Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 106

106

ADRIAN had replayed that old conversation in his head countless times. The harsh click of the phone, Mrs. Harlow’s furious silence before she hung up, it was one of those memories that still stung, even after all these months. Yet today, he found himself walking through the polished glass doors of Harlow Enterprises, Amelia’s late father’s legacy, with a heart full of old wounds and unspoken pleas. Adrian had been there once before, that was years ago, when things were less fractured, when Amelia’s mother still spoke to him with warmth.

The receptionist greeted him politely, though the recognition in her eyes betrayed her surprise at seeing the billionaire himself standing there. Adrian’s reputation preceded him everywhere, but this wasn’t a business call, this was far more personal.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Harlow,” he said quietly, his tone firm, though inside his chest, his heart thudded hard against his ribs.

Minutes later, he was ushered into her office.

Mrs. Harlow sat behind her late husband’s mahogany desk, the large windows framing her like a portrait of quiet strength. Her face was older, but no less commanding, her poise sharp as ever. When she lifted her gaze to him, there was no warmth in it, only a measured calmness laced with old bitterness.

“Adrian,” she said, her voice cold and clipped. “I never imagined you would step foot in here again.”

Adrian stopped just short of the desk, fighting the urge to bow his head like a child caught in wrongdoing.

“I had to,” he said softly. “I need your help, mother.”

Mrs. Harlow arched a brow, leaning back in her chair.

“Help?” The word was laced with disbelief. “After months of silence? After you allowed Amelia to walk out with my grandchild, and then had the audacity to call me, blaming her?”

The accusation landed like a blow. Adrian’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak.

“I wasn’t blaming her. I was desperate. Angry at myself more than at her. And I… I needed someone to turn to. You were the only person I thought could… understand.”

She scoffed.

“And what did I do? I hung up. Because I didn’t want to hear another word from the man who let my daughter suffer in his house.”

The words sliced deep, but Adrian didn’t flinch. He had expected them.

“I came to ask your forgiveness,” he said, his voice lower now, rawer. “For that call. For everything that followed. And because…” He paused, his breath heavy. “Because I don’t know how else to reach Amelia anymore. Every gesture I make, she throws it away, passes it to others, won’t even look at me. And Ryan-” his jaw clenched, “ that boy is circling her like a vulture. I can’t stand by and watch this happen. Please, Mrs. Harlow, I need your help.”

Silence fell between them. The ticking clock in the corner seemed to echo in the room. Mrs. Harlow’s expression didn’t soften, but for the first time, her eyes flickered with something else, something like conflict.

AM

“You think my forgiveness will solve this?” she asked finally. “You think my word will make Amelia forget the days and nights you weren’t there for her?”

Adrian swallowed.

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106

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“No. But maybe your word can help her see that I’m not here to hurt her anymore.”

Mrs. Harlow stared at him for a long, weighted moment. Her fingers tapped lightly on the desk before she leaned forward, her voice sharp as a knife.

“If I ever agree to help you, Adrian, it won’t be for you. It will be for Amelia, and for my grandchildren. Because unlike you, I don’t gamble with their happiness.”

Adrian’s chest tightened at the sting of her words, but beneath the pain, he felt the smallest flicker of hope.

For the first time in a year and some months, Mrs. Harlow hadn’t shut the door on him.

***

The Harlow estate was unusually still that night. The twins had finally gone to bed, their laughter replaced with the soft hum of the night crickets beyond the windows. Amelia sat curled on the living room couch, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face shadowed by the glow of the lamp.

Her mother entered with a cup of tea in hand, lowering herself gracefully into the armchair opposite her daughter. For a moment, neither spoke. Amelia’s gaze was fixed on nothing, her jaw tense.

It was Amelia who broke the silence.

“He is everywhere, Mother,” she muttered, her voice low but sharp. “Everywhere I turn, he is there. The boutique. The flower shop. The resort. What is this? Doesn’t he have a company to run anymore? A life? His mistress?”

Her mother took a slow sip of her tea, saying nothing.

Amelia let out a bitter laugh.

“He buys me clothes, I give them away. He buys me flowers, I don’t even touch them. And still, he keeps coming back like I haven’t made myself clear enough. What exactly does he want from me?”

Mrs. Harlow set her cup down on the table, her eyes studying Amelia. She saw this as a door to come in.

“Maybe he just wants to be heard.”

Amelia shook her head, standing abruptly.

“He had his chance years ago. He didn’t fight for me then, why now? Why stalk me like some desperate shadow?”

Her mother’s lips pressed together in a thin line. She wanted to tell her about Adrian’s visit to the office, about the way he had asked for forgiveness and pleaded for her help, but she stopped herself. Adrian’s words were not hers to deliver, not yet.

“Sometimes people change,” Mrs. Harlow said quietly. “Sometimes they realize too late what they lost.”

Amelia’s laugh was hollow.

“Well, too late is exactly what it is. I have moved on, Mother. I’m building my life, my children’s life. I don’t need him barging in like I owe him an audience.”

She turned toward the hallway, her voice breaking slightly, though she masked it with anger.

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