All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Obsession: My Ex‑Wife Became a Queen : Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

The blueprints arrived on a Tuesday.Victoria spread them across the kitchen table, weighing down the corners with coffee mugs and salt shakers. The project had been in the works for months—a new wing for the medical institute, dedicated to pediatric care. It was her dream, made tangible in ink and paper.Nathaniel leaned over her shoulder, studying the plans. “It’s going to be beautiful.”“It’s going to change lives.” Victoria traced her finger along the corridor that would lead to the family waiting room. “No more parents sitting in hallways, hoping for news. No more children afraid of the dark. I want this to feel like hope. Like home.”“You’ve thought about this a lot.”“I’ve dreamed about this a lot.” She looked up at him. “When I was in the hospital, after the poison, I had a lot of time to think. About what mattered. About what I wanted to leave behind.” She paused. “I want to leave this. A place where people who are suffering can find healing. Not just medicine—real healing. T

For years, Nathaniel Hamilton had been known as the man behind the throne. The steady hand. The quiet strategist. The one who handled the logistics while Victoria built her dreams.He had never minded. He loved Victoria—loved watching her shine, loved supporting her from the shadows, loved being the person she turned to when the world got heavy.But lately, something had shifted.He wanted more.It started with a conversation at the institute.Victoria was in her office, buried in paperwork, when Nathaniel knocked on the doorframe. She looked up, her reading glasses perched on her nose, and smiled.“You’re supposed to be in a board meeting.”“I cancelled it.” He walked in and sat across from her. “I want to talk to you about something.”Victoria set down her pen. “That sounds serious.”“It’s not serious. It’s just...” He paused, searching for words. “I’ve been thinking about my role. Here. At the institute. In our life.”“Your role is whatever you want it to be.”“I know. That’s the p

The idea came from Patricia, which was surprising enough. The execution came from Nathaniel, which was less surprising. But the moment itself—the actual toasts—belonged to everyone who had ever loved Victoria Hamilton.It was a Tuesday evening, unremarkable in every way. Victoria had come home from the institute exhausted, kicked off her heels, and collapsed onto the living room couch. She was halfway through a glass of wine when the front door opened and half the people she knew walked in.“What is this?” Victoria sat up, looking around. Patricia was there, carrying a cake. Liam was there, holding a stack of paper plates. Nathaniel was there, grinning like a man who had just pulled off the heist of the century.“It’s a toast,” Nathaniel said. “To you.”“A toast? It’s Tuesday.”“The best toasts happen on Tuesdays.” He sat beside her. “We’ve been planning this for weeks. Everyone has something they want to say. You just have to listen.”Victoria looked around the room. Patricia. Liam.

The anatomy scan at twenty weeks revealed two things: first, that the baby was healthy, with ten fingers and ten toes and a strong, steady heartbeat. Second, that the baby was a boy.Victoria stared at the ultrasound screen, at the clear evidence of her son's gender, and felt tears stream down her face. Beside her, Nathaniel was already crying—openly, unashamedly, his hand gripping hers like a lifeline.“A boy,” the technician said, smiling. “Congratulations.”Nathaniel turned to Victoria. “A son.”“A son,” she echoed.They had talked about names, of course. Casual conversations over breakfast, idle speculation before bed. Nothing serious. Nothing final. But now, staring at the image of their child, the conversation became real.“What do we name him?” Nathaniel asked.Victoria thought about it. About all the people who had shaped their lives—the ones they had lost and the ones they had found. About Margaret, who had taught her how to love. About Emily, who had given Liam life. About M

The baby shower was supposed to be a small gathering. Patricia had promised. “Just a few people,” she had said. “Intimate. Low-key. Nothing like the gala.”Victoria should have known better.The garden was transformed. Tents and tables and flowers everywhere. A photographer circled the edges, capturing candid moments Victoria hadn't agreed to. Caterers in white jackets passed trays of champagne and miniature quiches. A three-tiered cake sat in the center of the dessert table, frosted in pale blue and topped with a tiny sugar elephant.“This is not small,” Victoria said to Patricia.“It's smaller than the gala.”“It's not smaller than the gala. It's the gala, but with baby-themed centerpieces.”Patricia smiled, unrepentant. “You only have your first baby once.”“Michael is my second baby.”“Michael is your first biological baby. That counts.” Patricia kissed her cheek. “Now go mingle. People want to see you.”The guests arrived in waves.Sarah came first, with Amelia in a frilly pink d