บททั้งหมดของ BILLIONAIRE'S DEAD WIFE RETURNS : บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

AminaThe world tilted the moment I saw her face on the screen.I was half asleep on the couch, a blanket tangled around my legs, the morning news droning in the background something about a local charity gala when the headline flashed across the bottom of the TV.*“Breaking News: Woman Arrested in Connection with Attempted Murder of Businessman’s ex Wife.”I didn’t even have to look twice before my mother’s picture filled the screen.My stomach dropped so hard I thought I was going to throw up.For a second, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I just stared at the television as the anchor’s voice blurred into static in my ears. They were replaying footage of her being dragged out of the hospital handcuffed, wild eyed, shouting something incoherent.No. No, this couldn’t be happening.I fumbled for the remote, turning the volume up.“sources close to the investigation have confirmed that Mrs. Delgado, mother of . Amina , is being questioned in connection with the near fatal car crash

AlexI watched the phone vibrate in my hand like a heartbeat, one I was finally ready to control.Amina’s name flashed across the screen. My stomach clenched for just a second before I swallowed it down. This was part of the plan. I needed her to think she had the upper hand. Let her believe she could manipulate me. Let her believe she could get Ethan back.I answered.“Alex?” Her voice was tight, a mixture of panic and desperation. “I need Ethan. I want him back. He is my son. Bring him to me, I miss him, he needs to be with me right now, especially during this time”I let her words hang there in the quiet of my apartment, the city lights cutting thin stripes across my desk.“I understand,” I said slowly, carefully. “But, you realize the circumstances, don’t you?”She exhaled sharply, impatient. “What circumstances? He is my son. You know that. You can’t”“Can’t what?” I interrupted softly, almost kindly. “I can’t just hand him over because you demand it?”Her voice wavered. “Alex,

AminaThe hotel room smelled faintly of cologne and cigarettes, the curtains drawn just enough to keep the city lights out. Alex was sitting on the edge of the bed, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes focused but distant. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the careful control he was trying to maintain.I perched on the armrest across from him, keeping my movements slow, deliberate. My pajamas were soft, comfortable, but I made sure I leaned just enough to keep his gaze on me. He was playing his game, and I could feel it. I could sense it. He wasn’t here for me, not really. He was stalling, keeping Ethan away under some pretense of “safety” or “strategy.”As much time as it had passed between us, I still could read Alex like a book. I leaned forward slightly, letting my hand brush his arm lightly. “Alex,” I said softly, my voice almost a whisper. “I don’t know why you are doing this. Ethan doesn’t deserve it. He is my son, he deserves his mother.”He looked

AminaMy hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the seat. The air inside the car felt too heavy, too still, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the engine and Ethan’s soft hiccups as he tried to calm down in the back seat.I forced my breathing to steady, forcing calm into my voice. “Alex,” I said softly, leaning forward a little. “You have to believe me. I wasn’t running away. I swear, I was just, I was just going to a hotel, it's no longer safe at my mom's house.”He didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The dashboard lights carved sharp shadows across his face, and for the first time, I couldn’t read him at all.I swallowed hard and tried again, my voice shaking this time. “Please, Alex. I was scared, that’s all. You have no idea what it’s like, the police came, they were asking me all these questions about the accident. I didn’t know what to do and then my mom got arrested on live television, I have been receiving prank calls, texts, it's not

KylaThe soft hum of the hospital machines had become almost comforting, like white noise that drowned out the chaos in my head. For days, that sound was all I knew, all I clung to when I was trapped between sleep and pain, between memories and reality.Now, as the nurse handed me a small stack of discharge papers and a clear plastic bag with my belongings, it felt surreal. I should have been happy to leave this place, to finally breathe air that didn’t smell like antiseptic and sorrow. But my chest still felt heavy, my hands still shook slightly.Jake was standing near the window, his phone in one hand, looking out over the hospital courtyard. The late afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across his face. He had barely said a word since morning, and I could feel that tension, thick and unspoken filling the room.Something was wrong.I could always tell when Jake was holding something back. The way his shoulders stiffened, the way his jaw worked when h