The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 103

Beneath The Surface

The note left Alina’s hands on Thursday morning.

By Friday evening, there was still no response.

Alina tried not to let the anxiety show. Kept her face neutral through dinner. Through another night sharing the room with Daniel. Through another morning of watching Junior and Clarissa in the garden from her window.

But inside, doubt grew.

Had the maid been caught? Had she thrown the note away out of fear? Had Mrs. Helen received it but been unable to act?

Or worse–had Mrs. Helen delivered it to Daniel instead?

Saturday morning came. The maid didn’t.

Different girl. Older. More efficient. In and out in fifteen minutes without making eye contact.

Alina’s stomach knotted.

Something had changed.

***

That afternoon, Daniel came to the room earlier than usual.

Three PM. He should have been at the office.

Alina looked up from the book she’d been pretending to read for the past hour.

“We’re having guests for dinner tonight,” he said without preamble.

“Guests?”

“Business associates. The Hendersons. They’re in town from Singapore. Mother thought it would be good to host them.”

Of course Margaret did.

“What does that have to do with me?”

Daniel’s jaw tightened slightly. “You’ll be expected at dinner. Presentable. Polite.”

Translation: behave like a proper wife for once.

“Fine,” Alina said.

Daniel seemed surprised by the lack of resistance. “Good. Dinner is at seven. Dress appropriately.”

He left.

Alina set the book aside and moved to the closet.

Most of her formal clothes were gone. Packed away or donated or simply disappeared during one of the many reorganizations” that had happened in the past weeks.

But there was one dress left. Deep blue. Simple but elegant. She’d worn it to Daniel’s company events years ago

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when she was still expected to play the role of Mrs. Blackwood.

It still fit.

She laid it on the bed and went to shower.

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At six forty–five, Alina descended the main staircase.

The foyer had been transformed. Flowers on the console table. Candles lit. The formal dining room visible through the open doors, table set with the good china.

Margaret stood near the entrance, inspecting everything with a critical eye. She looked up when Alina appeared.

Her expression flickered. Surprise, maybe. Or assessment.

“You look presentable,” she said.

High praise from Margaret.

“Where would you like me?” Alina asked evenly.

“Dining room. Far end of the table. You’ll sit between Mr. Henderson and David Chen. Make pleasant conversation. Don’t mention anything about Junior’s accident or family matters. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Alina moved into the dining room.

Clarissa was already there, wearing a stunning cream dress that probably cost more than Alina’s entire remaining wardrobe. She stood near the fireplace, glass of wine in hand, looking every inch the lady of the house.

She saw Alina and smiled. Gracious. Victorious.

“Alina. How nice of you to join us.”

“Margaret requested my presence.”

“Of course. Daniel’s wife should be here for important dinners.” The emphasis on “wife” was subtle but deliberate. A reminder that the title was all Alina had left.

The doorbell rang.

Voices in the foyer. Greetings. Laughter.

Margaret’s tone shifted into performance mode. Warm. Welcoming.

The Hendersons entered. Mid–fifties couple. Expensive clothes. Practiced smiles.

Behind them, three more people. Associates. Partners. Alina didn’t catch all the names.

Daniel appeared, playing host. Shaking hands. Making introductions.

“And this is my wife, Alina.”

The words felt strange coming from his mouth. He so rarely acknowledged her in public anymore.

Alina smiled. Shook hands. Murmured appropriate pleasantries.

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Waitomos de suite o

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“And Clarissa,” Daniel continued smoothly, “Junior’s mother. She’s been invaluable during his recovery.”

Mrs. Henderson’s eyes lit up. “Oh, how is the little one? We heard about the accident. So frightening.”

Clarissa’s expression shifted into perfect maternal concern. “He’s doing much better, thank you. The doctors are optimistic. It’s been challenging, but having him home has made all the difference.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for you.”

“It was.” Clarissa’s voice held just the right amount of emotion. “But a mother’s love gets you through anything.”

Alina felt her nails dig into her palms.

No one looked at her.

No one asked how she was handling Junior’s condition.

Because to them–to everyone in this room–she wasn’t Junior’s mother.

Just Daniel’s wife. A separate, less important role.

They moved to the table.

Alina took her assigned seat at the far end.

Daniel at the head. Clarissa to his right. Margaret across from her.

The Hendersons and other guests filled the middle.

Alina between Mr. Henderson and a man named David Chen who spent the first ten minutes of dinner on his phone.

The meal began.

Conversation flowed around Alina like water around a stone.

Business talk. Market trends. The Singapore expansion. Real estate investments.

Mr. Henderson asked her polite questions about how she liked living in the area. How long she’d been married.

Whether she worked.

Alina gave polite, empty answers.

No, she didn’t work. Yes, she liked the area. Five years married.

He lost interest quickly. Turned back to the more engaging conversation about tech stocks.

Alina pushed food around her plate and listened.

Margaret was in rare form. Charming. Witty. The perfect hostess.

Clarissa played her role flawlessly. Demure but confident. Maternal but sophisticated.

And Daniel…

Daniel was watching Alina.

She could feel it. Quick glances. Assessing.

Making sure she wasn’t going to cause a scene. Wasn’t going to embarrass him in front of important people.

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Then the story

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She kept her expression neutral. Her posture perfect. Her wine glass mostly full despite multiple refill attempts.

Playing the role. Just like they wanted.

Halfway through the main course, Mrs. Henderson asked about Junior directly.

“Will we get to meet him? I’d love to see how he’s doing.”

Margaret smiled. “He’s already in bed, I’m afraid. Early nights during recovery. Doctor’s orders.”

“Of course. Poor darling. And you must be so relieved,” she said to Clarissa, “to have him home and safe.”

“I am. Every day I thank God he’s alright.” Clarissa dabbed at her eyes delicately. “When I think about what could have happened…”

“It must have been terrifying. Where were you when it happened?”

A beat of silence.

Clarissa’s face showed perfectly calibrated distress. “I was… I was out running errands. By the time I got the call, he was already in the ambulance. I’ll never forgive myself for not being there.”

Lies.

Smooth, practiced lies.

But no one questioned them.

Mrs. Henderson reached across to pat Clarissa’s hand. “You can’t blame yourself. Accidents happen.”

“They do,” Margaret interjected smoothly. “Especially when proper supervision isn’t maintained.”

Her eyes flickered to Alina for just a second.

The implication was clear.

Mr. Henderson caught it. His gaze shifted to Alina with new understanding.

*Ah. The negligent one.*

Alina felt the judgment settle over her like a shroud.

She said nothing.

Just cut her chicken into smaller and smaller pieces until it was practically confetti on her plate.

The conversation moved on.

Dessert arrived. Coffee. After–dinner drinks.

The men migrated toward the study for cognac and cigars.

The women to the sitting room for tea.

Alina excused herself to the bathroom instead.

Walked through the quiet corridors until she found one far enough away that she could breathe.

Locked the door.