บททั้งหมดของ THE BILLIONAIRE'S UNWANTED WIFE: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

STEVENEmely was trembling in the passenger seat, her body leaning to one side, one hand pressed firmly against her jaw as if she were afraid her face would fall apart if she let go. I started the engine with hands that were still shaking, then drove faster than I should have, barely caring about the road ahead.“Em, look at me,” I said, stealing a quick glance at her. “Don’t fall asleep. Listen to my voice.”She nodded faintly. Her movements were stiff, her breathing short and uneven. Dried blood marked the corner of her lips, stark against her pale, cold skin.“It hurts,” she murmured. Her voice sounded incomplete, as if something inside her was holding it back, as if every word required effort.I swallowed hard. “I know. We’re almost there. Just hold on a little longer, okay?”The traffic lights felt unbearably slow. A horn blared insistently behind us, but I didn’t care. All I could see was Emely, and the guilt pressing harder against my chest with every passing second. I should h

LORIANI gave a slow nod, letting my eyelids droop halfway. I carefully controlled my breathing so it sounded fragile, as though every inhale took effort. My hand was still wrapped around Alexander’s wrist, feeling the steady rhythm of his pulse a sharp contrast to the nervousness I was deliberately displaying.He didn’t pull away. Good.A few seconds passed in silence. The only sounds were the faint hum of the monitor in the corner and the occasional footsteps of nurses in the corridor. This VIP room was too quiet, too pristine, too… empty.Alexander sat in the chair beside the bed, leaning slightly forward. His gaze never truly left me, as if I might collapse the moment he looked away. A sight I’d once longed for. And yet, strangely, my chest didn’t feel as warm as it should have.“Alex?” I called softly.“Yes?” he answered immediately—too quickly.“Are you… tired?”He shook his head. “I’m fine.”The response came automatically. Too automatic. Like a habit he’d formed with someone e

ALEXANDERThe corridor feels longer as I walk away.Not because of the distance, but because something has been left behind—something I can’t quite name, yet it keeps tugging at my steps. I don’t look back toward Emely’s door. I don’t need to. I saw it clearly enough: she was awake, looking toward the doorway, and she did nothing.That should have been a relief.Instead, it’s exactly what feels wrong.I pause at the end of the hall. The hospital’s white lights reflect coldly off the floor, stretching my shadow until it looks taller, thinner, as if I’m walking beside another version of myself—one that’s more honest, more silent.She saw me. I know she did.I stood there too long for it to be coincidence. Too aware for it to be indifference. But what unsettles me most isn’t that she noticed me.It’s that she didn’t call out.Usually, even when she’s upset, Emely reacts. Her gaze changes. Her breathing tightens. There’s always something—a sign that my presence still means something to he

ALEXANDER“I thought… my presence isn’t needed anymore.”The words left my mouth in an even tone—too even for something that should have mattered more. I was still standing near the door, not fully inside, not fully gone. An awkward position, yet it felt honest.Emely glanced at me. Briefly. She didn’t look away either—just long enough to show she’d heard me.“You were never really present,” she said softly.There was no accusation in it. No sharpened emotion. And maybe that was why it cut deeper than it should have. I opened my mouth to respond, but no answer formed.She shifted slightly on the bed, finding a more comfortable position, then returned her gaze to the ceiling. As if this conversation was no longer the center of her world.“I’m tired, Alex,” she continued, her tone still calm. “Not tired from the pain. But tired from spending too long trying to understand things that never needed to be understood in the first place.”I took a single step closer. Just one. The distance be

EMELYMorning arrived gently—unhurried, unburdened. Light slipped through the gap in the curtains and settled on the bedroom floor like a thin, almost invisible line, yet it was enough to remind me that time was still moving forward, even when the world had once felt like it had stopped.My body hasn’t fully recovered. My jaw is still stiff, the ache not entirely gone. But today, the pain is no longer the center of everything. It’s simply there—a quiet pulse I can acknowledge, no longer something that controls me.I sit up slowly and reach for the glass of water on the bedside table without calling for anyone. The movement is small, almost insignificant, yet it brings with it a strange sense of satisfaction. No hand extends the glass to me. No voice asks if I’m able. It’s just me and my body.A few minutes later, a nurse comes in to check my condition. She smiles as usual—professional, kind.“You’re improving, Mrs. Emely. If everything stays stable, we might be able to consider discha