All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Forgotten Bride: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Amelia POVThe morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, warm and soft against my skin—but inside, I felt frozen. The sound of birds outside, the faint clinking of dishes from the kitchen, even the gentle hum of the air conditioning… everything felt foreign.I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the silk sheets in my hands, trying to ground myself in something—anything—that felt real. But the more I tried, the more everything blurred.Claire.The name echoed in my head like a haunting lullaby. Ethan said it so convincingly, with such tenderness, that for a moment, I’d wanted to believe him. But every time I whispered it to myself, something in me recoiled—like my mind knew it wasn’t mine.I looked down at my belly, the faint swell of it just beginning to show. My fingers trembled as they brushed over the curve. “Who are you?” I whispered, tears threatening to spill. “Who am I?”I tried to remember the moment it all began—the spark, the heartbeat, the warmth of another person c

Amelia POVThe morning after finding the photograph, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The image—my image—haunted me. The man with his arm around me, the words “To my firefly — Always yours, M.”Who was he? Why did my chest ache every time I pictured his face?I sat at the kitchen table, stirring my coffee long after it had gone cold. Luke’s laughter drifted from the backyard, a sound that normally warmed me. But today, it only reminded me of how fragile my world was—how easily it could all crumble if I pulled at the wrong thread.Ethan walked in, his usual calm presence filling the room. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead before sitting across from me. “You look a little lost this morning,” he said, watching me carefully.I forced a smile, tucking the photo—now hidden in my sweater pocket—further from sight. “Just didn’t sleep much,” I murmured.He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. “You’ve been quiet lately. Is it the headaches again?”I hesitated. For a split seco

Amelia POVThe moment the plane wheels kissed the Los Angeles runway, my stomach tightened—not from the landing, but from everything this city stirred in me. Luke’s small hand clutched mine as he pressed his face to the window.“Mommy,” he whispered, eyes wide, “is this our new home?”“No, sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing a curl from his forehead. “We’re just here for a little while.”He frowned in that thoughtful, too-mature way only Luke had. “But why did we come? Are we going back soon?”Before I could answer, Ethan spoke from beside us—smooth, calm, and controlled. “We’ll go back,” he said, reaching for Luke’s backpack. “As soon as Daddy finishes some things here.”Luke nodded slowly, trusting him. But my heart sank a little, because Ethan’s tone sounded exactly like it had yesterday—assuring, but withholding something. Something he wasn’t ready to say out loud.Los Angeles greeted us with bright sun and warmth that felt strange after weeks of winter back home. As we stepped out

Ethan POV I didn’t plan to lose my temper. I’d walked into my study last night thinking it would be like every other evening—reviewing reports, answering emails, pretending my father wasn’t hovering like a vulture waiting to swoop. But Sylvester was already there when I stepped inside, sitting in my chair as though he owned the air in the room. He didn’t look up immediately. He never rushed anything. “You’re late.” I shut the door harder than I meant to. “Didn’t know I had a schedule.” “You do,” he said simply, folding the newspaper he’d been reading. “You always have.” I bit back a curse. “What do you want?” He finally lifted his gaze, cool and unbothered. “A reminder. Before you let this situation spiral beyond control.” My jaw tightened. “What situation?” He leaned back in the chair—my chair—and steepled his fingers. “Amelia.” I felt the shift in me immediately. Irritation sharpened. “Leave her out of this.” “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Sylvester exhaled, almost bored. “She

Maxwell POV I had declined the damn ball. I remember staring at the glowing invitation on my desk that morning, feeling absolutely nothing. Five years ago, the idea of missing a gathering like that would’ve been unthinkable. I lived for rooms filled with power, wealth, and people pretending they mattered. But now? The thought of stepping into a ballroom felt like peeling open an old wound. Too many faces. Too many memories. Too much noise. So I told my assistant to send my regrets. As always, the world could function perfectly without me. Or so I thought. I was sitting on the edge of my bed that evening, shirt half-buttoned, reading a report I couldn’t care less about, when my door opened without a knock. Only one person entered my room like she owned it. Victoria. She glided in with that intoxicating smile she used to win men twice her age. Her perfume hit me first—sweet, expensive, suffocating. She placed herself beside me, running her manicured fingers along my jaw like she h