Todos los capítulos de The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

Mia's POVI reached for my bag."I've made my decision," I said quietly, pulling out the envelope.Kyle's eyes fixed on the envelope, his jaw tightening. "What is that?""You know what it is." I held the papers out, my voice steadier than I felt. "I've already signed them."His laugh was harsh, echoing off the sterile walls. "You can't be serious.""I've never been more serious." I stepped closer, forcing him to take the envelope. "It's over, Kyle. Whatever this was between us – the contract, the pretense, all of it. It's done."Kyle's fingers closed around the envelope, but instead of opening it, he moved to the window. The setting sun cast his profile in sharp relief, highlighting the tension in his shoulders."And your mother?" His voice was deceptively soft. "How do you plan to pay for her care?"The question hit like a physical blow, but I forced myself to stand straight. "I'll figure something out.""Will you?" He turned then, his eyes storm-dark. "Do you have any idea how much

Kyle's POVI pushed Mia away, but the trembling of her body beneath my hands lingered like an accusation. The hospital room's fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her face, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes, the hollow cheeks that spoke of too many sleepless nights. The sight of her – this woman who had always faced me with quiet strength now reduced to desperate bargaining – stirred something painful in my chest.She swayed slightly as I released her, vulnerable in a way that made my throat tight. Where was the fire that usually sparked in those green eyes when she challenged me? The subtle defiance in her chin when she disagreed with my decisions? This wasn't my Mia. Not the woman who'd always greeted me with soft smiles, whose love had been a constant I'd taken for granted."What are you doing?" The words came out harsher than I intended, laced with an anger I didn't fully understand. Seeing her debase herself like this – it felt wrong. Fundamentally wrong."Isn'

**Kyle's POV**I stood outside our bedroom door, my forehead pressed against the cool wood, listening to Mia's muffled sobs. Each broken sound pierced something deep in my chest, an unfamiliar ache I couldn't name. My hand rested on the doorknob, neither turning it nor letting go.Time stretched endlessly in that dark hallway. Minutes? Hours? I couldn't tell. I only knew I couldn't leave until her crying stopped. Until I was sure she'd fallen asleep.When silence finally fell, I waited longer still. Just to be certain.The door opened soundlessly under my hand. Moonlight spilled through the windows, painting silver trails across Mia's tear-stained cheeks. She looked small in our massive bed, curled tight around herself as if trying to hold something together.Moving closer, I studied Mia's sleeping face. Even unconscious, she didn't look peaceful. Her brow was furrowed, lips trembling slightly. Dried tears glittered on her lashes.Had she always looked this fragile? This broken? How l

**Mia's POV**My father hadn't changed. Not one bit.He stood in the center of what used to be our living room, every inch the successful businessman in his tailored charcoal suit. The same rigid posture, the same cold eyes, the same air of perpetual disappointment when he looked at me. Only the silver threading his temples hinted at the passage of time.The room itself had transformed completely since my childhood. Mom's beloved watercolors had been replaced by expensive abstract pieces that Taylor's mother preferred. The warm, comfortable furniture was gone, exchanged for sleek leather and chrome that matched their sophisticated tastes. Even the air felt different – no longer the subtle scent of Mom's favorite jasmine tea, but something artificial, designer, chosen to impress rather than comfort.Taylor perched on the arm of Dad's favorite leather chair, the same chair where Mom used to read me bedtime stories. Her Louboutin heels crossed elegantly at the ankle, her cream designer d

**Mia's POV**The morning sun filtered through the guest room's bay windows, casting long shadows across my makeshift studio. Drawings covered every surface – elevation plans pinned to walls, material samples scattered across tables, 3D renderings glowing on multiple screens. The organized chaos felt right, felt like coming home to a part of myself I'd almost forgotten."Mrs. Branson?" Mrs. Chen's soft knock interrupted my concentration. "Your morning tea."She entered carrying a silver tray, navigating carefully around stacks of blueprints. Jasmine steam curled in the air, a small attempt at comfort in this too-quiet house."Thank you, Mrs. Chen," I murmured, not looking up from the detail I was sketching – an intricate pattern for the atrium's skylight. "You can just leave it anywhere.""Three days," she said, arranging a plate of small sandwiches beside the tea. "Three days you've barely left this room. Barely eaten.""I've eaten," I protested, but even I could hear how weak it sou