happen.Charles phone rang on the nightstand and he went to switch it off as usual, until he saw the caller ID and his hands hovered around the phone for a few seconds. He debated on picking the call from his estranged brother, but later agreed."What are you calling me for? To mock?" Charles voice was harsh. He had not spoken to his brother in years, and the only time he deemed it necessary to call was when he had been publicly humiliated."Not quite." His brother's voice was low.

  • Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back)   010

    FIONA had just waved off her fiancé at the departure gate, standing still until the final boarding call echoed and the glass doors slid shut behind him. She remained there a little longer than necessary, arms folded across her chest, eyes fixed on the runway beyond the tall windows, waiting for the

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  • Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back)   006

    IT was Sunday evening when Mrs. Harlow stepped into her daughter’s house, her handbag tucked neatly under her arm, her posture straight despite the long drive. The familiar scent of the house— warm, lived-in, unmistakably Amelia’s, greeted her before anything else could.She had barely taken two st

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  • Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back)   015

    ADRIAN?Why was he calling?Amelia stared at the phone vibrating in her hand, her brows knitting together slowly. Her heart had leapt only seconds ago when it rang, she had leapt foolishly and hopefully, thinking it was Charles finally calling back. Finally calling to explain, apologize, or even sa

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  • Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back)   009

    ADRIAN stood at the foot of his bed, folding a crisp white shirt with mechanical precision. The room was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed into his ears and forced his thoughts inward. A small suitcase lay open on the bed, half-filled with neatly arranged clothes— nothing excessive, n

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