Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Billionaire Married Me, Then Forgot How to Love Me: Kabanata 161 - Kabanata 170

(Serena)The next day, I get a call.It's early. The phone vibrates across the counter just as I’m checking the new staff schedule and finalizing supply numbers for both stores at my bakery office.I glance at the screen.Timothy Barnes. My lawyer.Ah, makes sense. Must be about the property. He’s been doing due diligence for me. Pending a proper clean-up from our little sprinkler disaster… I could move into the show home tomorrow.I swipe to answer. “Serena Langley.”“Ms. Langley, good morning.” His voice is even. “I’m calling regarding the Hale divorce proceedings.”I stop breathing.“Divorce proceedings?” I repeat. “But I thought you were calling about the property.”There’s a pause. “That’s not the purpose of this call, no. This is about your marriage dissolution. Were you aware?”“We’d… discussed it,” I manage. “But I didn’t expect him to move so fast.”Apparently, James Hale is a man of his word—especially when it’s about setting me free.“If it’s too sudden,” Timothy offers, “

(Serena)“Wait—” Haylee stares at me, glass frozen halfway to her lips. “He offered you how much?”I take a sip of my cocktail and give her a small, helpless shrug. “One billion. From his private holdings. Not Hale Enterprises. Not the family estate. Just… James’s personal wealth.”Her jaw drops open. “Holy fuck! I—Serena, that’s not a settlement. That’s an empire.”“I know. It’s a ridiculous amount I can’t even get my head around.”“That’s private island, gold bathtub, I-wipe-my-tears-with-Versace kind of money.”I smile despite myself.Haylee’s in oversized sweatpants and a crop top, hair piled on her head like a pineapple, legs tucked under her on the couch.Her eyes are wide and there’s none of the weird awkward vibe I felt the last time we spoke.Must have been the hangover.“You could do anything,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Anything you’ve ever dreamed. Open ten bakeries. Fund women’s shelters. Travel the world. Sponsor yourself a Formula 1 team. Hell, buy the team.”I laugh. “

(Serena)“You lit that fuse in me, Serena. That fire made me who I am now. That money came because I finally became someone who could stand on his own—and you were part of that. Now I want to offer you the financial freedom to do that for yourself.”I shake my head. “You don’t owe me—”“I know I don’t owe you!” he growls. “That’s the whole fucking point. This isn’t about owing you. This is about honoring you.”I don’t know what to say to that.“And by the way,” he adds, voice lower but dangerous now, “a lawyer would’ve gotten you twice that. Maybe more. You can go to court and take half.”“I never wanted anything from you but love and to be put first.”“I know. And that’s why you’re the only person I’d ever give something like that to. Because you don’t ask. Because you don’t expect. But you do deserve. And you need to let me help you put yourself first now.”His chest rises and falls as he steps closer, his words burning with sincerity.“That’s why I had to do it before you said no.

(Savannah)The rental is small.Two bedrooms. Sparse furniture. The kind of place people pass through, not settle in.Which is exactly what I need right now.The Whitaker estate is gutted—literally and emotionally. Full renovations underway.A skeleton of what it was and what it could be again, maybe, if I can ever face what it means to rebuild there.So for now, I hide out in this overpriced shoebox just outside the city, pretending I’m fine.The baby… my baby… is being placed today.I wasn’t supposed to see but I went there and watched. Wig and sunglasses, no one knew it was me.A private car, child services escort, legal documents signed and sealed. His new parents read as good people.Stable. Educated. They cried when they met him. She had the softest voice I’ve ever heard when they carried him out in his carrier. He held that little boy like he was already his whole world.It should bring me peace. It should make it easier.But nothing feels easy today.I’ve done what I set out t

(Nico)My mother is quiet.She’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the same glass twice like she’s buying time. I’ve already told her. She hasn’t responded.No raised voice. That’s never her style. No disbelief. Just silence.“I filed the claim this morning,” I say again. “Media will break the story later today.”She sets the glass down. “You shouldn’t have done that.”I don’t argue. I lean against the counter across from her, arms folded.“He never knew,” she says finally, turning to face me. “I didn’t tell him I was still pregnant.”“He’s going to know now,” I say. “And none of that makes a difference. What matters is what you did.”She frowns. “What I did?”“You worked three jobs. I remember the smell of bleach on your hands before you came to my high school debate meets. I remember you collapsing on the couch after double shifts and still asking me to read my essays out loud.”“I did what I had to.”“You lived in slum housing for ten years so I could stay in the right dist