Semua Bab Mr Billionaire's Regret: Ex-wife Returns With His Triplets.: Bab 171 - Bab 180

He hadn’t moved.The photo still sat on his desk, face down now—he couldn’t keep looking at it. Couldn’t handle the version of himself frozen in time next to a woman who had once believed in him like gravity.His phone buzzed again, but he didn’t even glance. It was already past 11 now. The boardroom was probably empty. His schedule technically had the next block open. He told himself he’d use it to recalibrate. Maybe run through the Jakarta numbers again. Or respond to the dozen investor emails flagged in red.Instead, he stared at nothing.Until a quiet knock broke through the quiet.Dan stepped in, tablet in hand, expression careful. “I didn’t want to bother you again, but you’ve got something we can’t move.”Ashton ran a hand down his face. “What is it?”“It’s the on-set check-in for Harbor Lights.”Ashton blinked. “The indie project?”Dan nodded. “The one we’re financing eighty percent of. That director you liked—Chioma Grace—is already on site. They want a rep from Newhall to w

There’s something delicious about a quiet morning at the grocery store—clean aisles, the scent of fresh citrus near the produce section, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead.I push my cart slowly, savoring the unhurried pace. No one bumping into me, no screaming children, no crowds. Just me, the list in my head, and the gleam of satisfaction warming my skin like sunlight.I wear a beige trench coat and dark jeans, hair tucked behind my ears in a way that makes me look softer, more maternal. Polished, approachable. The kind of woman people smile at without really knowing why. I’m good at that—appearing harmless. It’s funny, actually. How easy it is to wear masks when you need to.I stop in front of the apples and select a few Honeycrisps, one by one. I turn each in my hand, carefully checking for bruises, and imperfections. Then gently place them in the bag, careful not to let them bump too hard against each other.Good things need care. They need protecting.Just like Henry.I

I was three blocks from home when my phone rang.At first, I almost didn’t answer. The number was unfamiliar—no caller ID, just a string of numbers that didn’t match anything in my contacts. I figured it might be a telemarketer, or someone from Henry’s new school. But something about it… made me answer.“Hello?”There was a pause.Then a voice. Male. Low. Distorted.“Rose.”A chill rippled through me. The voice was familiar—but not familiar in the way that brings comfort. Familiar in the way something from a dream is, right before it becomes a nightmare.“Who is this?” I asked.“You need to meet me. Today. One hour. Fulton & Pine. The alley behind the florist.”I pulled the car to the curb, heart pounding. “Excuse me? Who the hell are you?”Another pause.Then the words that turned my stomach to acid.“If you don’t show up, what you did six years ago... will no longer be a secret.”My throat closed.I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.“What... what are you talking about?” I finall

Dinner felt like a chore. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed to do something that felt normal. Something to remind me I was still just a person. So I stood in the kitchen, making a simple pasta dish. Boiled some water, added some salt, stirred the whole thing. The steps were automatic, but my mind wasn’t fooled. It was still stuck in that alley, replaying that voice.The sauce simmered as I set the table for one. The house felt too big, too quiet. Every tick of the clock sounded louder than it should. I tried to shake it off, to eat. The first bite tasted like nothing. The second was no better. But I kept chewing, hoping it would help calm me down.It didn’t.Halfway through, I froze.Footsteps.Soft. Slow. Right outside the front door.I held my breath, fork in mid-air. My heart thudded in my throat. Maybe I was imagining things. Probably just nerves.Then another step.I stood, chair scraping the floor. Quietly, I walked to the front window. I moved the curtain just enough to peek t

The city skyline stretched wide outside my penthouse, a canvas of cold glass and indifferent lights. People down there moved like ants, lost in their small lives. But up here, above it all, the air was thinner, still, suffocating. I loosened my tie, poured a glass of whiskey, and sat in the leather armchair by the window. The drink tasted like smoke and regret.I had seen her.Helen.The way she laughed. The way she leaned into him.Jace.His hand had been at the small of her back, his lips too damn close to hers. And then they kissed. Such a bold move. In public. Like I didn’t exist. Like our history was dust beneath their feet.But I did exist. And I wasn’t dust.I took a long sip, forcing the burn down.She had no claim on me. None. Just like I had no claim on her. She had signed the papers, severed the ties. Six years was a lifetime in my world. In theory, we were ghosts to each other.So why the hell did it still burn?Why couldn’t I erase that image from my mind?I leaned back