All Chapters of My Billionaire Husband Was Never Human : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I stood rooted to the spot with shallow breathing as I stared at the mountain of refuse before me, refusing to accept what my eyes were seeing. I shook my head slowly, whispering, “no… this isn’t right,” as I searched left and right in a slow circle for the gates, the driveway, and the mansion that had seemed so real only minutes earlier. My breathing became uneven as I stumbled toward the refuse dump, ignoring the foul stench and the flies swarming around my face. Onlookers stopped to watch as I dropped to my knees and began throwing bags of rubbish aside with both hands, screaming, “move! move! you’re covering it, it’s here, i know it’s here.” Digging through broken bottles, spoiled food, torn clothing, rusted metal, and shattered plastic, I barely noticed the sharp edges slicing into my bleeding fingers or the dirt working its way beneath my nails. “where is my husband, where is my husband, my handsome husband, my rich husband, have you seen my husband, did you see my husband?

The day before the party, I ran into Sandra right out in the hostel corridor. Sandra stopped, looking me up and down. "Amara? Are you ready for tomorrow? Do you need anything? Do you want me to lend you anything for the party?" I shook my head, smiling hard. "No, I'm fine. I sorted myself out." Sandra narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. "Abeg, don't go and wear rubbish shoes o. Don't go there and embarrass me." "Don't worry," I said, my chest tight with nervous excitement. "I will make you proud. You'll see." Sandra let out a short breath, her expression softening into a serious mentorship mode. "See, when you reach that place tomorrow, act like a posh girl. Don't act like somebody who has never stepped foot inside a party before. When you get in, you sit down, cross your legs like a proper lady. Do you even know how to hold a champagne glass?" I blinked. "No..." "I knew it." Sandra spun around, unlocked her door, and dashed into her room. She came back out holding a real champa

The ballroom was brighter than I had imagined, with crystal chandeliers stretching across the high ceiling like frozen waterfalls, reflecting thousands of tiny lights onto the polished marble floor while soft jazz drifted through the room and waiters moved effortlessly between guests carrying champagne and expensive wine. Everything looked perfect, and everything looked expensive. For the first thirty minutes, I stayed close to Sandra and the other girls, laughing, taking pictures, and whispering excitedly whenever another celebrity or politician entered the hall. Every few minutes someone would gasp—*that’s him, look over there, oh my god.* The room was filled with powerful people: businessmen, politicians, actors, oil executives, and people whose names appeared on television almost every week. I smiled whenever Sandra looked at me, but inside, disappointment slowly began creeping in. Nobody noticed us, and nobody even looked in our direction. I watched beautiful women confidently m

The elevator doors slid open without a single sound. A private lobby waited inside, quiet and expensive. Soft music played somewhere out of sight, and the thick cream carpet swallowed the sound of our shoes. Crystal lamps cast a warm, golden glow across polished walls. Only two people sat behind a long marble front desk. The moment they spotted him, both workers straightened up immediately. “Good evening, sir.” Their smiles looked smooth and well-practiced. He simply gave them a small, quiet nod. Without asking for his name, his ID, or any kind of payment, one of the workers reached down and picked up a room key card from the hidden shelf behind the desk, holding it ready. “Everything is prepared for you, sir.” “Thank you.” I watched the whole thing with quiet wonder. No paperwork. No questions asked. It was like he owned the place, or like someone had cleared the path long before we even arrived. As we stepped out of the elevator and began walking down the wide hallway, I noti

The suite was huge. I sat on the edge of the sofa, the white handkerchief still clutched in my hands. My tears had stopped, but wet tracks stayed on my cheeks. Every breath felt heavy, as if the weight I carried for months finally caught up with me. The room grew quiet. He didn’t pressure me. He didn’t move closer or try to touch me. Instead, he walked to the minibar, poured a glass of water, and brought it over. “here,” he said. I took it with shaky hands. “thank you.” He smiled a little. “you’ve had a long day.” I nodded. “i don’t even know why i cried like that.” “sometimes the heart gets too heavy,” he said softly, “when it can’t carry everything alone, it finds another way out.” His answer caught me off guard. Most people would have laughed. Or judged me. Or told me to stop crying. He did none of those things. He just listened. I took another sip of water. For a second, an uncomfortable thought crossed my mind. A man like this. A room like this. Whatever else he wa