Todos os capítulos de My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back : Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

I turn around to see a set of familiar tanned, blue eyes staring at me."Hello," he says, stepping forward and positioning himself right in front of me.I blink, stunned into silence, my mind scrambling to match the face to a name. There’s something about him that strikes a chord, but the name? It just won’t come. I offer a nervous smile, stalling, pretending like I’m not absolutely blanking. I nod awkwardly, silently willing my brain to cooperate.He tilts his head slightly, eyebrows raised as if asking, Are you okay? And I can tell he’s caught on.I sigh and laugh a little under my breath. “Oh, hi… uhm…” I trail off, still smiling, hoping the curve of my lips will make up for my fading memory. I nod again, this time as if to say, Sorry, I forgot.It’s funny too—because he actually gets it. He chuckles, a rich sound that settles between us easily.“Lionel,” he says, helping me out. “From the beach.”God. Of course. Lionel. How could I forget that? It's such a simple name.“Yeah… Lion

“Sit, please,” he says the moment I step into his office.It’s an artsy-looking space with warm brown tones, exposed brick walls, and the strangest combination of scents—peanut butter and flour. The smell hits me like a wave, and I nearly gag. I bite it back, willing my stomach to behave, and glide over to the lone brown single-seater positioned in front of his wooden desk. It creaks as I sit, and I force a polite smile.The office is far from tidy—brown envelopes and white sheets of paper are strewn across the desk and shelves like a hurricane had danced through. Still, there’s a strange kind of charm to it, like organized chaos, or maybe just plain chaos.He pulls open a drawer and retrieves a thick file, placing it with a soft *thud* on the desk. “You’ll sign this document,” he says, sliding the crisp white sheets toward me, “but only after payment has been confirmed.”I arch a brow, amused. “Venmo?”He nods, already unlocking his phone. I send the money, confirm the transfer, and

Gaining some strength and rising to my feet later in the evening, I decided to make the most of what little energy I had. The apartment still felt foreign, too quiet, too dusty. Maybe cleaning would help me feel a bit more in control, a bit more… grounded. I started with the ceiling corners—cobwebs were clinging there like they’d made a home before I had. I stretched and swatted at them with an old broom I found tucked behind a shelf.When I was done, I noticed a vacuum cleaner sitting at the far end of the living room. It looked old, but promising. “This should make things easier,” I muttered, dragging it toward me. But the moment I tried to push it, it wouldn’t budge. Not an inch. I wiggled the handle, checked the plug, even hit it lightly as though that would wake it up. Nothing.With a sigh of defeat, I dropped it and picked up the dusty sweeping brush instead. The floor creaked under my movements as I brushed, each stroke raising clouds of dust that made me sneeze. It wasn’t perf

He walks to where I’m standing at the entrance of my gate and stops a few inches away, his brows slightly furrowed in concern.“Are you alright? Did you forget something in my car?” Lionel asks, turning back to glance at the black Tesla now bathed in the glow of the streetlights.I shake my head slowly. “I didn’t forget anything in your car. I… I kind of need your help with something,” I say, exhaling hard, eyes momentarily closing from the weight of admitting it.I’m not used to asking people for help—especially not men. Especially not someone I just reconnected with after hours of avoiding conversation on a flight from Chicago to New York.I’m stuttering, and my fingers tremble slightly as they wrap around each other. It’s been a long time since I let someone see me like this—unguarded, unsure.Lionel studies me in silence. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, clearly reading between the lines.“My help?” he repeats softly. A few seconds later, he throws his hands in the air and

I wake up the next morning feeling a little better—lighter even. There's a fresh dose of motivation stirring inside me. The plan is simple: take a shower, pack my things, and get the hell out of this guy’s house. But not before we have a conversation about my house renovation plans. I don't intend to leave without that.Dragging myself out of bed, I wander into the bathroom and run a quick bath, letting the warm water soothe the slight ache in my muscles. Afterward, I slip into something less stressful—a simple, cotton jumpsuit that's casual but comfortable. It's one of those outfits that lets you breathe and move without feeling like the seams are at war with your skin. I run a comb through my hair, not bothering with anything too fancy, just enough to look presentable. Then, I repack my bag and head for the door.Halfway down the stairs, the bass thumping from the living room stops me in my tracks. Hip-hop music blares loudly—some old-school jam with heavy beats and a cocky rhythm.