The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 181

Hidden Weakness

Daniel pressed his lips hard against Alina’s.

Alina gathered what little strength she had left.

Her thin hands lifted, pressing against Daniel’s chest, trying to push him away.

But Daniel didn’t move.

Quite the opposite–the kiss deepened. More possessive. As if Alina’s resistance only made his longing more uncontrollable.

Alina panicked.

Her breath caught. The world felt like it was closing in. And in blinding desperation, her hands moved on their own -her fingers gripped, scratched at Daniel’s arm, her nails digging into his skin through his shirt.

Daniel felt that pain.

Sharp. Burning.

But he didn’t let go.

The longing he had held back too long overcame the pain. He savored Alina’s lips as if it were the only thing keeping him alive–until unintentionally his teeth bit too hard.

A metallic taste.

Blood.

Daniel stopped. Drew back slowly.

Alina’s lower lip was swollen, slightly wounded at the corner. A drop of blood glistened under the faint light of the monitor.

Something flickered in Daniel’s eyes. Regret. Or something more complicated than that.

His thumb moved, gently wiping the blood from Alina’s lip.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I missed you so much.”

Alina gasped, her chest rising and falling quickly. She wanted to push again. To move away. To scream and call for

anyone.

But her body betrayed her.

Alina had no strength. No power in the arm pierced by the IV line. All she could do was stare at Daniel with eyes burning full of hatred.

Then something made her forehead furrow.

Daniel’s eyes.

That look–sorrowful, fragile, full of longing so naked and bare. Not the cold stare the man usually showed. Or the control Daniel always wore like armor.

For the first time in five years, Alina saw this man’s weakness.

An expression Daniel had never shown anyone. Something he always hid behind cold and towering walls.

And Alina didn’t know what to feel.

“I miss you,” Daniel repeated in a voice that was almost breaking. “Every night without you feels like torture.”

He leaned forward again, his lips seeking Alina’s neck, descending slowly.

Alina flinched.

“No-” her voice came out strangled, panicked. Her body tensed, trying to move away from that touch.

“Please.” Daniel’s voice dropped to very quiet. Weak. Almost inaudible. “Don’t refuse. Not tonight. Please.”

Alina froze.

Daniel–pleading.

The man who never asked. Who always took. Who always commanded with one word and waited for obedience. That man was now pleading in a voice that was almost shattered.

But the warmth of Daniel’s breath at her neck awakened something else within Alina.

Memories of nights full of violence. Her body that was not her own. Trauma she had buried deep began crawling up to the surface, choking her throat.

Alina’s body began to tremble violently. Not from cold. Pure fear.

Daniel didn’t notice.

He didn’t see that the woman in his arms was fighting the terror he himself had created.

Alina closed her eyes tightly, holding back the scream that wanted to explode from her chest. Waiting for the worst. Waiting for Daniel to act desperately like those nights that had destroyed her.

But Daniel’s hands didn’t move further.

He only held Alina. Tightly. Embracing her as if afraid of losing her.

Then slowly, Daniel lay his body at the side of the narrow bed. His head found the hollow of Alina’s neck, nestling there like a child seeking comfort.

“I’m tired,” he murmured quietly, his voice already half–swallowed by drowsiness. “So very tired, Alina.”

A few seconds later, Daniel’s breathing slowed.

He fell asleep.

Alina lay rigid.

Her body tensed, every muscle locked. Her clenched fists trembled holding back the urge to scream at the top of her lungs, to call a nurse, to kick this man far away from her body.

She tried to move. To shift Daniel’s heavy body off her.

But the man was too large. Too strong. Even in his sleep, his arm encircled Alina like a chain that refused to release.

Alina ran out of strength.

Tears flowed silently, pooling on the already soaked pillow.

Finally, with gasping breath and a body that surrendered to exhaustion, Alina stopped fighting.

She let Daniel sleep beside her.

Let the man she hated hold her throughout the night. With one question hanging without an answer.

How could someone love and destroy in the same breath?

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Daniel left before dawn truly came.

He woke when the sky was still gray, releasing his embrace from Alina’s body with careful movements so as not to wake her. For a moment he only stood beside the bed, watching his sleeping wife’s face.

Then he straightened his shirt, slipped a piece of paper on the nightstand, and left without a sound.

As if he had never been there.

A few hours later…

The morning light filtering through the curtain gap awakened Alina slowly.

Her eyes opened heavily. Her body felt crushed, her head heavy from the residual sedative. For a few seconds she only stared at the white ceiling, trying to remember where she was.

Then the memories of last night came flooding in.

Daniel.

That kiss. His embrace. His pleading voice.

Alina quickly turned to the side of the bed.

Empty.

Only a faint indent on the neighboring pillow–the only evidence that the man had once been there. And a neatly folded piece of paper on the nightstand.

Alina’s trembling hand reached for it.

Daniel’s handwriting. Firm, neat, cold like his personality.

