The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 83

stat ile Murbing things

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What The Morning Brings

Alina woke up not knowing where she was.

Ceiling too high. Light wrong. Body heavy in a way that felt chemical, not natural.

She blinked slowly, trying to orient herself.

Library. She was in the library.

On the sofa.

The last thing she remembered was chamomile tea and Clarissa’s voice talking about schedules and Junior and common ground.

Then nothing.

She sat up too fast. The room tilted violently. She grabbed the sofa arm, waiting for the spinning to stop.

Her mouth tasted bitter. Head throbbed with a low persistent ache behind her eyes.

Something was wrong.

She never fell asleep in the library. Not like that. Not so completely that she couldn’t remember closing her eyes.

The tea tray was gone.

Clarissa was gone.

The room was dark except for the lamp in the corner, which meant it was evening. Late evening.

She had been asleep for hours.

Alina stood carefully, legs unsteady, and walked to the window.

Outside, the driveway was empty.

Everything looked normal.

But something felt deeply, fundamentally wrong.

She went to the door and opened it.

The mansion was too quiet.

Not the normal quiet of evening routines. Something heavier. Something like held breath.

“Mrs. Helen?” she called.

No answer.

She moved down the corridor, checking rooms. Empty. There was no one there.

Kitchen empty. Dining room empty. Margaret’s sitting room empty.

Where was everyone?

She found one of the junior housemaids in the laundry room, folding towels with red–rimmed eyes.

The girl looked up and froze when she saw Alina.

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“Where is everyone?” Alina asked. “Where’s Mrs. Helen?”

The girl’s face crumpled.

“What happened?” Alina’s voice dropped to something barely audible. “What happened?”

“Mrs. Blackwood.” The girl set down the towel. “There was an accident.”

The words hit before their meaning registered.

“Tuan Junior. He fell. They took him to St. Mary’s. Hours ago.”

The room disappeared.

“He fell?” Alina heard herself say. Voice completely detached from body. “What do you mean he fell?”

“Young Master fell from the bookshelf. In his room. His head–there’s a lot of blood, Ma’am. So much blood.”

The floor was moving. Alina gripped the doorframe.

“When did it happen?,” she repeated. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“A few hours ago, Ma’am. The ambulance arrived around five thirty.”

Five thirty.

And no one told her.

She had been unconscious in the library while Junior was bleeding. While the ambulance came. While they took him away.

And no one woke her. No one told her.

She ran.

Not thinking, not planning, just running. Up the stairs, down the corridor, to her room where she grabbed her bag, her jacket, anything.

Back downstairs.

To the front door.

“Nyonya Blackwood.” Mr. Harris stepped out from the shadows near the entrance, blocking her path. “I’m sorry, but you can’t leave without-”

“Get out of my way.” Her voice was quiet. More dangerous than screaming.

“Tuan Daniel’s orders are- ”

“Junior is in the hospital.” She looked at Mr. Harris with eyes that no longer had anything left to lose. “He is in the hospital and I have been asleep for four hours and no one told me. And you are going to step aside right now or I will walk through you.”

Mr. Harris looked at her. At the absolute stillness in her face. At the calm that had replaced everything else.

He stepped aside.

Alina walked out.

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True Morning th

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The night air hit her like cold water, clearing some of the chemical fog still clinging to her brain.

She called a rideshare from the front gate, standing at the end of the driveway in the dark, hand steady despite everything.

The car arrived in four minutes.

“St. Mary’s Hospital,” she told the driver. “Please hurry.”

***

St. Mary’s at midnight was a different world from its daytime version.

Quieter. Starker. Every sound amplified by emptiness.

Alina went straight to the information desk.

“Junior Blackwood,” she said. “He was brought in earlier. Head trauma. Pediatric.”

The nurse checked the system. “Are you family?”

“I’m his mother.”

The words came out without hesitation. Without qualification.

Not his stepmother. Not his caregiver. Not his father’s contract wife.

His mother.

Because she was. Biology had nothing to do with it.

The nurse looked uncertain. “I have him listed in Pediatric ICU. Family is already present. I’ll need to check-”

“Please just tell me he’s alive.”

Something in Alina’s voice made the nurse stop.

“He’s in ICU,” she said more gently. “He came through surgery. He’s stable for now.”

Surgery.

They had already operated. Already opened his skull to relieve pressure in his brain.

While she was unconscious in the library.

While Clarissa was giving her drugged chamomile tea.

“Where is the ICU waiting room?”

Aliana heard Clarissa first.

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