Todos los capítulos de The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife: Capítulo 391 - Capítulo 400

Mia's POV"How did you—?"My mother set her plate down. Didn't look at me right away."Hugo told me.""Hugo? What did he—""You called him. Three weeks ago." She picked up her wine glass, set it back down without drinking. "Asked him about autoimmune diseases."My stomach dropped. "I said it was for a friend.""I know what you said.""Mom—""Mia, I've been your mother for twenty-eight years. You think I don't know when you're lying?"The question hung there. Not angry. Just tired."I didn't want to—" I stopped. Started again. "You were finally happy. With Hugo. I didn't want to ruin that."She looked up at me then. Her eyes were soft. "Come here."I didn't move."Mia.""I'm fine here.""You're not fine. Come here."My legs felt wrong. Like they belonged to someone else. But I stood up. Crossed the space between us.She opened her arms and I just—I fell into them.The smell of her. Not perfume. Just Mom. Lavender maybe. Or just warmth. I don't know. My face pressed into her shoulder a

Mia's POV"Mia---"His voice hung in the empty room. Not finishing. Just my name and then nothing.I turned away from the photo. Looked at him instead.He was leaning against the doorframe like standing upright took effort. Which it probably did. His sweater hung loose. I could see the hollow at the base of his throat where the fabric gaped."Why do you have this?" I asked, pointing at the photo without looking at it again."Because I wanted to remember.""Remember what?"He didn't answer right away. His fingers tapped against the doorframe. One. Two. Three. A rhythm I recognized from a thousand mornings watching him drink coffee and read the news."What you looked like when you were happy."The words landed wrong. Or right. I couldn't tell."I was happy lots of times.""Not with me."I wanted to argue. To say that wasn't true. That we'd had good moments. Good days even.But the words stuck.He pushed off the doorframe. Walked to the window. His hand trailed along the wall as he moved

Mia's POVMy hands came up.Automatic. Like my body knew what to do before my brain caught up.My palms hit his chest. Flat. Hard. Pushing.But Kyle didn't stop.His mouth moved against mine.Insistent.My fingers curled into fists against his sweater. The fabric was soft. Cashmere maybe. Push him away.Push him away and leave and never come back to this house. Its empty rooms now were full of ghosts.But his hands were in my hair now. Tilting my head back. Deepening the kiss.And I felt my body do something I didn't tell it to do.My hands unclenched as they eeling the sharp edges of his bones under the sweater.He's so thin.The thought came from nowhere. Unwanted.His mouth tasted like salt. From my tears. Or his. I couldn't tell anymore.The kiss was wrong.Not technically wrong. His lips knew mine. Remembered the shape of them. The pressure. The angle.We'd done this a thousand times before.But this kiss was so bitter.His tongue touched my bottom lip. Asking.I didn't open my

Mia's POVVoices woke me.Not loud, exactly. Kids. Laughing. That particular pitch of childhood excitement that could cut through concrete walls, steel doors.And underneath it all—Gas barking. That deep, enthusiastic woof-woof-woof that said something .I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.The same ceiling I'd been staring at for four years. And my clock said 11:47.I'd slept for almost three hours. I sat up slowly, my body protesting every movement. My head felt thick. Stuffed with cotton. That particular heaviness that came from crying too hard and sleeping too fast, like my brain had turned into oatmeal and was sloshing around in my skull.The voices were getting louder outside my door, building to a crescendo of childish chaos."Mama! Mama you have to come see!" Alexander's voice, breathless with urgency."Right now!" Ethan added, slightly calmer but still insistent.My door burst open with the kind of dramatic force that suggested someone had been watching too many action

Mia's POVA real smile.Then the scene shifts again, dissolving like watercolors bleeding into each other.Blueprints. Design drawings. My hands moved across the paper with practiced confidence, the pencil an extension of my thoughts. Lines appeared—clean, precise, purposeful. Measurements materialized in neat annotations along the margins. The shape of a room took form beneath my fingertips, walls rising from the flat page into three-dimensional space in my mind's eye.The living room flows into the kitchen with an open archway, no barriers to interrupt the sight lines. The kitchen opens to the garden through floor-to-ceiling glass doors that fold back completely in summer. In the garden there's—The dream fractured.I woke slowly, consciousness returning in layers. First came awareness of my body—heavy limbs, the slight crick in my neck from sleeping at an odd angle. Then sound—the distant hum of traffic, someone's muffled television through the walls. Then light—or the lack of it.