All Chapters of My Billionaire Husband Wants Me Back : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

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

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

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

Lionel’s POVI conclude with Melissa and head back home, my mind still tangled in the conversation we’d just had. The drive is quiet, and for a while, I let the silence wrap around me. But the second I open my front door, that silence dies a sudden, messy death.My living room looks like a war zone. My throw pillow—the expensive imported one I’d told myself I didn’t need but bought anyway—has been split wide open, its insides ripped out and scattered across the floor like snow after a storm. Foam stuffing covers the rug, the couch, the coffee table.For a few seconds, I just stand there at the doorway, frozen. My eyes travel slowly over the destruction, like maybe if I look long enough, it’ll start to make sense.It doesn’t.This is exactly why I don’t like animals. And that throw pillow… it was way too expensive to die like this.The culprit is nowhere in sight. Not that I’m about to start hunting it down. I don’t have the patience.I head straight to my bedroom, strip out of my clot

Lionel’s POVAt exactly 2 p.m., I get a call from Maya through Evelyn’s phone. I answer immediately.“Hello,” I say, stepping out of the grocery store. I’d gone in to pick up a few things for my fridge—it’s embarrassingly empty.“I’m at the airport,” she says.She doesn’t have to ask; I know I have to pick her up myself. “I’m coming to you,” I tell her, ending the call before she can respond.I toss the bags of groceries into the boot, shut it with a solid thud, and get into the car. The drive should take less than half an hour if traffic behaves, but my mind isn’t on the road. It's on all the things that the doctor told me about Evelyn's health.…Maya’s POVSince I heard that Evelyn is sick, I’ve been uneasy. Not the kind of unease you can brush off with a good night’s sleep—the kind that crawls under your skin and stays there. I couldn’t wait until the weekend like I’d planned. The idea of her alone, unwell, and probably pretending everything was fine made my chest feel too tight.