All Chapters of The Billionaire Who Regretted Losing Me: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

There was a morning when Serena woke up unsettled for no clear reason. Nothing was wrong. That, she realized, was the problem.For years, tension had been her baseline, an invisible hum beneath everything. Without it, the day felt almost unfamiliar, like a room rearranged while she slept.She made coffee and stood by the window until the feeling softened into curiosity.The second book began slowly. Not with urgency, not with a plan. Just fragments. Observations. Questions she hadn’t asked herself before because there had never been space.What does it mean to stay? Who are you when no one is leaving? What kind of life doesn’t need a plot twist to feel meaningful?She didn’t try to answer them all at once. She let them sit.Ethan noticed the change before she named it.“You’re restless,” he said one evening as they walked home, hands brushing but not quite holding.“I think I’m afraid of repeating myself,” Serena admitted.He considered that. “Or maybe you’re afraid of not being drama

The first Sunday dinner felt like a test run for something unnamed. People arrived late. Someone forgot wine. Another brought too much food. Chairs were borrowed from neighbors. The table didn’t quite fit everyone, so half the group sat on the floor, plates balanced on knees. It was imperfect in the most human way.Serena watched it unfold with a quiet fascination. This, this used to terrify her. Uncurated moments. No agenda. No outcome to manage. Now, it felt like proof.At one point, someone asked her about the book. Not the success. Not the reviews. The process.“What does it feel like now that you’re… on the other side?” they asked.Serena considered the question longer than expected.“I don’t think I crossed to another side,” she said finally. “I think I stopped standing at the edge.”No one responded right away. Then someone nodded. Conversation moved on. That, she realized, was the best possible reaction.After everyone left, the apartment felt warm and lived-in in a way it nev

The email subject line was deceptively simple. Are you available?Serena stared at it longer than necessary.Five years ago, she would’ve answered in under a minute, heart racing, fingers already rehearsing gratitude, availability, flexibility. Now, she breathed. She read the message slowly.A global forum. High-profile. Massive audience. The kind of visibility that once defined success for her. They wanted her perspective. Her presence. Her story.She closed the laptop. Not permanently. Just long enough to feel her own reaction before responding to theirs.She walked instead.Through streets she knew by heart, past storefronts that had changed hands twice since she last noticed. She watched people hurry and wondered how many of them believed speed was the same as direction.When she returned home, she knew the answer.She wrote back: Thank you for thinking of me. I’m not available for this, but I wish you a meaningful conversation.No explanation. No apology. Her hands didn’t shake.

The morning was quiet in a way that almost startled her.Serena made tea and sat by the window, letting the steam curl around her fingers. Outside, the city moved without her. Cars, people, birds, life in motion but none of it demanded attention. She realized she had been measuring days for years by urgency, by stakes, by drama. Now, she noticed how empty space could carry meaning.Ethan kissed her forehead before leaving for the workshop. “Coffee later?” he asked.She nodded, smiling softly. “Definitely.”Alone, Serena opened her notebook. Not to write, but to observe. She recorded small things: the angle of light on a building, the way a pigeon tilted its head at the wind, the rhythm of footsteps passing the apartment below. She didn’t analyze. She didn’t judge. She just watched, letting the observations settle into her the way rain soaks into soil.By mid-morning, she wandered outside, leaving her phone behind. There was a rhythm to the streets she hadn’t noticed before the way the

The future arrived the way Serena now preferred things to arrive unannounced and unarmed.It showed up in small gestures. In mornings that didn’t demand intention. In evenings that closed themselves without cliffhangers. In the absence of that old, familiar tightening in her chest when she thought too far ahead.She noticed it first while organizing a drawer.Old notebooks. Receipts. A folded flyer from an event she’d declined months ago. She paused with it in her hand, surprised by how neutral it felt. There was no regret. No curiosity about what might have happened if she’d gone.Just information. She recycled it and moved on.The city shifted again, as cities do new storefronts, new headlines, new urgencies cycling through people who believed they were permanent. Serena watched it with interest but no obligation.She met Mira for lunch one afternoon, the two of them sitting outside a small café that never rushed its patrons.“I’m thinking of quitting,” Mira said suddenly. “Not my j