After the Affair Falling into a Billionaire's Arms novel Chapter 39

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

Louisa had no inclination to see him anyway.

George remained silent, his departure heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

With a sigh, Louisa rose from the bed, feeling the coolness of the sterile hospital room against her skin. She slipped a light jacket over her shoulders, the fabric soft against her frail frame, and approached the window. With a gentle push, she opened it wide, inviting the crisp afternoon air to sweep through, banishing the stale scent of antiseptic that clung to the room.

Later that afternoon, her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was Flora, reaching out in their small group chat: [Louisa, what do you want for dinner? I’ll bring it over.]

A warm smile crept onto Louisa’s face as she typed back: [I’m craving one of your hamburgers.]

Sadie chimed in almost immediately, her enthusiasm palpable through the screen: [My secret recipe is unbeatable, right? Just wait—I’ll make enough burgers to feed an army.]

Flora added her own playful note, her message punctuated by a shy emoji: [I want your “hamburgers” too.]

Sadie, ever the jokester, shot back with a teasing remark: [Gross! What’s wrong with you?]

Louisa’s heart warmed at the sight of their playful banter. In moments like these, she felt a flicker of joy, grateful for the presence of these two friends who could lift her spirits even amid the shadows that loomed over her life.

After a while, they returned to their tasks, and Louisa closed the window, settling back into the comfort of her bed with a book in hand. The pages blurred as she lost herself in the words, but her mind wandered to the events of the past few weeks, a whirlwind of emotions that felt both distant and immediate.

To her surprise, the evening brought an unexpected visitor. Vivian strolled into the room, her entrance bold and unapologetic, clad in a flirty floral sundress that clung to her curves, a matching silk scarf draped around her neck. With every step, her hips swayed, a dance of confidence that grated against Louisa’s fraying nerves.

Louisa, propped up against the pillows, looked frail and worn, and the sight seemed to delight Vivian, her lips curling into a smug smirk. “Didn’t you have enough energy to pin me down and beat me just days ago? Look at you now, bedridden. Do you still have the strength to hit me?”

Vivian casually unwound the scarf from her neck, revealing a trail of love bites that marred her skin, a display meant to provoke.

Louisa felt a wave of nausea rise within her. “You have interesting tastes, Ms. Price,” she replied coolly, her smile a mask of serenity. “Picking up another woman’s leftovers, relishing them, and then flaunting them? Just how desperate are you?”

“How dare you, Louisa!” Vivian’s face flushed, anger igniting in her eyes.

Louisa merely laughed, a cold, humorless sound that echoed in the sterile room.

Even confined to a hospital bed, she refused to allow Vivian’s provocations to rattle her.

Vivian, her rage simmering just beneath the surface, quickly regained her composure, her smile turning malicious. “You’re jealous, aren’t you, Louisa? Look at yourself—you nearly burned to death, and for what? George spent less than a day with you before running back to me.”

She leaned in, her voice dripping with venomous delight. “We spent the entire afternoon together. He couldn’t keep his hands off me. He told me he’s been tired of you for ages—I’m the only one who drives him wild. Would you like to hear how satisfied he sounds when we’re together?”

Vivian tilted her chin upward, her expression triumphant, as if she were a peacock displaying its vibrant plumage, eagerly awaiting Louisa’s emotional collapse.

Louisa, however, met her gaze with indifference. “If that’s the case, why aren’t you at home laying your eggs instead of bothering me here?”

Vivian opened her mouth, ready to retort, but Louisa pressed on, her voice laced with mock enlightenment. “Oh, I see now. George has done everything with you—appropriate and inappropriate—but he still hasn’t mentioned marriage. You’re getting anxious, aren’t you?”

The words struck Vivian like a physical blow, freezing her in place, her sneer faltering.

Her composure shattered, she jabbed a finger toward Louisa, fury radiating from her. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of George’s life yourself. Don’t wait until he throws you out—you’ll look even more pathetic then!”

Louisa chuckled softly, a sound filled with genuine amusement. “Honestly, I’m looking forward to that day. Why don’t you hurry back and convince him to throw me out sooner?”

She froze, her gaze never leaving the knife, fear gripping her.

With a swift flick of her wrist, Flora tilted the blade to Vivian’s chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. “I really don’t understand. Your face is ugly and stupid-looking—just irritating to look at. What does George even see in you?”

Vivian seethed inwardly, but the words died on her lips.

Flora then tapped the flat of the blade against Vivian’s cheek, her expression contemplative. “Maybe I should carve a rose here. Might make you prettier. After all, what man doesn’t love a flowery woman, right?”

Vivian trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “Please let me go… please…”

“Are you begging me, Ms. Price?” Flora mocked, cupping her ear as if she couldn’t quite hear.

Meanwhile, Sadie and Louisa appeared completely unfazed, their demeanor relaxed.

Sadie peeled an orange, offering half to Louisa with a smile. “Watch Flora’s signature performance.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen this,” Louisa replied, exchanging knowing smiles with her friend.

As close companions, they both understood that Flora only enjoyed scaring people—she would never actually harm anyone.

But Vivian was oblivious to this truth, teetering on the edge of a breakdown, convinced her face was about to be carved into something grotesque.

Just as her terrified scream filled the room, the door swung open with a force that startled them all.

George stood in the doorway, his voice sharp and authoritative, cutting through the tension like a knife. “What the hell is going on here?”