Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 143

Chapter 138: Back To The Motel

Logan’s POV

I was back in the damned motel, where had been living for the past months at this point. Months away from my son, my life, my company while I chased after the ghost of my sick wife

I’d extended the motel reservation four times since I got here. Each extension had been a negotiation with myself that I made telling myself the same thing over and over-one more week, just one more week, something would shift, I’d find the angle that worked with getting through to Sedona, the approach that got me in front of her long enough to say what I’d come to say.

One more week had become four more weeks had become two months of Seattle with brief returns to Chicago to make sure that things were still in order and I had to tell Nick that I was still looking for his mum and hadn’t found her, because it was way easier than explaining I had found her but was not allowed

to see her.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed.

I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for an hour since I’d come back from the Preston house, chased away by the brute force of whoever Sedona self appointed bodyguard was, standing in between my wife and I. I couldn’t do anything else as I kept thinking back what what happened in the garden.

The garden scene was running on a loop.

I had never been humiliated like that in my wife and certainly not over a reason like Sedona. The way the tall body came in-between us, my hand still throbbed from the phantom grip he had held over it, forcing me to retreat for the mean time.

I’d been tall my whole life, and fit, and I’d never had particular cause to think about whether I was someone who could be physically harassed, because no one had ever tried to physically do that

Dante Wells had given me the answer to that in approximately two seconds, with the specific efficiency of someone who was used to doing this kind of thing on a regular basis. I remembered him, he had been the one with Sedona at that garden with that child. Was that child his? Was this some sort of way he was using to get into Sedona’s life… Tie her down with a child and make her unable to come home..

He must have been threatened by me that he had to resort to those means to get me away. And those words of his….

‘She said no.’

Delivered in a voice that was entirely level. Not aggressive, not shouting but calm and level. The voice of someone who had made an assessment all on his own and was communicating the result, in a way that is true.

Alone with my thoughts and no audience I confessed the truth to my self, he had assaulted me yesterday, but I had been the one to start it.

I’d swung.

Back To The Motal

Iran that part again because it was the part I couldn’t stop running. I’d swung, and he redirected it and Twisted it behind my back making me cry out in pain in a tone that I didn’t recognize as myself.

I pressed my hands against my face,

Dante Wells.

Claim

The name had come together like pieces of a puzzle in my mind and a quick Google search had told me everything that I needed to know about him.

In the list of the top twenty in the world. Pacific Northwest junior champion multiple years running. He had the kind of career record that was the kind of record that was talked about. But his public life was as scarce as his personal life.

I had been able to get the fact about his son

A son. Four years old. Mother not in the picture-that had been in the second article, briefly, the kind of brief that indicated a story that had been carefully written and all information withheld because of privacy. Which meant that baby I saw that day wasn’t his but he still had a baby so the principle still applied to his

case.

A man with a child and no partner.

I thought about the hospital corridor. The hand at her waist. The laugh-her real laugh, the one I’d heard and hadn’t been able to stop hearing since, the one that had come out of the building through the doors and landed in my chest with the force of something I hadn’t prepared for.

I picked up my phone.

Reeve answered on the second ring with the professional neutrality he always had,

“Wells,” I said. “Dante Wells. What do you have?”

A pause that meant he was deciding what he’d compiled versus what I was asking for. “Career is well-documented,” he said. “Top of the professional circuit for twelve years. Currently ranked fourteen globally, has been in the top twenty since he was twenty-two.” A pause. “Personal history is quieter. The son is confirmed-Andrew Wells, four years old. Mother is Priya Mehta, who was also a professional tennis player.”

“How long has he known Sedona?”

“They were on the junior circuit together from approximately ages fifteen to seventeen,” Reeve said. “Competed against each other three times. She stopped competing when she was seventeen. No documented contact in the intervening years until-” A pause. “Until he visited St. Anthony’s Cancer Center six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks,” I said.

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