After the Affair Falling into a Billionaire's Arms novel Chapter 12

**Clocks Lie To Hearts by Asa River Flint**

**Chapter 12**

Unbeknownst to him, Louisa was casting aside not just physical items but the very essence of their shared past—every cherished moment, every fleeting glance that had once ignited a spark between them. The weight of those memories had become too heavy for her to bear.

Determined to move on, she stepped back inside the house, her mind set on a simple task: a refreshing shower. As she rummaged through her wardrobe for something comfortable to wear, a nagging thought crept into her mind. She had yet to transfer the funds to Julian for the medical expenses he had so graciously covered.

She was aware of the financial burden he had shouldered for her, but the cost of his shirt? That was a mystery. Given his affluent lifestyle, it was likely that his wardrobe was filled with bespoke pieces from renowned designers, each one carrying a hefty price tag. The last thing she wanted was to insult him with a meager sum.

After a moment of contemplation, she decided to send him a quick message: *[Mr. Tudor, may I inquire about the cost of your clothes?]*

Silence followed.

She assumed he was preoccupied and hadn’t yet seen her text, so she proceeded to take her shower, hoping that by the time she was done, he would have responded.

However, three hours slipped by unnoticed. After drying her hair and applying a soothing face mask, she found herself sprawled on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Could he really have gone three hours without checking his phone?

What was she supposed to do now?

Just as her thoughts spiraled, her phone buzzed to life with a new message.

Her heart raced as she picked it up, but the excitement quickly deflated. His response was disappointingly simple: *[I don’t know.]*

Louisa felt a wave of frustration wash over her.

But then again, it was entirely in character for someone like Julian to overlook such trivial details. She remembered the outfit he had worn earlier that day—a striking piece by the illustrious designer Evelyn Powell.

Perhaps she could commission a tailored suit from that very brand for him.

With renewed determination, she began to type: *[Would it be convenient for you to send me your measurements?]*

But just as she was about to hit send, a sharp knock interrupted her thoughts. It was George, stepping into her room without waiting for an invitation.

Louisa glanced up, her phone slipping from her fingers. “What’s going on?”

Her cool demeanor seemed to irritate him. “Do I need a reason to come see you?”

When had their relationship become so strained?

He settled next to her on the bed, and instinctively, she shifted away, feeling the space between them grow even larger. “It’s a little cramped here. You should really head back to the master bedroom.”

—

“Why would I go there when you seem to be enjoying my company?” George murmured, pressing his face into her neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to absorb her essence. “You smell incredible.”

Louisa felt a shiver run down her spine, not entirely from pleasure but from the weight of the unspoken tension that hung in the air.

The thought was mortifying.

After several minutes of pacing in her mind, she forced herself to calm down. Perhaps she could clarify that it was merely a typo.

But each time she attempted to craft a suitable response, it felt wrong, and she found herself deleting the message repeatedly.

—

Forget it. The message had been sent over an hour ago, and silence had ensued.

They probably wouldn’t see each other again, and it was best to let it go to avoid any awkwardness.

With a heavy heart, she tossed her phone aside and surrendered to sleep.

The next morning, as she stepped out of her room, she nearly collided with George.

He was already dressed for work, a sharp suit hugging his form, and he shot her a terse remark. “I’m off to work, skipping breakfast.”

His mood seemed to have lingered from the night before, still heavy with unfulfilled desires.

Louisa couldn’t bring herself to care. Instead, she offered him a faint smile. “Suit yourself.”