All Chapters of THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORGOTTEN WIFE: My Husband's Redemption: Chapter 171 - Chapter 180

BETTYI haven’t left Nathaniel’s hotel room since he walked out.Somehow, being in here feels safer than being alone in the next room. Which is insane. Because this is still his room.Yet the second he left, I dragged my duffel bag in here anyway.I settled it near the door, convincing myself it was temporary and the minute he returned, I would grab it and leave.That was almost two hours ago.I stand from the bed for what must be the fiftieth time before walking toward the windows, only to turn halfway and head back toward the bed again.I sit for exactly three seconds before standing once more because sitting still somehow makes everything worse.I have tried everything to distract myself from whatever is happening out there.Television. Music. Scrolling through old work emails.At some point, I even turned on some ridiculous reality show and tried forcing myself to focus on it. But all I could see were beautiful people screaming at each other on a beach while my brain kept replacin

NATHANIELThe address leads me somewhere in midtown. New York is already alive in that aggressive way only this city knows. Morning light spills between skyscrapers in sharp golden streaks while Times Square flashes advertisements large enough to blind people before breakfast. Men in expensive suits storm across intersections with coffee cups in hand and phones pressed against their ears like billion-dollar deals will collapse if they stop talking for two seconds. Taxis choke every lane around me, horns blaring nonstop, while pedestrians curse each other like it is part of the culture. And here I am. Standing outside a high-end restaurant at barely eight in the morning, about to walk straight into what is very obviously a trap. On the way here, I already accepted that possibility. Lure me in. Take me too. Send pictures of both Rhys and I tied to chairs somewhere underground while demanding money from my family. And unfortunately for everyone involved, Harriette and Eleanor wo

NATHANIEL“You know what, Mr... I do not even know what I should call you,” I mutter after giving him nearly ten uninterrupted minutes to ramble about his dangerous friends, his reach across New York, and how murdering him inside this restaurant would apparently guarantee my body ends up floating somewhere in the Hudson by sunset.He pauses, that ugly grin stretching across his face again.“My friends call me Fausto,” he says, leaning back deeper into the booth. “But I do not think you and I have crossed that threshold yet, don’t you think?”Fausto. The executioner.The man really has a god complex.“No, Mr. Fausto,” I answer, settling back into my seat. “We haven’t. Because you are demanding the impossible from me. I cannot offer you what you want without destroying my name in the process.”The amusement leaves his face, his eyes narrow beneath the chandelier light, thick fingers tightening around the whiskey glass.“Is that so, Mr. Blackwell?” he asks quietly. “You mean you would pu

BETTYAfter not hearing from Nathaniel for hours, I finally get a text.“Get a cab. Come to Hudson Memorial. Tell no one where you are going.”That’s it. No explanation. No reassurance that Rhys is alive. Nothing. Just seven words that immediately send my stomach twisting into knots.I call him the second I read the message, but it goes straight to voicemail every single time.By the fourth attempt, I stop trying because my hands are shaking too hard to hold the phone properly.A terrible feeling settles inside my chest after that. Heavy. Suffocating. The kind that makes breathing feel like work.And the worst part? I have absolutely no one to tell. No one to scream at. No one to demand answers from.I spent the entire morning dodging Harriette’s calls like a criminal avoiding arrest. At some point, she even started calling from different numbers after realizing I kept ignoring her first one.The texts kept coming too.Betty, where are you? Did you find Rhys? Please answer me, swee

NATHANIELI hate needles. Yeah, I said it.I have hated them since I was a kid because the entire concept makes no sense to me.Scientists managed to invent oral medication, anesthesia, artificial hearts, and machines that can practically keep people alive forever, but somehow nobody has figured out how to draw blood without stabbing someone first. Ridiculous.I stare at the opposite wall while the nurse tightens a rubber band around my arm, searching for a vein as if there weren't hundreds of them already visible.“Just pick one and ruin my morning quickly.”I glance at her once, and she must catch whatever look crosses my face because she lets out a small laugh before untying the band and reaching for the needle.I immediately turn my head the other way and shut my eyes.Fuck.If someone could see me right now, they would never take me seriously again. At this point, my Seven-year-old daughter handles needles better than I do.A sharp sting pierces my skin, then nothing.I crack one