All Chapters of Secret Billionaire Divorcee: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Caroline's Point of ViewI don’t expect to find them like this.I’m coming back from the nurse’s station with a warm cup of tea in hand—Adrian’s favorite blend—when I turn the corner and freeze at the doorway to his hospital room.The lights are dimmed. The sterile white of the walls doesn’t bother me today, not when I see the softest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on: Liam sitting beside Adrian in the reclining chair, a picture book opened between them. Adrian’s voice is quiet but clear, reading out loud with calm cadence, pausing for Liam to fill in the next word.Liam’s fingers trace the illustrations. He’s completely focused, not wiggling or distracted the way he usually is.I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I don’t want to break the moment.“‘And the little fox curled up next to his mama…’” Adrian says gently. “You know the next part?”Liam nods eagerly. “‘Because he was home. Safe and warm.’”“Yeah,” Adrian whispers. “Exactly.”My chest tightens.The paper cup in my hand feels hot.

Caroline's Point of View The air still smells like antiseptic and cold metal, but somehow, it feels warmer today. Maybe it’s because he’s sitting up now. Alive. Awake. Breathing. Adrian’s hoodie is half-zipped as he moves slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid to tear open anything that’s finally starting to heal. The nurses said he’s stable enough to go home—as long as someone stays with him. I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take him,” I told them. Because there’s nowhere else he belongs. Not right now. I’m standing by his bed, arms crossed like a wall between myself and all the things I’m feeling. He looks up at me as he adjusts the hoodie. His movements are still weak, but steadier than they were days ago. “You sure you’re okay to leave?” I ask f

Caroline's Point of ViewI don’t want to care.But I do.Even after everything. Even after the lies, the betrayal, the manipulation—I still feel that tightening in my chest, that flicker of something I wish I could suffocate. It's not love. It’s not hope. It’s not even hate. It’s a stubborn wound that hasn’t closed properly.The front door creaks. I know the rhythm of those steps. Penelope.I stay where I am, on the couch, a notebook open on my lap. I haven’t written anything meaningful in it all day. Just scribbles. Doodles. Adrian’s name in cursive, printed, tiny in the margins like some foolish girl trying to anchor herself in something good.“You’re not watching the news?” Penelope’s voice is soft, but it cuts through the silence anyway.I look up. Her face says everything before her words do—tense, unreadable.“No,” I say, sharper tha

Caroline's Point of ViewThe bell above the door jingles when it swings open, but I don’t look up right away.I'm at the counter, polishing a silver chain with slow, careful motions, pretending not to notice who just walked in. I don’t need to look. I know that heavy, dragging sound of his boots across the marble floor. I know the way the air changes when he’s near — heavier, familiar in a way that still manages to unsettle me.I keep my head down.Maybe he’ll leave.Maybe he’ll realize there's nothing left to say.But he doesn’t. He moves closer, the floor creaking under his weight."Caroline," Knoxx says, voice low.I finish buffing the chain and set it down neatly on the velvet mat before I lift my gaze.He looks terrible.Unshaven. Hollow-eyed. His jacket hangs loose on his frame like he forgot how to take care of himself. He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s fine. For once, Knoxx Wayne is stripped bare in front of me.And somehow, seeing him like this doesn’t bring me satisfaction

Caroline's Point of View I don’t usually turn on the television during breakfast. The apartment is quiet, and I like it that way. But this morning, I let the noise fill the silence.The news is on. Business segment. I don’t think twice about it until I hear his name.“Knoxx Wayne, CEO of Wayne Holdings, has once again made headlines with the launch of his latest renewable tech venture—”I freeze.My fork hovers midair. My appetite disappears.And then, there he is.Knoxx.The screen shows him standing in front of a line of men in suits. Flashing cameras, microphones shoved in his face, reporters circling like vultures. The same stage, the same performance I’ve seen him give a hundred times.But this time, it’s different.He doesn’t look like Knoxx.He looks thinner. Pale. The tailored suit hangs looser than usual. His smile is weak—hollow. Like it’s something he’s forgotten how to do but remembers he’s supposed to.His eyes don’t shine the way they used to when he talked about his wo