All Chapters of THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORGOTTEN WIFE: My Husband's Redemption: Chapter 231 - Chapter 240

NATHANIELMy brain feels like it has been put through a meat grinder.I just finished my fifth virtual therapy session with Martha, and all I want to do is put my fist through the mahogany wall. I thought these sessions were supposed to make you feel better. Instead, I feel like I am being flayed alive by a middle-aged woman in a beige cardigan.After my absolute meltdown in the closet a few nights ago, Harriette suggested I see a professional. Naturally, I thought it was a ridiculous, insulting thing to say. I already knew exactly what my problem was, and I certainly didn't need a stranger with a notepad pointing it out.But after spending the entire night suffocating in my own misery on the closet floor, I realized my way had cost me my entire world, and also, I had nothing left to lose.The next morning, an unmarked business card magically appeared on my nightstand. Harriette’s doing, and I held the thick card in my hand for a long time, just staring at the therapist's phone number

NATHANIELThe scorching afternoon heat bakes the roof of my car, but inside the cabin, my blood is running cold.I am parked directly across the street from her apartment building, and for the last thirty minutes, I have done nothing but stare at her front door. That’s why I came here alone, just in case my nerves shattered and I needed to put the car in drive and flee before ever making it inside.It has been over a month since I looked into her eyes and told her I loved her. Over a month of suffocating silence. A month of getting nothing from her. Showing up here is a blatant violation of my promise to step back. It is a massive gamble, one that could very well end with her slamming the door in my face.I tear my gaze away from the white and grey five-story building and look at the passenger seat.Plastic bags bury the leather, because on my way here, I had stopped at a pharmacy and essentially bought out the aisles—flu medicine, painkillers, cough syrup, electrolytes. And behind th

The tension in my shoulders drops, and I take another step back to give her space. In the process, a massive rose thorn drives straight through the fabric of my trousers, biting violently into my calf."Fuck," I hiss, stumbling sideways. "We really need to get rid of these." I bend over, aggressively rubbing the stinging prick on my leg, and when I look up, the sight knocks the breath straight out of my lungs.Betty is chuckling. It’s a weak, raspy sound that quickly devolves into a cough, but the corners of her eyes remain crinkled.I straighten up, completely stunned. "That was funny to watch, huh?"She coughs into her hand, hiding her mouth, shaking her head. "You brought that on yourself. Who buys two thousand, five hundred, and fifty-five roses?" Her tone carries a sharp, dry hint of sarcasm, but as she lowers her hand, I see a small, genuine smile break across her pale face.I should feel insulted by the jab, but I don't. She laughed. At my expense, sure, but she laughed. And it

NATHANIELThe harsh, artificial glow of my phone screen burns in the dim light of my home office.My thumb hovers over the glass, suspended a fraction of an inch above the keyboard, and I stare at the blinking cursor.The urge to type a thousand words, to plead to see her, to drive straight to her apartment and plant myself outside her door, claws violently at the inside of my chest. And it has been like this since I left her apartment two weeks ago.That dinner had gone better than I ever anticipated. It started quietly, the three of us sitting in suffocating silence for the first ten minutes, until Lucy finally grew tired of the tension and ruthlessly dragged us down memory lane.I learned more about Betty in those thirty minutes than I had in the seven years I thought I knew her.Lucy spun stories of college parties and bar fights, painting a picture of a wild, fiercely loyal girl I had never met. But layered beneath the chaos was the quiet, brutal reality of her responsibility. Be

BETTYI stare down through the sprawling glass windows at the chaotic city streets below, my fingernails nervously picking at the edge of my laptop. I debate whether I should really be handing him my grievances. But then I remember the promise I made to myself—the conscious choice to stop hiding and meet him halfway.I drag a breath into my lungs and force myself to meet his intense, waiting gaze."I've been having a hard time finding clients," I admit, my voice quieter than the hum of the restaurant. "All the prospects I had lined up are completely icing me out. I've reached out multiple times, and nothing. It all started after the Fausto ordeal. I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with that."Nathaniel’s jaw locks, the muscle feathering beneath his skin as a thick blue vein rises at his temple. He leans back against the woven rattan chair, his expression darkening."It definitely has everything to do with the Fausto ordeal," he says, his voice flat. "You were designing