All Chapters of The Forgotten wife of the Billionaire : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Dominic’s POV The sight of my phone in Lena’s hands hit harder than any bullet ever could. Her eyes weren’t wide with curiosity. They were sharp, glittering with something worse—hurt. Betrayal. The screen glowed between us, Clara’s venomous message scrawled across it like a curse. Miss me, Dom? I hear you’ve settled for second best. “Who the hell is she to you now?” Lena’s voice cracked on the last word. She tried to sound furious, but I heard it—the thread of fear underneath, the echo of years when she’d wondered if she was enough. God, it gutted me. I stepped forward, but she jerked back like I was fire. “Lena—” “Don’t.” Her grip on the phone was white-knuckled. “Don’t you dare say it’s nothing. Don’t you dare tell me it doesn’t mean anything. I saw.” Her voice rose with each word, sharp enough to draw blood. Upstairs, Eliana stirred, and Lena’s head whipped toward the sound. She dropped her tone, but her fury didn’t dim. “Not in this house. Not after everything. Tel

Dominic’s POV The restaurant Clara chose wasn’t just any place—it was the kind of spot you reserved weeks in advance, where the air reeked of money and exclusivity. Chandeliers glittered above like cages of fire, and violins hummed softly in the background. She’d chosen this stage carefully. I knew the game before I even walked in. She was already waiting at the table near the window, draped in red silk that clung to her like sin. A glass of wine sat untouched in front of her, condensation dripping down the stem as if the drink itself were nervous. Clara never looked nervous. Her smile cut through the haze of chatter when she saw me. “Dominic,” she purred, rising gracefully. “Right on time. I knew you would be.” I didn’t bother with pleasantries. Sliding into the seat opposite her, I kept my posture rigid, my expression carved from stone. “You asked for dinner. Talk.” Clara tilted her head, feigning hurt. “Is that really how you greet an old friend?” “Friends don’t amb

Dominic’s POV The thing about ghosts—they don’t announce themselves. They slip in through the cracks, through a remembered perfume, through a hand brushing yours when it shouldn’t. Clara wasn’t just a woman from my past. She was a wound that had never fully scarred. I met her when I was twenty-four, too arrogant, angry, and determined to prove myself to the world—and to my father. She had walked into my life like fire, all red lips and sharper teeth. She wasn’t afraid of me. That’s what caught me first. Everyone else treated me like I was an extension of my father’s empire—Clara treated me like I was a challenge. And God help me, I liked being challenged back then. We met at a gala—one of those endless charity events my father used to launder his reputation. She wore black, sleek and understated, but her eyes cut through the crowd like a blade. I remember her leaning in, whispering, “You look like you’re about to suffocate. Want me to save you?” I should have walked away. Instea

Lena’s POV The house never felt smaller than on mornings like this — when the quiet stretched too long. I moved through the kitchen as if walking a tightrope, every step measured. Eliana’s drawings were still tacked to the fridge. A half-finished bowl of cereal sat on the counter from last night. The silver bracelet glittered in the drawer where I’d hidden it. “Mommy?” Eliana’s small voice cut through the room like a knife sharpening. She padded in, hair in a lazy tangle, Leo hugged to her chest. “Are you okay? You look like the moon.” I smiled because she needed me to smile. “I’m fine, love. Go pick a dress for today, okay? We promised we’d bake chocolate chip cookies later.” She beamed and ran off, and the ache in my chest eased for a fraction. God, children had the cruellest ability to make everything right and everything wrong at the same time. The phone buzzed on the counter. I almost dropped it. Dominic’s name flashed, then a text: Running late. Handle breakfast. Call me i

Lena’s POV The house was too quiet. Not peaceful but accusing, the kind of quiet that pressed against my skin and whispered in every silence: you saw what you saw. I hadn’t even realised I was gripping the steering wheel so hard until my hands cramped. When I pulled into the driveway, my knuckles were white, my chest a knot of rage and grief that felt impossible to untangle. I couldn’t even look at the house without remembering Clara’s smile, her voice purring like she owned him, the hotel key glinting in her fingers. Trust. Once cracked, it never shines the same. I sat in the car until my body shook from holding it all in. Then I forced myself inside. ********** Eliana’s laughter floated down the hallway. She’d returned from her playdate, oblivious to the chaos her parents were choking on. For one terrible second, I wanted to collapse against her, to cry into her little pink backpack and tell her Mommy didn’t know how to hold things together anymore. But I couldn’t. She dese