All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Amelia POV The world blurred for a second. My thoughts had been circling the same drain all day—Maxwell’s visit, his accusation, the way his voice cracked when he said we should be grieving together.I had gone out for some air, hoping the quiet streets would soothe the chaos inside me. But my mind wouldn’t stop. Every memory, every mistake, every almost between Maxwell and me tangled like vines, wrapping tighter around my chest until I could hardly breathe.The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the quiet lane. My feet carried me toward the small corner café I used to visit back in university. It had been years since I’d walked this route. Everything felt eerily unchanged—the chipped pavement, the faint smell of baked bread from the nearby bakery, the old streetlamp that still leaned slightly to the right.But I wasn’t really seeing any of it. My mind was replaying his words.“Why are you trying to leave me now? This isn’t over, Amelia.”I didn’t notice the lig

Amelia POV The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that pressed down on my chest and made breathing feel like a chore. I sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled to my chest, staring blankly at the wall. My thoughts looped back to Maxwell’s face earlier—rage, betrayal, heartbreak. It replayed like a broken record, each time shattering me a little more.I pressed my palm to my belly, feeling the faint flutter beneath. It’s just you and me now, I thought bitterly, though even that thought made my throat tighten. How had everything gone so wrong, so fast?Outside, a storm had started. Rain lashed against the windows, wind howled through the trees, and thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. Fitting, I thought grimly. Nature mirrored the chaos inside me.Hours passed like minutes. I must have dozed off sitting upright, because the sudden sound of the front door slamming downstairs jolted me awake. My heart lurched. I didn’t need to guess who it was. The heavy, uneven thuds up the

Ethan POVThe rain hammered against my windshield like a thousand tiny fists, the wipers struggling to keep up. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles pale under the dim glow of the dashboard. Midnight traffic was sparse, just the occasional pair of headlights cutting through the storm. My mind was miles away, tangled in the web of bad news that had just detonated my night.The phone buzzed in the cup holder again. I shouldn’t have picked up while driving, but I did. One glance at the caller ID—and my gut twisted.“Dad?” I answered, voice tight.“Ethan.” His tone was sharp, clipped. “Where the hell are you?”“Driving back from the site. What’s wrong?”There was a pause, and then his voice dropped into that infuriatingly calm register he used when things were about to implode. “The board voted tonight. Chloe Lawson’s father pulled out his investment.”My foot pressed harder on the gas pedal. “What?”“You heard me. Forty percent of our expansion funding—gone. He wants nothing

Ethan POVThe scream echoed down the sterile hallway, sharp and raw, slicing through the early morning quiet. A nurse’s head snapped up from the station. I stood frozen at the foot of her bed, my hands half raised, unsure if I should approach or retreat.Her breathing was rapid, chest rising and falling beneath the hospital gown. Eyes wide, unfocused—she looked at me like I was some kind of intruder. Which, in a way, I was.“I—” My throat felt dry. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the monitors, the IV drip, the beeping machines. “Where am I?” Her voice cracked. “Who are you? What happened to me?”For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The silence between us grew thick, punctuated only by the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.I took a slow step forward, hands still visible, as if I was trying not to spook a wild animal. “You’re in a hospital,” I said evenly. “You were found on the road last night. I was… passing by. I called the ambulance.”She st

Ethan POVI couldn’t sleep that night. Her question—“Who am I pregnant for? Is it you?”—echoed in my skull like a relentless drum. I stared at the ceiling of my room, the shadows cast by the night lamp carving shapes that twisted and shifted with my thoughts. Every second that ticked by made the walls feel smaller, the air heavier.And then, as if the universe enjoyed tormenting me, my father’s words from a few nights ago came flooding back like a poison I’d tried to spit out but swallowed instead.“She’s a gift, Ethan. A gift sent from heaven to fix what you broke.”At the time, I’d laughed bitterly. “Gift? She’s a human being, Dad. A woman who doesn’t even know who she is.”He’d given me that same look he always did when I didn’t follow his carefully calculated plans—half disappointed, half amused that I still had a conscience.“Exactly,” he’d said smoothly. “She’s a blank slate. Which means you get to write the story. Give her a name. Give her a past. Make her yours.”I’d slammed m