บททั้งหมดของ I LEFT MY EX HUSBAND AND MARRIED A BILLIONAIRE : บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

~ELENA’S POV~The living room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air system and the soft ticking of the antique clock mounted above the fireplace. The night had settled fully outside the tall glass windows of the villa, wrapping the compound in a deep blue hush.Max sat on the couch with his laptop open but idle, unread emails lining the screen. It was obvious his attention wasn't on the numbers or reports. He looked up the moment he noticed my presence.I stood at the entrance holding a long velvet case in both hands. He looked at me like he noticed the glow in my eyes—the unmistakable spark I carried whenever I had created something meaningful.Max closed his laptop slowly. “That look,” he said. “You finished something.”“You always know,” I smiled.“You wear it on your face,” he complimented.I walked over and sat beside him, placing the velvet case carefully on the center table.“This one is different,” I said. “Not for exhibition. Not for investors. Not for the press.”“T

~ELENA’S POV~Morning came quietly, almost deceptively so.Sunlight slipped through the sheer curtains of the bedroom, painting soft patterns across the bed where I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. I had been awake long before the alarm rang, my body restless, my thoughts racing in slow, anxious circles. The faint nausea I had been feeling for days lingered again, accompanied by a strange heaviness in my chest—part excitement, part fear.I sat up slowly, pressing a hand against my stomach, as if doing so might still the uncertainty twisting inside me.“It's probably nothing,” I told myself for the hundredth time. Stress. Fatigue. Everything I had been through lately could easily explain it.And yet… something felt different.Max stirred beside me, turning slightly, one arm stretching across the space I'd just vacated. He didn't wake; his face looked softer in sleep, less guarded, less like the man who carried the weight of empires and betrayals on his shoulders.I watched him for a

~MAX’S POV~The house felt wrong. It wasn't silent—no, the walls still carried sound. The low hum of the air conditioning. The distant clink of cutlery from the kitchen, where a maid was clearing untouched dishes. Even the faint echo of footsteps somewhere down the corridor. Yet to me, the villa felt hollow, as though something vital had been ripped out and the space hadn't yet realized it. Elena was gone.Not upstairs. Not in the living room. Not in the garden where she sometimes retreated to when her thoughts became too loud. Gone in the kind of way that made the air itself feel colder.I stood in the living room, my back to the couch, one hand braced against the edge of the table. I clenched my jaw so tightly that it ached. I replayed every scene over and over again in my head—the way Elena froze in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock, the way her face drained of color as though someone had pulled the ground out from under her feet. And the way she turned and ran.I dragged a han

~ELENA’S POV~I sat beside my mother's hospital bed, my fingers absently tracing the faded patterns on the white blanket. The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptics and warm tea—comforting in a quiet, familiar way. Mom stared at me carefully. Like she was observing something for faults.“You've lost weight,” she said at last, her voice gentle but observant.Mom was right. I had lost weight because of the stress lately—having to deal with mental and physical stress at the same time is a total disaster.I forced a small smile. “Hospital food isn't exactly inspiring.”“That's not what I mean,” Mom replied, turning her head slightly so she could see me better. “You've been carrying something heavy.”I looked away.For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was thick with unasked questions and unsaid truths. Mom had always known when to wait and when to press.“Elena,” she said softly. “You can't shield me from your pain. I'm your mother.”I swallowed. “I know.”

~ALEX’S POV~The iron gates slid open with their usual mechanical groan, headlights cutting through the quiet evening like a blade. I slowed the car, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other tapping impatiently against the door. It had been a long day—endless calls, meetings that went nowhere, numbers that refused to add up the way they used to. I just wanted to get home, pour a drink, and forget the weight pressing against my skull. And obviously, embrace the warmth of my wife and our little boy.The guardhouse light flickered on. I frowned.This wasn't normal. The guards usually wave me through without hesitation. I'd lived here long enough, paid enough, thrown enough money at the homeowners’ association to be more than recognizable. I rolled the car to a stop, and one of the guards stepped out, adjusting his cap nervously.“Good evening, sir,” the guard said, offering a stiff nod.I rolled down the window halfway. “What's the problem?”The guard hesitated, glancing