All Chapters of Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Gabriel’s POV I watched Sienna flip through the magazine like nothing had changed, her legs crossed lazily on the edge of the examination room chair. The hum of the fluorescent lights above made the quiet feel almost… heavy, though I hated admitting it. My fingers were fidgeting against the edge of the chair arm, tracing the tiny cracks in the laminate like they were the only thing keeping me from losing it.The doctor’s footsteps approached. I could hear the soft shuffle of her shoes before she appeared, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning us both like she was preparing for a report.“Mr. Gabriel… “ Her voice was calm, professional, but there was something in the way she paused at my name that made my stomach twist.I swallowed hard. “Yes, Doctor?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I could feel it cracking at the edges.Sienna didn’t look up from her magazine. “Hmm?” she murmured casually.The doctor cleared her throat. “I’ve reviewed Aria’s test results.” She glanced at Sienna firs

Gabriel’s POVThe office was quiet, too quiet, but it didn’t feel like peace. It felt like the calm before everything broke.Another investor had backed out. Again. The numbers on my screen blurred, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles ached.Vincent cleared his throat, careful. “Gabriel, we can find someone else. We still—”“I don’t care!” I snapped, standing so fast the chair skidded back. “I don’t care about anyone right now except Aria!”Vincent flinched. “She’s at the hospital—”“Exactly!” I banged my palm against the desk. “And Sylvia is… she’s… she’s not even there!”The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I hadn’t let myself think them aloud until now.Sylvia. My wife. My partner in life, in this empire. My daughter’s mother.She was somewhere else. Somewhere that mattered to her more than her own child.I remembered the texts, the dismissive tone in her voice that morning. “I’ll handle things, Gabriel. Don’t worry.”Handle things.As if Aria’s worsening condition could be han

Gabriel’s POVNight settled into the hospital like a heavy blanket.The lights dimmed, the hallway emptied, and the world narrowed to the slow rise and fall of Aria’s chest. Each breath felt borrowed. I counted them without realizing—one, two, three—like if I stopped, something terrible would happen.A soft knock sounded at the door.I looked up sharply. For half a second, my heart betrayed me.But it wasn’t Sylvia.It was the doctor. The same woman from earlier. Calm. Measured. The kind of calm that only made my chest tighten more.“Mr. Vale,” she said gently. “May we talk outside?”I hesitated, glancing at Aria, then nodded. I followed her into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind us like a warning.“She’s stable for now,” the doctor said before I could speak. “But I won’t sugarcoat this. The next twenty-four hours are critical.”My throat went dry. “Critical how?”“She’s responding to treatment, but her body is under immense stress. We’re adjusting her medication, monitoring

Aria’s POVI woke up to quiet.Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful—but the kind that presses against your ears, heavy and unfamiliar. My eyes fluttered open, lids burning like I’d cried for days, even though I couldn’t remember crying. The ceiling above me was white and blurry, the edges swimming as if I were underwater.I tried to move.Pain answered first.It bloomed in my chest, sharp and deep, stealing the air from my lungs. I gasped, instinctively, and the machines around me reacted—beeping, whirring, reminding me I wasn’t alone even when I felt like I was.“Easy,” a voice said quickly.Dad.My head turned slightly, and there he was—sitting too close to the bed, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight like he’d been holding himself together with nothing but willpower. His hand wrapped around mine immediately, warm and steady, grounding me.“You’re okay,” he said softly. “You’re awake. That’s all that matters.”I swallowed, my throat dry. “Hurts,” I whispered. The word barely made it out.

Gabriel’s POVShe fell asleep mid-breath.One moment her lashes were still damp, lips barely parted like she might say something else—and the next, her body softened into the mattress, the fight easing out of her in a way that made my chest ache.I stayed still.Didn’t move my hand from hers. Didn’t shift from the chair no matter how badly my back protested. The machines filled the silence again, steady and merciless, as if reminding me that this moment—this fragile calm—was borrowed time.Aria slept like someone who had been running for years and had finally collapsed.I watched her chest rise and fall, slow and shallow, and guilt crawled up my spine in a way I couldn’t shake. She looked younger like this. Not the sharp, guarded girl who’d learned too early how to swallow pain, but the child she used to be—the one who laughed too loudly, who cried without shame, who believed love stayed if you were good enough.I failed her.Not in the obvious ways. Not in the ways people point out e