The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 17

Day seven.

Alina woke with a body that felt heavy. Not just physically tired-but a fatigue that seeped into her bones, permeated her soul, making every movement feel like swimming through mud.

She stared at the bedroom ceiling that was becoming familiar with emptiness. No more foolish hope that this morning would be different. No more fantasy that Daniel would knock on the door and say sorry.

Because Daniel Blackwood never apologized.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor-a rhythm Alina had memorized. Clarissa’s high heels clicking on marble, followed by Margaret’s voice giving instructions about Junior’s breakfast menu, about the boy’s speech therapy schedule, about everything as if Alina had never existed.

“Junior, sweetheart, today we’re going to the park after school. Mama already ordered a special picnic basket for you!” Clarissa’s voice sounded cheerful-too cheerful, performative.

“Junior wants Mama Alina to come,” Junior’s small voice was soft, almost inaudible.

A brief silence.

“Mama Alina is still not feeling well, sweetheart. She needs rest. But Mama is here, right? Just the two of us will be more fun!” Clarissa maintained the sweet tone, but there was an edge there-frustration starting to leak.

“But Junior misses Mama..”

“Junior, listen to Mama. Mama Alina needs time alone. You don’t want Mama Alina to get sicker, do you?”

Subtle manipulation. Making Junior feel guilty if he kept asking about Alina. Conditioning the six-year-old boy to believe that loving Alina was something wrong-something that made Alina sick.

Alina closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat that felt like glass shards.

Junior, Mama isn’t sick. Mama is just forbidden from seeing you. Mama is locked in this room like a prisoner because Papa is afraid you love Mama more than him.

But Alina couldn’t say that. Couldn’t burden that small boy with a truth too heavy to bear.

The footsteps faded. The front door opened and closed. They left-Clarissa taking Junior to school, taking over the morning ritual that for five years belonged to Alina.

A soft knock on the door.

Mrs. Helen entered with a breakfast tray-omelet, toast, orange juice, and tea. The old woman placed the tray on the table with slightly trembling hands, avoiding eye contact as usual.

“Good morning, Ma’am.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Helen.”

“Breakfast for Ma’am. Please eat it while it’s warm.” Her voice was gentle, full of sympathy she couldn’t express in words.

Alina stared at the food without appetite. But she knew if she didn’t eat, Mrs. Helen would worry. And the old woman already carried enough burden-forced to follow Daniel’s orders while watching Alina slowly break.

“”Thank you, Mrs. Helen.”

The woman nodded, but didn’t leave immediately. She stood there, looking at Alina with teary eyes, as if wanting to say something but not daring.

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“Ma’am…” her voice soft. “Young master cried this morning. When Mrs. Clarissa forced him into the car. He said… he didn’t want to go if it wasn’t you taking him.”

Something broke in Alina’s chest-not dramatic, not loud. Just a small crack adding to previous cracks, making the entire structure inside her more fragile.

“Mrs. Margaret scolded him,” Mrs. Helen continued in a trembling voice. “Said Junior was ‘a naughty child who doesn’t appreciate his biological mother.’ Junior finally fell silent, but… Ma’am, that child’s eyes were empty. Like… like he gave up.”

Gave up.

That word hit Alina harder than anything.

Junior-the cheerful boy who always laughed, who always ran with enthusiasm, who always saw the world with eyes full of wonder-now giving up.

“You didn’t finish your breakfast again,” he said. Not a question. A statement. As if he had the right to know, to care, everything he’d done.

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