The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife novel Chapter 160

Chapter 182 Questions Without Answers

Mia’s POV

I woke to gray skies and a steady drizzle against my bedroom window.

My dreams had been a chaotic montage of faces-Kyle’s desperation, Scarlett’s feverish smile, Jeo’s unexpected reappearance, and Nate… Nate with his kind eyes and careful distance, a puzzle I couldn’t quite solve.

Strange dreams.

My phone chimed with a text message, and I reached for it reluctantly, half-expecting it to be Kyle with some pathetic apology. Instead, it was Scarlett:

Fever broke this morning. Morton insisting I stay in bed anyway.

I smiled despite myself, relieved that her condition was improving. I typed back

Dictator Morton sounds like exactly what you need right now. Rest. I’ll check on you later.

Setting the phone aside, I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to find my balance.

Gas immediately hopped down and stretched.

As I picked at my breakfast, my thoughts returned to the video call with Scarlett and Jeo. The revelation that Jeo and Nate had become friends had caught me completely off guard.

Why hadn’t Nate ever mentioned it? Why hadn’t he mentioned anything about maintaining connections in New York despite his abrupt departure? And why, despite his apparent ongoing relationships with people in my life, did he continue to keep me at arm’s length?

That last phone call echoed in my memory. Go to Paris… The sooner the better…

Something connected to his insistence that I leave New York?

The pieces didn’t fit together, and the more I tried to force them, the more confused I became.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Mom observed, clearing my half-eaten breakfast away.

“Sorry,” I said, offering a weak smile. “Just trying to make sense of some things.”

“Anything I can help with?”

I hesitated. Mom knew about Nate, of course, her doctor. But I wasn’t sure where to begin untangling it all.

“Just something about work, mom. Don’t worry.” I said.

I retreated to my home office, intending to work. Instead, I found myself staring at my phone, debating whether to call Nate directly.

I drummed my fingers on the desk, considering my options. A direct call? A text message?

I decided on a middle ground. I’d invite him back to New York, ostensibly for a casual dinner to thank him for his help with my mother’s case. Face-to-face, I might be able to read his expressions.

I typed out the message carefully.

Hi Nate, I’ve been thinking about how much you helped my mother during her recovery, and I never properly thanked you. Would you consider coming to New York for dinner next week? My treat. It would be nice to catch up properly.

My finger hovered over the send button for several seconds before I finally pressed it.

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It was nearly noon when my phone finally chimed with a response from Nate:

Mia, thank you for the invitation. I’m flattered that you thought of me. Unfortunately, I can’t make it to New York at the moment. But my offer still stands, you’re welcome in Paris anytime. In fact, I urge you to consider coming sooner rather than later. For your safety and the twirls

I stared at the message, frustration building. Again with the vague warnings, again with the insistence that I leave New York, and again with no explanation of what danger he thought I faced.

Before I could overthink it, I hit the call button on his contact.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Just as I expected it to go to voicemail, the line connected.

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