Semua Bab The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love: Bab 41 - Bab 50

Saturday never waits. It comes whether you’re ready or not.Mia stood in the nursery while the sky outside was still half-asleep, that soft grey-blue that belonged only to early mornings and unfinished thoughts. Nathan lay sprawled on his back, mouth slightly open, one arm flung like he’d been mid-protest before sleep won. Noah was curled inward, neat and careful, fingers wrapped around the edge of his blanket as if afraid it might disappear.She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe properly.She just stood there, arms folded tight around herself, watching the rise and fall of their tiny chests. Counting it. One… two… three…Behind her, the house stirred. Soft footsteps. A whisper of fabric.“You’ll miss your flight,” Granny said gently.Mia swallowed. “I know.”“You’ve known for ten minutes.”Still, she didn’t turn.Elizabeth lingered by the door, the nanny’s presence careful, respectful. She’d learned quickly that Mia didn’t like hovering. Didn’t like reassurance wrapped in too many word

Derek sank into the leather chair, one hand running over his face. London’s gray sky pressed against the window, and the hum of distant traffic seeped into the room like a quiet accusation. He leaned back, fingers entwined, gaze drifting to the cluttered desk where papers he’d avoided for weeks lay half-stacked. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said, voice low. His tone wasn’t just doubt—it was fear, frustration, and something heavier, almost like guilt. “Mia… I mean—Iris… I don’t know if it’s safe. If I can.” Mia’s chest tightened. She’d expected hesitation, but hearing it aloud hurt anyway. Her hands pressed against the edge of the table. “Please,” she said, voice soft but fierce. “I’m asking for loyalty, Derek. For years, you’ve been here from the beginning. You know how it works. You know him. Please… I need you.” Chris, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, added gently, “She’s right. We need someone who can navigate Hale Tower from the inside. You're the only one who’s

The car rolled into Derek’s driveway.The engine cut. Silence rushed in.For a moment, none of them moved.The house looked different at night—smaller than the mansion, warmer somehow. Lights glowing softly through the windows. A place where people slept and argued and forgot to rinse their cups. A normal place. Mia clung to that thought like a thin rail.Derek cleared his throat. “You can take the guest room. Both of you. Or—” He hesitated. “I can sleep on the couch.”“It’s fine,” Chris said. “We’ll take separate rooms.”Mia nodded, eyes fixed on the dashboard. Her reflection stared back at her, pale and brittle. Like she’d been hollowed out and forgotten.She opened the door.Cold air rushed in, sharp against her skin. She welcomed it. She let it sting. She let it remind her she was still here.Inside, Derek flicked on a lamp. Warm light spilled across the living room—books stacked unevenly, a jacket slung over a chair, a mug abandoned on the coffee table. Lived-in. Honest.“Tea?” D

Three days.That was all it took for the truth to crawl out of the dark and sit beside her like something alive.Mia hadn’t slept properly since she got back to England. Sleep came in fragments—sharp, shallow pieces that broke apart the moment she closed her eyes. Every time she did, she saw the same things. Allen’s smile. Wine glasses clinking. Her own voice, light and unaware, asking Allen if he wanted more dessert.Family dinners, business lunches, casual affection.God.She sat at the small desk in the guest room, the laptop open in front of her, the curtains half-drawn against a grey English morning. Cold light spilled across the screen. Across her hands. She hadn’t realized she was shaking until the mouse slipped from her fingers.Derek’s email was still open.Subject line: Everything you asked for.She had clicked it once. Closed it. Walked to the window. Come back. Clicked again.Now the screen was full of photographs.Evelyn Carter.Different angles, different dates. Some pro

It was past midnight when the documents stopped looking like numbers and started looking like a confession.The lamp on the desk cast a tired yellow circle over the papers. Outside, London hummed faintly—distant traffic, a siren far enough away to feel unreal. Inside the flat, it was just the soft tap of keys, the occasional rustle of paper, and two people sitting far too close for how much they weren’t saying.Mia leaned over the desk, hair slipping loose from its tie, one hand braced against the edge as she scrolled.“Pause,” she said.Chris stopped immediately.“What?”She squinted at the screen. “There. That transfer.” She pointed. Her finger hovered, then tapped once. “That’s not random.”Chris leaned in, closer now. “It looks like a pass-through.”“It is,” she said. “But Allen never moves money directly when he’s nervous.”Chris glanced at her. “You’re sure?”Her mouth curved, sharp and humorless. “I lived with him.”That landed heavier than she intended.Chris looked back at th