All Chapters of Rejected By My Billionaire Husband,He Chased Me Back After D: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

St. Catherine's Hospital – Monday MorningThe first light of dawn crept through the hospital windows, pale and tentative, as if uncertain whether it was welcome. In the pediatric ICU, the machines beeped their steady rhythms, and Emory Kingsley slept on, suspended in the quiet limbo between illness and recovery.Cassian had not moved from his chair in hours.His back ached. His neck was stiff. His eyes were dry and burning from lack of sleep. But every time he tried to stand, every time he thought about leaving the room to stretch his legs or get a cup of coffee, he looked at Emory's small face on the pillow and sat back down.She was still unconscious. The seizures had stopped. The fever had broken. But she had not woken up, and until she did, Cassian could not bring himself to leave.The door opened softly. Clara stepped inside, a paper cup in each hand. She looked almost as exhausted as Cassian felt—dark circles under her eyes, her hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, her clothes

The launch was tomorrow.Clara had been at her desk since six in the morning, her phone pressed to one ear, her computer screen glowing with a dozen open tabs. The final guest list needed approval. The caterers had questions about the dessert course. The museum had called twice about the lighting installation. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Derek had discovered that the table linens were, in fact, the wrong shade of white."I told you," he said, appearing in her doorway with a fabric swatch in each hand. "This one is eggshell. This one is ivory. We ordered eggshell. They delivered ivory.""Derek, no one is going to notice the difference between eggshell and ivory.""I'll notice."Clara pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Call the linen company. If they can replace them by tomorrow morning, great. If not, ivory it is.""Ivory is a perfectly acceptable shade," Priya called from her desk."Et tu, Priya?"Clara's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—Cassian—and held up a fin

The Dallas Museum of Art – Friday MorningThe day of the launch arrived with a crisp autumn dawn, the Texas sky painted in shades of rose and gold. By seven o'clock, the Dallas Museum of Art was already buzzing with activity. Workers in black uniforms moved through the grand halls with practiced efficiency, adjusting floral arrangements, testing sound equipment, and putting the final touches on what promised to be the most talked-about event of the season.Clara had been there since five.She stood in the center of the main hall, a tablet in her hand and a headset on her ear, directing the chaos with the calm precision of a woman who had planned for every contingency. She was dressed in a stunning gown of deep navy blue, the fabric flowing around her like water, the neckline elegant and sophisticated. Her mother's pearl necklace rested against her collarbone, a reminder of where she came from and how far she had come. Her hair was swept up in an intricate twist, and her makeup was sub

The ambulance cut through the night, its sirens wailing, its lights flashing against the dark Texas sky. Inside, Clara lay unconscious on the stretcher, an oxygen mask over her face, an IV line running into her arm. The paramedics monitored her vitals with practiced efficiency, their voices calm and steady despite the urgency of the situation.Cassian sat beside her, holding her hand. He had not let go since the museum. He could not let go.His mind was a storm of emotions. Clara was alive. Clara had been alive this whole time. The woman he had been falling in love with the woman he had asked to be his girlfriend, the woman he had danced with at the party, the woman who had held his hand in the hospital while his daughter lay unconscious was his wife. The wife he had neglected. The wife he had failed. The wife he had mourned for five years.And she remembered everything.The look in her eyes when she had recoiled from his touch, the fear, the pain, the accusation would haunt him for t

Clara did not leave Emory's bedside.She had been there for hours, sitting in the chair that Cassian had occupied for days, holding her daughter's small hand in both of hers. The nurses came and went, checking vitals, adjusting IVs, offering quiet words of encouragement. Clara barely noticed them. Her entire world had narrowed to this room, this bed, this child."Hello, sweetheart," she murmured. "It's me again. I know I keep saying that. But I want you to know I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."Emory did not respond. Her eyes were still fixed on the middle distance, unfocused and unreachable."I want to tell you a story," Clara continued, stroking her daughter's hair. "About a little boy named Colt. You know Colt, of course. He's your best friend. But I want to tell you about when he was a baby."She settled back in her chair, her voice soft and steady."He was so small when he was born. Even smaller than you, I think. He had to stay in an incubator for weeks. I used to sit bes