All Chapters of The Forgotten wife of the Billionaire : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

Dominic’s POV The world fell apart in a few lines of code. It started with a call that didn’t go through. A wire transfer that bounced. The sterile screen of his banking app, usually a display of untouchable zeroes, now flashed an alert: ACCOUNT FROZEN. CONTACT YOUR BANK. He tried another account, then another. The same message, every single time. A cold, surgical execution. His father wasn’t just cutting him off; he was amputating him from the global financial system. The first hit came from the shadows. The next, a quiet betrayal. A text message from a man who had sworn loyalty a decade ago: Can’t help. He’s made it clear. The message was gone a minute later, but the message was received. The empire had a new king, and every vassal was bending the knee. Dominic wasn’t just an heir disowned; he was a traitor to be erased. He was a ghost, a nobody. A man with nothing but the clothes on his back and the pistol tucked into his jeans. Rage, hot and blinding, surged through him. He wa

Dominic's POVAn old, rusty swing set sat crookedly in the middle of the playground, its chains groaning under a weight they hadn't felt in years. From the driver’s seat of my car, it was a perfectly peaceful scene—the kind of quiet that calms you into forgetting the world still turns with a nasty, hungry hatefulness. The late afternoon sun hung low, casting long, lazy shadows across the lawn of Eliana’s school. I was early, as always, but I liked watching the kids spill out of the brick building, their laughter a chaotic, joyful sound that almost made me forget why I had to be here in the first place.Almost.A glint of light off a dark sedan parked a few hundred feet away snagged my attention. It was too clean, too new, and parked with a deliberate nonchalance that set my teeth on edge. My hand instinctively went for the pistol tucked beneath my jacket. A small bead of sweat traced a cold path down my back. I’d told myself this was a simple pickup, a brief moment of normalcy in a l

Lena’s POVThe house was too quiet.Not the peaceful kind of quiet—the kind that lets you hear birds in the trees or the hum of the fridge. This quiet was suffocating, heavy, the kind that pressed on your chest until you couldn’t breathe.Eliana was asleep upstairs. Exhausted. Traumatised. She’d clung to me for hours, refusing to let go, her little body shaking even after Dominic swore again and again that she was safe. I’d sung lullabies I hadn’t touched in years, my voice breaking, until she finally drifted off, her lashes still wet with tears.Now, it was just me.The crumpled note sat on the table in front of me, its words burned into my brain.Next time, I won’t miss.I couldn’t look at it anymore. But I couldn’t throw it away either. That single piece of paper had split our world wide open, and no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t pretend we’d ever be whole again.When I closed my eyes, I saw it. The moment Dominic carried her through the door, his arms locked around her l

Dominic’s POV The warehouse was burning. Smoke poured into the sky, a black banner of war. But he was still alive. I knew it the moment I stepped into the open lot behind the building. The night was too quiet, too expectant. My instincts screamed. And then he emerged. My father, flanked by the last of his loyal dogs—half a dozen men, battered but not broken. His suit jacket was gone, his shirt rolled to the elbows, but the glass of wine was still in his hand, as if none of this touched him. “Running again?” His voice cut through the roar of the flames. “Or are you finally ready to finish what you started?” I leveled my rifle at his chest. “This ends tonight.” He smiled. “Yes. It does.” The fight exploded before the last word left his lips. His men surged forward, gunfire shredding the night. I dove behind a rusted container, bullets sparking against steel. My rifle barked in reply, each shot deliberate, precise. One fell. Then another. But they kept coming. A bullet grazed

Three months later……… Lena’s POV Three months. That’s how long it had been since the night that tore our world apart, the night Dominic’s father finally fell. Three months since the blood, the smoke, the gunfire echoing in my ears like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. And yet, standing in the soft morning light of our kitchen now, barefoot on cool tile while coffee brewed, it almost felt like a different life entirely. The house was quieter than it had been in months. Peaceful. Not because the memories had faded—they hadn’t—but because for the first time in so long, we weren’t waiting for shadows to pounce. I glanced toward the backyard through the window above the sink. Eliana was out there in her little yellow sundress, twirling barefoot in the grass as if the world had never scared her. She was laughing, tossing a ball for Leo, her stuffed lion clutched tightly in her other hand. My chest ached at the sight. She was only five, and yet she had already seen too much. B