Semua Bab Billionaire's Regrets:He Hurt Me But Wants Me Back: Bab 91 - Bab 100

Leah’s POV I’ve been waiting for over an hour.At first, I was patient. Understanding, even. Maybe he was caught up. Maybe something urgent had come up. Maybe Carter had forgotten to let me know that Dwight would be a while. But now—now I’m just restless.My fingers tap incessantly against the arm of the leather chair. The soft whoosh of the central air system is the only sound in the room, aside from the ticking of the minimalist wall clock. I’ve checked my phone more times than I care to admit. No messages. No missed calls.I've tried to keep myself occupied with a few word games, but not even that can keep me from overthinking.Does Dwight even want me here? Had he truly written me off after he left Greece?I think about that night again... About his confession, those brutal truths I'd stopped myself from thinking about, afraid that if I did, I'd go insane. Or worse...I'd realize that maybe Dwight was truly not the problem. Maybe it was me all along. Maybe it was my impatience...

Ethan's POV The knock comes hard—three quick raps against the front door. I glance up from the laptop screen, where Leah's pictures are littered all over. I'd saved dozens and dozens of pictures since we'd gotten together. Way before we got together...Leah had always been a fantasy. A delightful woman. A sweet little reward I couldn't wait to have—The knock comes again, harder this time, interrupting my thoughts.I don’t call out to announce that the door’s open. I don’t have to. The bastard walks in like he owns the place—like every lock and latch is beneath him. The air changes when he enters. Heavy. Stale. The scent of sweat and something coppery clings to him like a second skin.He steps into the living room, boots leaving faint marks on the pristine tile. His jacket is slung low, his knuckles scraped and red. And I notice—he sees the broken bottle near the bar, the puddle of whiskey dark against the floor. His eyes pass over it, but he doesn’t mention it. Good. Smart."Where a

Ethan's POV Evening sits on my shoulders like a soaked coat—heavy, suffocating. I’ve been pacing the same strip of carpeted floor in my living room for over an hour now, waiting for a call that hasn’t come. The phone’s on the table, screen face up, and every time it lights up, I nearly twist my neck snapping around to check it. Still nothing. No message. No threat. No update.Silence.That thug should’ve called by now. Should’ve sent a text, a picture, something. Proof that the housekeeper was taken. That the job was done. I paid good money for swift execution, not radio silence.But here I am. Waiting.I rake both hands through my hair, frustration buzzing in my jaw. And underneath it, something worse—fear. Not the surface kind either. The real kind. The kind that crawls under your skin and pulses against your ribcage. The kind that knows you crossed a line too deep to walk back from.I shouldn’t have laid hands on her.My housekeeper. The annoyingly curious woman who never knew whe

Ethan POV It’s evening now.The heavy, muted tones of twilight seep through the cracks in the blackout curtains, casting elongated shadows across the living room. I’ve been here for hours, pacing from wall to wall, the silence clinging to me like sweat. My shirt lies discarded across the back of the couch, crumpled and damp. My chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as I rub the back of my neck, sore from tension.I haven't had anything to eat since morning. All I've done is drink and drink from the bottles of scotch... Which is quite unhealthy for my kidney, but I literally don't care at this point.There’s an ache in my jaw from clenching too hard, too long as I lose myself to thoughts.The bottle of scotch is nearly empty now, rolling slightly on the edge of the coffee table each time I pass by. I don’t touch it. Not right now. My thoughts are too loud. Too frantic. And the buzz I was chasing earlier has long since faded into something harsher—paranoia. Regret. Fear.Three hou

Felix's POV The door shuts behind Leah with a gentle click, and I remain seated, staring at the space she occupied just moments ago. There's a strange stillness in the room, as if the air itself is trying to make sense of the moment. She had come here, unprompted. She had spoken her mind with a clarity that left no room for doubt. And she had walked out with her head held high, determined to finish what she started. I find myself deeply moved—not by sentiment, but by the sheer force of her resolve.I glance down at the small stack of papers on my desk. They blur as I shift focus, my thoughts drifting elsewhere. She's more than capable. That’s what I keep circling back to. All those years of wondering if I’d done anything right with her, if I’d given her enough, shaped her enough, prepared her for the world—today proved something. Not that she’s strong. I’ve always known that. But that she’s resilient in a way that demands respect.It’s time for a call I should’ve made earlier. I reac