The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 42

Morning came too quickly.

Or perhaps not quickly enough. Alina wasn’t sure anymore. Time had felt strange since she’d been confined to her room-too slow and too fast simultaneously, like a broken clock.

At exactly eight o’clock, the sound of a large engine woke her from restless sleep.

Alina rose from bed, walking to the window with heavy steps.

In the mansion’s front yard, a large white moving truck was parked with its back doors wide open. Three workers in blue uniforms had already begun unloading suitcases-many suitcases of various sizes, all in matching pastel colors.

Light pink. Cream. Ivory white…a todas a

Clarissa’s colors.

ནི འངཔིང མཛཱ ཀའི བང 1:|:ཟངའ བཟོ ན

Alina pressed her forehead against the cold window glass, feeling something twist in her stomach.

This was really happening.

Clarissa wasn’t just visiting again. Not just spending afternoons at the mansion before returning to her luxurious apartment.

She was moving in. Permanently.

From this second-floor window, Alina could see everything with painful clarity.

Louis Vuitton trunk-sized suitcases. Boxes labeled “Fragile” with the Hermès logo. Garment bags containing dresses that surely cost more than Mrs. Helen’s annual salary.

The movers worked efficiently-practiced, as if they’d been given detailed instructions beforehand.

Then the mansion’s main door opened.

Margaret emerged with authoritative posture, dressed in a cream suit that was perfect despite it being only eight in the morning. Behind her, Clarissa appeared in a light, feminine floral sundress, her hair in a high ponytail, natural makeup that made her look fresh and approachable.

Picture perfect for the role of “mother returning home.”

Alina heard their voices faintly through the closed window.

“Be careful with that one!” Clarissa’s voice was bright, cheerful. “That’s vintage Chanel. Irreplaceable.”

“Put all the large suitcases in the master bedroom first,” Margaret ordered the workers. “East wing, main corridor, last door on the right.”

Master bedroom.

Those words made something clench in Alina’s chest.

The master bedroom at the end of the corridor the room that for five years had been Daniel’s room. The room Alina was never allowed to enter except when cleaning, and even then only in the morning when Daniel had

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already left for the office. The room that was always locked, private, exclusively Daniel’s.

Now it would be Clarissa’s room too.

“Mrs. Margaret,” one of the workers asked while pointing to several large boxes. “These labeled ‘Junior’s Room’ -where should they go?”

Margaret glanced at Clarissa, who smiled gently.

“Oh, those are toys and books for Junior,” Clarissa answered in a voice full of affection. “Put them in Junior’s room. The room with the blue door in the same corridor.”

“Young Master Junior’s room is already full, Ma’am,” the worker hesitated. “Should we remove the old items or-

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“Just remove the old ones,” Margaret cut in with a tone that accepted no argument. “Store them in the warehouse. The new items are more appropriate.”

The old items.

Toys that Alina had collected over five years. Storybooks that Alina had chosen one by one based on Junior’s age and interests. Puzzles they worked on together every week. The Transformers robot that Junior slept hugging every night.

All would be replaced with items from Clarissa. New items with no memories. No soul.

Alina clenched her hands until her nails pressed into her palms physical pain to distract from the deeper pain.

Below, the activity continued like a well-rehearsed production.

The movers carried suitcase after suitcase into the mansion. Margaret supervised with an eagle eye, ensuring nothing was damaged or misplaced. Clarissa occasionally gave instructions with a sweet smile, graceful gestures calculated to appear helpful but not bossy.

Then a small, familiar voice made Alina freeze.

“Mama Rissa!”

Junior.

The boy ran out from the main door in his still-rumpled robot pajamas, hair messy, clearly just awake. Mrs. Helen ran slightly behind him, trying to catch up.

“Young Master Junior, wait! Don’t run-”

But Junior had already reached Clarissa, stopping with a confused expression as he saw all the suitcases and boxes.

“Why does Mama Rissa have so many clothes?” he asked in an innocent voice that broke Alina’s heart.

Clarissa knelt in front of Junior-a graceful, practiced movement-and smiled gently.

“Because Mama Rissa is going to live here now, sweetheart,” she said in a warm voice. “With Junior. Every day.”

Junior stared at her with wide, confused eyes. “Live? Like… like Mama?”

That last word “Mama” was spoken with hesitation. Because for Junior, there was only one Mama. And that

wasn’t Clarissa.

“Yes, like Mama Alina,” Clarissa answered, not catching or deliberately ignoring the hesitation in Junior’s

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voice. “We’ll have breakfast together every morning. Play together every afternoon. And Mama Rissa will read stories before bed. Won’t that be nice?”

Junior didn’t answer. He just stared with an expression Alina couldn’t read from the window, but his stiff posture

-tense shoulders, fists clenched at his sides said enough.

Margaret stepped forward, placing a hand on Junior’s shoulder with a possessive gesture.

“Junior should thank Mama Rissa,” she said in a firm tone. “Mama Rissa loves Junior so much that she’s leaving her beautiful apartment to live here. That’s a big sacrifice.”

Sacrifice.

A word so ironic it made Alina want to laugh-or cry, she didn’t know which.

Clarissa who had abandoned Junior as a newborn. Clarissa who had disappeared during the first five years of Junior’s life. Clarissa who had only returned out of regret? Or because she saw Junior was now old enough, already well-raised by someone else, ready to be claimed back without the actual effort?

“Thank you, Mama Rissa,” Junior finally whispered, in a mechanical tone. Automatic. Like he’d been taught to be polite to guests.

Clarissa smiled widely, pinching Junior’s cheek with a gesture too familiar for their still-strange relationship.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Now, how about Junior helps Mama Rissa choose which toys to put in Junior’s room? Mama Rissa brought so many new toys!”

“But Junior already has toys,” Junior answered innocently. “Mama” He stopped, swallowing. “Mama Alina said Junior should take care of the toys he has before asking for new ones.

Silence for a moment.

Alina saw Clarissa’s expression change-just briefly, just a flicker-into something cold. Irritated.

But quickly she covered it with a smile.

“Mama Alina is right, of course,” she said in a too-smooth tone. “But the old toys are worn out. The new toys from Mama Rissa are better. More modern. Junior will definitely like them.”

Margaret nodded approvingly. “Junior, your mother has chosen the best educational toys. Junior should be grateful.”

Junior nodded slightly-complying because he’d been taught to obey, not because he understood or agreed.

Mrs. Helen, still standing at a distance, watched this scene with a pained expression. Her old eyes met the window where Alina stood as if instinctively knowing Alina was watching from above-and there was something in that

gaze.

Empathy. Solidarity. Grief.

Then Mrs. Helen quickly looked away, so as not to appear suspicious.

“Young Master Junior, let’s have breakfast first,” she said in a gentle voice. “Your stomach will hurt if you don’t eat in the morning.”

“Mrs. Helen is right,” Clarissa stood, brushing her dress that had no dust. “Junior, have breakfast first. This afternoon we can look at the toys together.”

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Junior nodded again, turning to follow Mrs. Helen.

But before entering, he looked back-quick, instinctive-staring upward.

Directly at the window where Alina stood.

Even from this distance, Alina could see the expression on that small face. Confused. Sad. As if asking why Mama wasn’t coming down. Why Mama Rissa could move into their house.

Alina placed her hand on the window glass-a futile gesture, but instinctive.