All Chapters of Goodbye, Mr. Wrong: The Heiress Returns: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Gabriel’s POVIt was a quiet Saturday morning, the kind where the sun felt softer, not quite searing through the windows but bathing the dining room in a gentle glow. I sat at the head of the table, alone for the moment, breakfast laid out in front of me—a simple spread, far less extravagant than the mornings Sienna and I had once shared, but it was enough. I pushed food around my plate with little interest, my mind wandering in its usual, restless way.Aria padded into the room, her little feet silent against the tiles, her hair slightly messy from sleep, and a sparkle of curiosity in her eyes. She climbed onto the chair next to me, her small hands resting on the table. “Daddy,” she said softly, tilting her head, “can we talk?”I looked down at her, forcing a smile. “Of course, princess. What’s on your mind?”She beamed, clearly pleased I’d indulged her, and leaned a little closer. “Well… you know how sometimes we play pretend?”I nodded, pouring myself a sip of juice while pretendin

Sienna’s POVThe sound of the front door closing echoed through the penthouse, and I turned from the stove just in time to see Desmond leaning casually against the doorway, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The morning sunlight caught the streaks of gold in his hair, and for a second, my pulse quickened in a way I hadn’t expected. He had just returned from dropping the kids at school, and somehow, even in the simple act of walking into the kitchen, he made everything feel charged, electric.“Hey,” he said softly, almost like a whisper, not wanting to startle me. “Smells good in here.”I blushed faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks… I’m just finishing breakfast. Or trying to, anyway. The kids are usually chaos in the mornings, so I’m trying to stay ahead of them.”He pushed off the doorway, walking toward the counter, and I found myself unconsciously holding my breath as he reached out to help chop some vegetables I had been struggling with. His hand

Gabriel’s POVThe drive home was quiet, almost suffocatingly so, and I found myself gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. The streets were busy with weekend traffic, families strolling, cars honking, and the faint scent of street food drifting from open stalls. From the window of my car, I could see children holding their parents’ hands, couples laughing, old men feeding pigeons in the park—little snapshots of happiness that made my chest ache with a strange emptiness.I couldn’t shake the thoughts of the scandal that had hit my company like a hurricane. My latest product release—a gamble I thought would redeem me—had collapsed almost instantly. And yet, in the midst of my professional disaster, I could see the world moving on, thriving even, while I was stuck in this spiral of failure and frustration.The thing that gnawed at me most wasn’t just the corporate blow. It was the way Sylvia had wormed herself into everything—into my life, into the life of the woman I had betr

Sienna’s POV Standing at the door was a tall man—at least five feet ten—broad-shouldered, with a thick beard that almost swallowed half of his face. He smelled faintly of leather and something metallic, like cold rain. In his hands were three different boxes, each wrapped in bright, glossy paper: one red, one pink, and one blue.His eyes caught the light in a strange way as he lifted them to mine. There was something about that look that unsettled me, like he was searching my face for something… or someone.“Mrs. Sienna Blackwell?” he asked.His voice was deep, flat. Not unkind—but not warm either.I hesitated before nodding. “Yes… that’s me.”He extended the boxes toward me without another word.I frowned slightly, my fingers curling around the edge of the door instead of taking them. “From who?” I asked.My voice came out sharper than I intended, rising slightly in suspicion.“I was instructed to keep it anonymous,” he replied, a little too smoothly.Before I could ask anything els

Desmond’s POVSebastian’s voice faded into a dull hum in my ear as my thoughts drifted backward — to the moment everything first went wrong.To the day my father called me into his study.I still remembered standing outside that door, my knuckles hovering in the air before knocking. I hadn’t been a child then, not by age anyway. But I felt like one in that moment. Small. Unprepared. Like I was walking into judgment rather than a conversation.“Come in,” his voice had said from the other side — firm, calm, dangerous in the way only his could be.I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me with a sound that still echoed in my chest years later.That room had always felt more like a courtroom than a study. Every inch of it screamed power — the heavy desk, the tall bookshelves, the framed achievements lining the walls like trophies he had earned in a war no one else had survived.My father didn’t look up when I entered. He was seated behind his desk, reviewing papers like my presence