‘Eat regularly. I want you to get out of here soon. Come home quickly.‘

Alina stared at those words for a long time. Then her fingers clenched, crumpling the paper until it was crushed in her palm.

Come home quickly.

Alina didn’t want to return to the Blackwood family house.

She came to this hospital not waiting to be returned to the same prison.

But what disgusted Alina more wasn’t that message.

It was herself.

She bit her lower lip that was still swollen, still aching at the corner where blood had dried the night before.

How could she have fallen asleep in Daniel’s embrace? How could her body that had resisted, that had scratched and pushed and held back screams–ultimately surrender and sleep soundly in the arms of the man who had destroyed her?

Alina didn’t even remember when her consciousness disappeared. What she remembered was only the overwhelming exhaustion, Daniel’s arm encircling her, and warm breath at her neck.

Then darkness.

And morning came.

Self–hatred gnawed at Alina’s chest. As if her body had betrayed her. As if there was a part of her that had already recognized Daniel’s embrace as something she had once yearned for, back in the time when she was still foolish enough to hope Daniel would love her.

Alina covered her eyes with her arm.

Suddenly, her stomach churned.

The familiar nausea rose quickly to her throat. Alina got up in panic, her hands groping for something with gasping breath.

The door opened.

A nurse entered carrying a tray, and immediately noticed Alina’s condition. She hurried closer, set down the tray, and placed an emesis basin in Alina’s lap just in time.

“Calm down, Ma’am. Breathe slowly,” the nurse said while rubbing Alina’s trembling back.

Alina vomited, though her stomach was almost empty. Her body shook from each painful heave. The nurse patiently stayed with her, wiping the sweat from her forehead, offering a glass of water when everything subsided.

“Morning sickness is indeed severe in the first trimester,” the nurse said gently while tidying up. must keep trying to eat a little. For your baby’s sake.”

“But Ma’am

Alina only nodded weakly, resting her head on the pillow.

The nurse began checking the IV line and noting something on her clipboard. While working, she glanced at the crumpled piece of paper still lying on the blanket.

“Mr. Blackwood came last night, didn’t he?” the nurse asked with a warm smile. “He said he couldn’t sleep because he was worried about you. Coming all the way at midnight like that.”

Alina didn’t answer.

“You’re so lucky, Ma’am,” the nurse continued, her voice full of genuine admiration. “Having such an attentive husband. Handsome, wealthy, and devoted. Coming every day, bringing flowers, asking about your condition down to the smallest detail.” She let out a small sigh. “These days, husbands like that are very rare. Not every woman is as fortunate as you, Ma’am.”

Something bitter rose in Alina’s throat—this time not nausea.

Lucky.

That word felt like a cruel joke.

If only this nurse knew. What was truly hidden behind those white flowers and polite smiles and displayed concern. If only she knew why Alina’s heart pounded every time her room door opened–not because of love, but because of terror.

But of course the nurse didn’t know.

No one knew.

Alina only made a soft sound–a faint noise barely audible, too tired to be laughter, too bitter to be anything else.

She said nothing.

What was the point?

Who would believe that the man who brought white roses every day was the same man who made her body freeze with fear? Who would believe that this “rare husband” was the reason she wanted to run as far as possible?/

The nurse, interpreting Alina’s silence as a wife’s shyness, only smiled even more broadly.

“Get enough rest, Ma’am,” she said while lifting the tray. “I’ll come back later to bring breakfast. Please eat, even just a little.”

The door closed.

Alina was alone again.

She stared at the crumpled paper in her hand, then slowly opened her clenched fingers. Daniel’s words were still there, crumpled but readable.

Come home quickly.

Alina placed her hand on her still–flat stomach, feeling the small life growing inside–the only thing in this world that was completely innocent.

“No,” Alina whispered to the silence, her voice quiet but with something new in it. Something hard. “I’m not going home. I will never bring you there.”

For the first time since she arrived at the hospital, beneath the exhaustion and fear and self–hatred, a small determination began to ignite.

Alina had to speak, before Daniel truly brought her back. ld.

Unnatural Death

The outskirts of the city in the morning felt different from the night that had given birth to it.

The empty lot was now filled with yellow police lines stretching between rusty iron posts. Several patrol cars were parked at angles, their lights blinking weakly under the newly risen sun. A gray sedan–Steven Walsh’s car–was still in the place where it had been found, its door open, surrounded by forensic officers working with routine movements that were almost monotonous:

Adrian stepped out of his car, adjusted his jacket, and walked closer.

Seeds Of Doubt

What Margaret hadn’t expected was that everything would end with a death.

And one thing kept spinning in her head throughout the journey.

Daniel was involved in the journalist’s death.

On the top floor, Daniel was standing beside his work desk, discussing something with Marcus when the door to his room opened without a knock.

He raised his head, slightly surprised to see his mother enter.

“Mother?” Daniel set down the document he was holding. “What brings you here?”

Margaret didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes glanced toward Marcus, then back to Daniel–a signal both had understood for years.

