All Chapters of The billionaire leftover wife : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Emily held the paper in shaky fingers. It was a surprise she could still grip it at all, considering how violently her pulse was hammering against her ribs. The red lipstick mark in the corner felt like it was burning into her vision.She flipped open the card fully and read the address written in smaller letters behind the card.No. 15 Wilkwood Street.The words blurred for a second before she forced herself to focus.With unsteady hands, she grabbed her phone and opened Google Maps. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she typed in the address. The location appeared almost instantly.Twenty minutes from their residence.Close. Too close. She thought.She swallowed and switched to the street view, zooming in on the building. A row of modern townhouses lined the quiet street. Tasteful. Discreet. Private.She searched further, pulling up articles and tagged photos linked to the address. At this point she felt like a stalker, digging through digital traces, but she didn’t care. Not when her

The guttural sound of the swear word had echoed through the room.It was dragged from him raw, irritated, exposed. He had far worse on the edge of his tongue he held back with deep restraint.Had Ana set him up. His piercing gaze moved over Ana before returning to Emily. Ana's face was masked with surprise just like his. Unlike Emily he knew he couldn't trust the emotions she displayed.“What are you doing here, Emily?”She stood near the center of the room, a few feet away from him, her silk gown slightly wrinkled from her earlier rush. Her hair had slipped loose around her shoulders. She looked soft. Fragile. Like something that could shatter with the slightest touch.But her eyes were steady.“Answer the question, Damien.”Her voice wavered only at the edges.“What question exactly, Emily?” he threw back defensively, running a hand through his hair as though the conversation itself annoyed him.Ana had shifted quietly to the corner of the room, leaning against the console table wi

Damien watched Emily run out of the room, his face still stinging from her slap. The sharp imprint of her palm burned against his skin, a physical reminder of the damage he had just inflicted. It had taken a great deal not to go after her far more than he cared to admit. His instinct had been to grab her wrist, pull her back, force her to listen. Instead, he had stood there and let her go. Maybe he had said too much. Maybe he had crossed lines that even he couldn’t uncross.Ana hurried toward him, her silk robe whispering against the marble as she moved. She reached up, softly touching his cheek, her fingers grazing the reddened mark.“Sorry, dear. I’m so sorry. That spiteful bitch,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.The sound did nothing but irritate Damien further. He pulled away from her touch.“That’s enough, Ana. It’s less than I deserve.”She studied him carefully, trying to gauge the direction of his mood.“She’s gone. You got what you wanted, Ana. Now give me

Emily slowly came to, the fog in her head clearing in slow, uneven sheets. Awareness didn’t return like a light turning on; it returned like someone tugging her up from deep water, forcing her lungs to remember how to breathe. Her body ached in a way that felt unfamiliar, like the pain belonged to someone else and she had only borrowed it. She was bound everywhere, wrapped tight in bandages and braces, secured by straps and splints, and she couldn’t move an inch without something inside her screaming.Voices had slid through her consciousness for what felt like hours distant, muffled, floating in and out but now the sounds sharpened. She could hear the soft beep of a monitor. The hum of air conditioning. The faint squeak of shoes somewhere down a corridor.Her eyes scanned the room, fighting the heaviness of her eyelids, searching for the source of the presence she could feel even before she fully saw it. They landed on Stella alone, seated beside the bed, shoulders squared but hands

Fiona Forde walked into the room, hands clasped together, her expression carved from stone. Authority radiated from her without effort, settling over the space like a command no one dared challenge.“Don’t you dare touch my grandchild.”Damien’s eyes flicked from the sheet to Stella, then to Fiona.“What is going on here?” he demanded, though the question came out lower than he intended. Other words and questions he had wanted to ask no longer seemed relevant. He didn't care anymore either.Fiona did not flinch. “You are not welcome here.”“I am her husband,” he replied, the words firm but lacking their usual force.“Not anymore,” she said quietly.The words landed like a blade sliding between ribs.His gaze returned to the sheet.His chest tightened.“Death do us part, isn’t it?” Fiona’s voice was controlled, almost clinical. “You think you get to walk in here and claim grief?”The words closed round his heart. Dead. It was his fault. No he wouldn't think of that right now.“You neve