The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife novel Chapter 157

Chapter 179 I can’t lose you

Mia’s POV

A knock at the door interrupted our banter. Morton poked his head in, looking slightly apologetic.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he announced. “Nothing fancy, but there’s roast beef, potatoes, and some vegetables. Mia, I assumed you’d stay? There’s plenty.” 1

Gas perked up at the mention of food, his tail wagging hopefully.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Morton assured him. “I’ve got something for you too.”

By the time we finished eating, however, Scarlett was visibly flagging, the brief burst of energy from leaving her sickbed rapidly depleting.

“You should get back to bed,” I said gently, noting the renewed flush in her cheeks. “Your fever’s coming back.”

She nodded, too tired to argue. “I hate being sick. It’s so boring.”

“It’s your body telling you to slow down,” Morton advised, already moving to help her up. “Even Scarlett Wallace-Morton needs rest occasionally.”

“Wallace-Morton,” she repeated, leaning heavily against his arm. “That still sounds weird.”

“Good weird or bad weird?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes watchful.

She considered for a moment. “Just weird. But not bad.”

I smiled. “I should head home,” I said, pushing back from the table. “Mom will start worrying if I’m out too long.”

“Thank you for coming,” Scarlett said, reaching to squeeze my hand. “Even though I told Morton not to bother you.”

“As if that would ever stop me,” I replied, returning the squeeze. “Call me tomorrow? Let me know how you’re feeling?”

She nodded. “Promise.”

Morton saw me to the door while Scarlett made her slow way back to the bedroom, Gas trailing faithfully at my side.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said sincerely. “It was wonderful.”

“Thank you for coming,” he replied. “She’d never admit it, but she was miserable all day. Having you here cheered her up immensely.”

I studied his face for a moment. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “More than I expected to. More than I thought possible, honestly.”

“Good,” I said simply. “She deserves that.”

“I know.” He held my gaze, his expression serious. “And for what it’s worth, so do you.”

The drive home was quiet, the city streets less congested now that rush hour had passed. Gas dozed beside me on the leather seat, his even breathing a soothing counterpoint to the traffic sounds outside.

I checked my phone, finding several messages from Mom asking when I’d be home, and one from Robert with an update on the legal actions against the most egregious tabloid stories. Nothing from Kyle since his earlier demand to “talk about Thomas Wallace.”

Good. Let him stew in his curiosity and jealousy. It served him right after that ridiculous press conference performance.

When we arrived at my building, I thanked the driver and headed for the back entrance, remembering the reporters who had

+20 Bonus

been staking out the front earlier. The service entrance opened onto a small, poorly lit alley primarily used for deliveries and trash collection, but it offered a direct path to the service elevator without passing through the main lobby.

Gas trotted ahead of me, his white fur barely visible in the dim lighting I followed more carefully, one hand protectively cradling my belly, the other gripping my phone, ready to call for help if needed.

I was almost to the service door when a shadow detached itself from the wall, moving to block my path:

Gas growled, the sound low and threatening. I froze, my heart suddenly pounding.

“Mia.”

Kyle’s voice, slightly slurred around the edges. His tall figure emerged fully into what little light the alley offered, and I could see he looked disheveled, his usually immaculate appearance rumpled and worn.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, adrenaline sharpening my voice.

“Waiting for you,” he replied, taking a step closer. “I texted. You didn’t answer.”

I took a step back, keeping distance between us. “So you decided to lurk in a dark alley? That’s not creepy at all, Kyle.”

“I needed to see you.” He moved forward again, and in the dim light, I caught the slight unsteadiness in his gait. “To explain about the press conference.”

“You’re drunk,” I observed, anger replacing fear.

“Not drunk,” he objected, though his pronunciation belied the claim. “Had a few drinks. To steady my nerves. Before seeing you.

18

Gas positioned himself between us, his growl continuous now, a warning vibration that made the hair on my arms stand up.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify