The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 107

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“Use the time wisely, Alina. Start thinking about what you’ll do next. Where you’ll go. Who you’ll be when you’re no longer Mrs. Blackwood.”

Then she left.

Alina sat alone in the small dining room, staring at her empty plate.

Two to three weeks.

Margaret’s timeline matched Emma’s almost exactly.

Coincidence? Or had someone been talking?

Paranoia crept up her spine.

She forced it down.

Focused on facts.

Mrs. Helen had delivered the message. Emma was working with Rachel. A plan was forming.

Two to three days, the note had said.

That meant Tuesday or Wednesday.

Tomorrow or the next day.

She just had to hold on.

***

The afternoon dragged.

Alina stayed in her room mostly. Reading. Or pretending to read while her mind raced through scenarios.

What would the plan be? How would Rachel get her out? Where would she go?

And the bigger question–would she really leave Junior behind?

The answer should have been obvious. He didn’t remember her. Didn’t want her there. Was better off–healthier, happier with Clarissa managing his recovery.

But the thought of walking away permanently made her physically ill.

At four PM, there was a knock.

“Come in.”

Mrs. Helen entered with fresh linens.

Alina sat up straighter. “Mrs. Helen.”

“Ma’am.” The older woman’s voice was carefully neutral. “I’m here to change the bedding.”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Helen moved efficiently around the room. Stripping pillowcases. Replacing sheets.

As she leaned over the bed near where Alina sat, she murmured, “Wednesday. Ten AM. Be ready.”

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So quiet Alina almost didn’t hear it.

Then louder, in her normal voice: “Will there be anything else, Ma’am?”

“No, thank you.”

Mrs. Helen nodded and left with the used linens.

Wednesday.

Ten AM.

Thirty–six hours from now.

Alina’s heart hammered.

Be ready for what? To leave? To meet Rachel? To finally escape?

She moved to the window, looking out at the rain–soaked grounds.

Somewhere in the west wing, Junior was probably playing with Clarissa. Laughing. Building new memories that didn’t include Alina.

Somewhere in the city, Daniel was in meetings, making deals, managing his empire.

Somewhere beyond these gates, Emma and Rachel were planning something that would either free her or destroy what little remained of her life here.

Wednesday.

She could survive until Wednesday.

***

Dinner that night was tense.

Daniel had returned from the city in a foul mood. Some deal had fallen through. Some partner had backed out.

He barely spoke through the meal.

Margaret tried to engage him in conversation about the Singapore expansion.

Clarissa asked gentle questions about his day.

He answered in monosyllables.

Junior wasn’t at dinner. Already asleep, Clarissa explained. He’d had a busy day and was tired.

Alina ate mechanically, grateful to be invisible.

After dinner, Daniel went straight to the study.

Alina went to their room and prepared for another night of sofa sleeping.

But at nine PM, Daniel appeared.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Alina’s stomach dropped. “About what?”

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“About us. About this marriage.” He closed the door. Locked it. “About what happens next.”

She waited.

Daniel paced. Three steps one way. Three steps back.

“Mother thinks I should divorce you. Clarissa agrees. Even my lawyers are suggesting it’s the cleanest solution.”

“Then do it.”

He stopped pacing. “Is that what you want?”

“Does it matter what I want?”

“Yes.” He turned to face her. “It matters to me.”

Alina laughed bitterly. “Since when?”

“Since I realized that five years is a long time to share a life with someone. Even if that life was… incomplete.”

“Incomplete.” She stood. “Is that what we’re calling it? Not cold. Not loveless. Not a business arrangement where I was purchased to provide childcare and social respectability. Incomplete.”

“Alina-”

“What do you want from me, Daniel?” She was shouting now. Couldn’t help it. “You want me to stay? Fine. I’ll stay and be your silent wife who sits at the far end of tables and makes everyone uncomfortable. You want me to go? I’ll go and you can marry Clarissa and have your perfect biological family. Just TELL me what you want instead of this constant back and forth!”

Daniel stared at her.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. Quietly. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

She turned away, arms crossed, staring at nothing.

Behind her, Daniel’s voice came soft.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did. Repeatedly. And you’ll keep doing it because you can’t choose, Can’t commit. Can’t decide if I’m your wife or your mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake.”

“Then what am I?”

The question hung between them again.

Daniel had no answer.

Again.

Alina sat on the sofa. Pulled the blanket around herself.

“I’m tired, Daniel. I’m going to sleep. You do whatever you want.”

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She closed her eyes.

Heard him stand there for several minutes.

Then the bathroom door. Water running. The usual nighttime routine.

When he emerged, he paused by the sofa.

“Alina.”

She didn’t open her eyes.

“I’m sorry. For all of it. I know that doesn’t change anything. But I need you to know I’m sorry.”

Then he went to the bed.

Turned off the light.

And left her alone in the darkness with an apology that came five years too late.

***

Tuesday passed in slow motion.

Alina went through the motions. Breakfast. Hours in the room. Dinner.

Avoiding Junior. Avoiding Clarissa. Avoiding everyone.

Counting down.

Twenty–four hours.

Eighteen hours.

Twelve hours.

Daniel worked late again. Came to bed after midnight.

Alina pretended to be asleep on the sofa.

Wednesday morning arrived with clear skies.

The rain had finally stopped.

At eight AM, Alina showered and dressed. Normal clothes. Nothing that would signal she was planning anything.

Jeans. A sweater. Comfortable shoes.

She packed a small bag. Just essentials. Things she could grab quickly if needed.

Hid it in the back of the closet.

Daniel left for the office at eight–thirty.

“I’ll be late tonight,” he said. “Don’t wait up.”

“I won’t.”

He paused at the door. Looked like he wanted to say something.

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Didn’t.

Just left.

Nine AM.

Alina sat by the window, watching the driveway.

Nine–thirty.

Her phone–the monitored, useless phone–buzzed.

A text from an unknown number:

*Car service arriving 10:15. Driver will ask for Mrs. Chen. Confirm only if safe. -R*

Rachel.