The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 64

Wounded Predator

CHAPTER 52

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.

Clarissa’s colors.

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 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?”

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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 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.

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

Clarissa who had abandoned Junior as a newbom. 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 [unior 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.”

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.

Junior raised his small hand, waving slowly.

Then Mrs. Helen touched his shoulder gently, guiding him inside.

And Junior disappeared into the mansion.

Leaving Alina standing at the window with her hand still pressed against the cold glass, feeling something hollow in her chest.

The moving activity continued throughout the morning.

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Alina didn’t leave her room because Daniel had forbidden it, claiming she needed to rest due to her injured hand. But Alina couldn’t stop watching like witnessing a car accident, horrifying but unable to look away.

Suitcase after suitcase entered. Box after box was carried to various rooms. The movers sweated despite the cool morning, moving up and down the stairs with heavy loads.

At ten o’clock, a separate van arrived not an ordinary moving van, but one with the logo of a luxury interior designer that Alina recognized from magazines.

Three people got out with clipboards and fabric samples, greeted directly by Margaret

“Mrs Blackwood,” one of them a woman with cat–eye glasses and a black blazer–greeted Margaret professionally. “We’ve brought the samples as requested. For the master bedroom and several common areas that will be refreshed.”

Refreshed.

A polite word for “erase all traces of Alina and replace them with Clarissa’s taste.”

“Good,” Margaret smiled thinly. “Clarissa has prepared a mood board. Follow me.”

They entered the mansion, carrying fabric rolls and large portfolios.

From the window, Alina couldn’t hear their conversation anymore. Could only see the activity that didn’t stop.

At eleven o’clock, the sound of Alina’s room door opening without knocking.

Alina turned from the window quickly.

Mr. Harris–the head of security who had been her guard all this time–stood at the door with an uncomfortable expression.

“Mrs. Blackwood,” he said in a formal tone. “I need to inform you that for the next several hours, this corridor will be busy with moving activities. You’re requested to stay in your room and keep the door closed.”

Requested. As if Alina had a choice.

“How long?” Alina asked in a voice calmer than what she felt.

“At least until evening, Ma’am. Possibly longer. There are many items to arrange.”

Alina nodded slowly. “Understood.”

Mr. Harris hesitated for a moment, then added in a softer voice, “Mrs. Helen will bring lunch for you later.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harris.”

He nodded, then left, closing the door.

The sound of the key turning was clear–an unnecessary reminder that Alina was a prisoner, not a resident.

Alina returned to the window, staring at the activity below that continued.

And for the first time since all this began, she felt something other than despair.

Anger.

Cold anger. Calculated. Dangerous.

They could take her position at Daniel’s side. Could take her place at the dining table. Could take her routine with Junior.

But they made a mistake by locking her in this room. By making her invisible. Insignificant. By thinking she would give up.

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Because a desperate person with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous person.

And Alina had already lost everything.

Afternoon turned to evening without Alina realizing it.

She sat on the floor near the window, staring outside, listening to sounds from the corridor.

The heavy footsteps of movers. The sound of furniture being shifted. Occasional instructions from Margaret in an authoritative

tone.

And Clarissa’s laughter.

That sound was the most painful.

Light, musical, genuine laughter. The laughter of a woman who was happy. Who was settling into her new home. Who was claiming a place that for five years had belonged to someone else.

Alina heard that sound from the corridor–Clarissa talking with the interior designer, excited about color choices for the master bedroom.

“I like that soft blue. Calming. Good for Daniel after a long day at the office.”

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