Daniel nodded slightly to his assistant. “Leave us, Marcus.”

Marcus bowed briefly and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Once they were alone, silence hung momentarily in that spacious room.

Margaret looked at her son for a long time. Then her voice came out, sharp and direct.

“How far will you lose control for the sake of Alina?”

Daniel was taken aback.

For a moment, his expression changed–something unreadable flickered in his eyes–before returning flat as usual.

“I don’t understand what Mother means,” he said calmly.

“Don’t pretend to be stupid,” Margaret interrupted, her voice hardening. “I know what you did to that journalist.”

Daniel was silent.

His face showed nothing. No surprise, no unease, no acknowledgment. Only cold calm that was actually more frightening than any denial.

“I don’t understand what Mother is talking about,” said Daniel, flatly.

Margaret stepped closer, her eyes not leaving her son’s face. “Mother knows the journalist’s death has something to do with you, Daniel.”

Silence.

“I know who Steven Walsh was,” Margaret continued, her voice lowering but full of emphasis. “I know he was the one who spread photos of Alina to the public. Who destroyed her name. And now–a few hours after that news exploded–he’s found dead. Suicide?” Margaret laughed softly, bitterly. “You think I believe in coincidences like that?”

Daniel’s jaw hardened.

The image of Alina’s photos returned to his mind. His wife’s pale face displayed to the entire world. Her thin body becoming the subject of strangers‘ ridicule. Alina’s most fragile moments turned into cheap spectacle.

Something dark moved in his chest just from remembering it.

“That’s none of Mother’s business,” Daniel said finally, his voice low. “There’s no point in us discussing this.”

“There is a point!” Margaret’s voice rose, something that rarely happened. “I’m your mother. And I won’t let my child become a murderer.”

Daniel looked at his mother. Then the corner of his lips lifted–a cold crooked smile, without a trace of warmth.

“I didn’t kill anyone, Mother.”

Those words slipped out so smoothly, so convincingly, that Margaret felt her spine tingle. Not because she believed it. Quite the opposite–because she knew her son was lying, and she knew how skilled Daniel was at hiding things.

Margaret held her breath, trying to stabilize her churning emotions.

She had come here with one hope–that her son would deny it. That Daniel would convince her that Steven Walsh’s death was just a tragic coincidence with no connection to their family. But the longer she stared at Daniel’s flat face, the more certain she became that that hope was futile.

Daniel had crossed a line.

And it was all because of Alina.

“I hope you’re right,” Margaret said quietly, sudden exhaustion audible in her voice. “I hope you had nothing to do with that man’s death. Because if you truly killed someone for that woman…” She shook her head. “You will regret it. Alina is not worth defending to the point of dirtying your hands with blood.”

Daniel frowned.

“What does Mother mean?”

Margaret fell silent.

Her hands folded in front of her body clenched slowly. Since last night, since Dr. Whitmore had sent those photos to her phone, Margaret had been thinking hard. Calculating. Weighing when and how she should best use the weapon that had just fallen into her hands.

Her original plan was to wait. To keep those photos until the truly right moment–until a single small spark was enough to burn everything down. Margaret didn’t like rushing. She was not the careless Clarissa.

But now, seeing how far Daniel had gone–that her son was capable of killing for Alina’s sake- Margaret realized

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something.

Waiting might actually be dangerous.

Every day Daniel became more bound to Alina. More obsessive. More uncontrollable. If left unchecked, who knew what else he would do. Perhaps these photos, if shown now–when Daniel was still angry enough, when doubt could still be planted–could sever that dangerous bond before everything was too late.

Perhaps this was the right moment.

Not waiting for a spark.

But lighting the fire herself.

Margaret took a deep breath, straightened her back, and looked at her son with an expression she assembled carefully–a mixture of a mother’s concern and reluctance to deliver bad news.

“Daniel,” Margaret said in a voice that was quiet but devastating. “Alina is not a woman worth defending. Let alone killing someone for her sake.”

Daniel looked at his mother with furrowed brow, growing impatient.

“She’s a traitor.”

Those words hung in the air.

Daniel fell silent. His expression didn’t immediately change–but there was something that froze in his eyes. A pause, one heartbeat held back.

“What?” His voice came out quietly. Dangerously.

Margaret didn’t back down. She had started; there was no point in stopping now.

“Alina is having an affair,” she said, letting every syllable sink in. “Behind your back. Even while she’s lying in the hospital and you visit her every day, she’s been developing a closeness with another man.”

Daniel’s jaw hardened. His hands lying on the desk slowly clenched.

“Mother, be careful with your words,” Daniel hissed in a voice that was low and cold. “I don’t like Alina being accused without evidence. And I don’t like Mother speaking badly about Alina.”

“I’m not accusing without evidence, Daniel.” Margaret took out her phone from her clutch with a calm movement. “I came here to discuss something this serious.”

She opened the photo folder, then slid the phone across the table, to her son’s view.

“See the evidence for yourself.”