All Chapters of The Billionaire's Regret: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

I stepped closer.One step.Two.The afternoon wind lifted the hem of my dress, then dropped it back against my knees. Below us, the garden looked too peaceful. Trimmed grass. Lemon trees. White iron chairs with no idea their owner was about to ruin a good man’s life on a second-floor balcony.Adrian didn’t move.He just stood in front of me, his hands empty now, shoulders straight, his face calm in a way that made my stomach want to turn itself inside out.If I stopped now, fear would take over again.It would slip into the gaps between my sentences, make me choose safe words, wrap the facts in ribbon, then save them for later until “later” turned into another black envelope in a stranger’s hands.So I said it.“Sebastian isn’t just your stepbrother.”Adrian’s eyes stayed on my face.I forced air into my lungs.“He’s my ex-husband.”There was no sound from the garden. No car passing on the street out front. Even the birds that usually acted like they had urgent business in the trees

Night came without asking permission.Usually, this house had its own sounds after eight. Poppy refusing to sleep because, according to her, “sleep is for people with no dreams.” Salma threatening to confiscate Bunny if Bunny kept encouraging the rebellion. Little footsteps upstairs, one missing sock, the other somehow always slightly wet, as if my daughter had a diplomatic relationship with puddles.But tonight was too neat.Too orderly.The kind of silence you could never trust.I stood in the kitchen, staring at Poppy’s little mug on the drying rack. The crown mug. There was still a faint ring of vanilla milk around the rim even though Salma had already washed it. Poppy had come downstairs twice after bedtime. First to ask whether Daddy Adrian was mad because she said she had two Daddies. Second to inform me that Bunny also thought “the situation is complicated.”I told her Daddy Adrian was only out for a little walk.Poppy looked at me from beneath her long bangs, already falling

Morning arrived with an overachieving sun.Light poured through the kitchen windows, bouncing off the marble countertops, stainless-steel pans, and my face, which had very clearly not signed off on the concept of life before a second coffee. I stood at the stove in an oversized white T-shirt and gray lounge pants, stirring scrambled eggs while trying not to look at the phone I had placed far too close to the cutting board.The screen stayed dark.Adrian hadn’t contacted me.Great.Wonderful.I had discovered a new talent last night: lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and counting worst-case scenarios until four in the morning. Five stars. Very immersive. Would not recommend.From the laundry room, the washing machine turned softly. Salma was in there, her Russian muttering breaking through every so often. Another little sock had gone missing.Maybe there really was a sock syndicate in this house. They escaped in pairs, leaving one family member behind as a threat.“I told you not t

Taking Poppy to school was more like relocating a tiny queen from one country to another.First, she refused the blue dress because it was “too humble.” Then she picked the yellow one, changed her mind because yellow made her look like a happy egg. In the end, Salma won the war with a pale-blue dress, white cardigan, lace socks, and little star clips Poppy insisted were a “crown.”Barbie came too.Bunny came too, but only as far as the car because “Bunny has her own schedule.”I didn’t ask.Sebastian drove himself.Of course there was a security car in front and another behind us. One black sedan rolled through the gate first, another followed far enough back to look normal if you were a very abnormal person. Luca spoke briefly into Sebastian’s phone before we left, then disappeared into the car behind us with the face of a man who had never trusted a sunny day.Poppy sat in the back in her car seat, Barbie in her lap, little feet kicking the air. “Daddy, when you pick me up later, ar

Sebastian stayed quiet the entire drive home.I could see it in the side of his face.Jaw locked. Eyes forward. His index finger tapped once against his knee, then stopped, as though even that tiny movement gave away too much. In the front seat beside him, Luca spoke briefly into his earpiece, voice low, every sentence cut cleanly like he was cutting wires.In the back, Poppy sat in her car seat with Barbie in her lap, her little feet kicking softly through the air.“Mommy,” she said.I turned too fast. “What?”“If the spy unicorn goes to jail, can it bring a lawyer?”I looked at her.My child. Four years old. Messy bangs. A unicorn sticker on Barbie’s cheek. A stranger had just given her a tracker at the school gate, and she was thinking about the legal rights of a mystical toy horse.“No,” I said. “It lost its privileges when it misused its gold horn.”Poppy nodded seriously. “Fair.”Sebastian didn’t react.That was what scared me more.Usually, even when he was trying not to smile,