The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife novel Chapter 166

Chapter 188 An incident

Mia’s POV

The package arrived on an ordinary Tuesday morning. No return address, just my name and address printed in neat block letters that bore no distinguishing characteristics. The delivery man had already disappeared down the hallway by the time I opened the door, summoned by the soft knock.

“Who was that?” Mom called.

“Delivery,” I replied, turning the padded manila envelope over in my hands.

“What did you order?” She appeared in the doorway, a dish towel slung over one shoulder.

“Nothing.” I held up the package. I carefully tore along the sealed edge.

A leather-bound journal, its cover worn at the corners, the pages slightly yellowed with age. The leather was soft, as if it had been handled often, and a delicate ribbon marker protruded from between the pages. There was no note accompanying it, nothing to indicate who had sent it or why.

“What is it?” Mom asked, peering over my shoulder.

I opened the cover carefully, looking for an inscription or any identifying information. On the first page, in elegant script that spoke of a careful hand, was a simple date: March 15, 1996. Below it, in the same handwriting: Diana Porter.

“Mom,” I said softly, “I think someone just sent me Diana Porter’s journal.”

“How is that possible? The news said her diaries were just discovered.”

I flipped through the pages, scanning entries filled with the same elegant script.

Why indeed. I settled onto the sofa. “Let’s find out,” I said, turning to the first entry.

March 15, 1996

I’ve decided to start keeping a record, though I pray I’m being paranoid. Alexander’s reaction to my questions about the Santiago mine was… unsettling. He’s never spoken to me that way before, as if I’d crossed some invisible line by merely asking about the financial reports. When I pressed further, mentioning the discrepancies I’d noticed, he shut down entirely. “Business concerns aren’t yours to question,” he said. The look in his eyes was cold, I had never seen this side of him in our eighteen months together.

Perhaps he is right about my tendency to overthink matters.

I looked up at Mom, who had settled into the armchair across from me. “She was investigating Alexander Branson’s business,” I

said.

March 20, 1996

Alex came by the office today, ostensibly to discuss the merger, but I could tell he was checking on me. He warned me again about “stirring up trouble.” The way he said it felt more like a threat than concern.

The entries continued in similar fashion, growing increasingly alarmed as Diana documented her suspicions about financial improprieties involving the Santiago mining operation. She described heated arguments with Alexander, tense conversations with Edward, and her own determined research into what appeared to be systematic embezzlement and possible environmental

violations.

April S, 1996

I found something today. The shell company Alexander has been using to siphon funds isn’t just hiding money. The environmental reports have been falsified. The water contamination levels at Santiago are catastrophic, and they’ve been paying off officials to keep it quiet.

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When I confronted Alexander with the evidence, he didn’t even deny it. He simply asked how I’d gotten the information, his voice dangerously calm. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with,” he said. “Some people would go to great lengths to keep this quiet.”

I told him I wouldn’t be part of a cover-up, that people were dying because of that mine. His response chilled me: “Then you’ll need to be very careful, Diana. Accidents happen to people who aren’t careful.”

I’ve made copies of everything/If anything happens to me, the truth won’t die with me.

I shivered despite the apartment’s warmth. “Alexander Branson threatened her,” I said to Mom. “Barely a month before she died.”

“And now someone wants you to know about it,” Mom replied, her expression grave. “The question is why?”

I continued reading, the entries growing more frantic as April turned to May. Diana described increasing isolation as Alexander cancelled their public appearances together and meetings with her were repeatedly rescheduled.

Then, a shift in tone in late May:

May 24, 2006

I can’t believe I’ve been so blind. It’s not just Alexander. This goes higher, deeper than I imagined. They’re all involved, a network of powerful men protecting each other’s interests at any cost.

I confronted Alex today, told him I know about his involvement. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he begged me to stop digging, said it wasn’t just my safety at stake anymore. When I asked what he meant, he looked meaningfully at my stomach. “Think about the future,” he said. “Think about what matters most.”

He knows. Somehow, he knows my secret. I didn’t confirm it, but his message was clear: they would use any leverage to silence

I need to disappear. To protect myself. To protect my child.

“Her child?” I whispered, scanning the passage again to ensure I hadn’t misunderstood. “She was pregnant?”

Mom moved to sit beside me, reading over my shoulder now. “There’s been no mention of Diana Porter having a child in any of the news reports.”

“Maybe because no one knew,” I suggested, turning the page with trembling fingers. “Or maybe because someone has been keeping it secret all these years.”

I turned the page, but found it blank. Confused, I flipped ahead. The next twenty or so pages remained empty, as if Diana had abandoned her journal abruptly. Then, near the end, a final entry appeared, dated June 14, 1996-just one day before her reported death.

June 14, 1996

They found me. I don’t know how, but they know I’m here at the lake house. A black SUV has been parked at the end of the road since this morning. I’ve packed what I can, but the boat I intended to take across the lake to my waiting car on the other side is gone-deliberately disabled, I suspect.

I’ve hidden the evidence where they won’t think to look. If anything happens to me, M will know where to find it. I’ve left instructions that will only make sense to someone who knows where to look.

I fear this will be my last entry. If I don’t survive what’s coming, I pray that someday my daughter will discover the truth. That she will know I fought not just for justice, but for her future.

I’ve taken precautions. Made arrangements. Even in death, I will protect her. They will never know she exists. She will be safe, hidden in plain sight, until she is old enough to understand the danger-and perhaps, someday, to finish what I’ve started.

If you’re reading this, my darling girl, know that everything I did was for you. Trust no one named in these pages. They would

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destroy you to protect themselves.

May you live the lite I could not give you.

I stared at the final entry, my heart pounding in my chest. Diana Porter had a daughter

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