Semua Bab THE BILLIONAIRE'S FORGOTTEN WIFE: My Husband's Redemption: Bab 71 - Bab 80

NATHANIEL.Something has shifted in the house since she left.Not enough to disrupt the routine, but just enough to make everything feel slightly out of place, like a painting hung a fraction too low on the wall.Harriette still spends her mornings in the garden, walking the paths with her cane, inspecting roses as if nothing in this family has ever fractured beyond repair.My mother still leaves the house early and returns late, offering no explanations and expecting none in return, and Grace still gets dressed, eats breakfast, and disappears into the rhythm of her days.Everything continues, and yet the air feels thinner.I catch myself lingering in the hallway more often than I should, slowing my steps for no reason I’m willing to name, my gaze drifting instinctively toward a door that no longer belongs to her.Every time it happens, irritation follows close behind, sharp and unnecessary, telling myself this is nothing more than a habit, because years of coexistence don’t dissolve

BETTYHello Betty,Thank you for getting back to me about my penthouse renovation. I have gone through some of your ideas, and I am impressed. You have the job if you still want it. We can meet tomorrow to discuss how to proceed further.Regards, Mrs. Marshall.I read it once. Then again. Then I read it out loud, softly, just to make sure the words don’t dissolve into something less magical if I blink too hard.“You have the job.” My heart stumbles against my ribs.I clap both hands over my mouth, eyes still glued to the screen, and a muffled scream escapes anyway, half laughter, half disbelief.I push back my chair and stand abruptly, pacing once, twice, then breaking into a ridiculous jump in the middle of the living room like I am twenty again and life has just handed me a scholarship.“Oh my God,” I whisper to the empty space. “Oh my God.”The guest house suddenly feels brighter, the morning sun spilling through the windows as if it has been waiting for this exact moment to make an

BETTYMrs marshal leaves the café, and I remain seated long after our handshake has ended, staring down at the rectangle of paper resting against the dark, polished table.Ten thousand dollars. My name written carefully across the center, her signature firm at the bottom.The café hums around me — spoons clinking against porcelain, low conversations rising and falling, the sharp hiss of steamed milk — yet everything feels distant, like I am underwater and the world is happening somewhere above the surface.I lift the cheque, turning it slowly, examining the front and then the back as though I expect to find some hidden clause that will invalidate the miracle in my hands.I shake my head faintly, a breath escaping me in disbelief, a smile stretching across my face before I can stop it.It feels almost indecent to look this happy in public, but I cannot contain it, and it spreads through me, warm and electric, settling into my spine and straightening it.My interior design company is no

BETTYFor a fraction of a second, the words do not register. Then they do.“Excuse me?” I raise a brow as my gaze darts between them, searching their faces as though one of them might suddenly laugh and admit this is some poorly timed joke.Amanda takes another step toward me, crossing her hands over her chest, her posture relaxed in a way that feels deliberately territorial.“You heard right,” she confirms. “We are finally announcing our relationship. The one thing that was keeping us apart is out of our way now. Consider this your invitation.” She gives me a slow once-over, her eyes lingering just long enough to make the meaning unmistakable. I am the obstacle she is referring to.My stomach tightens so abruptly it feels physical, and I swallow carefully, tasting something metallic at the back of my throat.He really didn’t waste any time. I glance at Nathaniel, waiting for the final twist of the knife. A comment. A smirk. Something to add salt to the wound, but he says nothing.He

NATHANIELGlasses meet one another constantly throughout the hall, the sound carrying above polite conversation and carefully measured laughter between guests.Most of the faces surrounding me remain unfamiliar, even though they stand on my family’s estate, their comfort obvious.Amanda’s family and her friends.They occupy the space naturally, filling it with energy I neither encouraged nor resisted, because the truth is, I never felt inclined to invite anyone myself, only a few colleagues and two friends from university.As far as family goes, only my mother is attending, and she is positioned near one of the tall windows with effortless composure as she speaks quietly with a guest who listens more than contributes.Harriette declined entirely. Respectfully.She visited my chambers this morning and sat across from me with an expression that suggested conversation rather than confrontation.‘If this is what you truly want, Nathaniel, then I wish you happiness.” She said. No argument