Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 107

THE moment Shantel disappeared beyond the glass doors of the cafeteria, Amelia’s composure cracked.

Not dramatically, but just enough.

A small chuckle escaped her lips. Then another. She set her cup down carefully and shook her head.

“Disciplined,” she murmured to herself, amused. “Manages.”

The words replayed in her mind, not because they were clever, but because of the way Shantel’s smile had twitched when she said them.

Poor girl. Still playing pretend.

Amelia leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting toward the exit Shantel had used.

The performance had been exhausting, not because Shantel was intimidating, but because she was predictable. Every question wrapped in sugar. Every compliment laced with curiosity. Every concern disguised as sisterhood.

And every single one of them designed to pry.

Amelia had known who she was from the very first meeting.

The admiration had been too deliberate, the interest too focused amd the questions too precise.

Shantel wasn’t studying Amelia. No, the lady was studying access.

Access to cracks.

Access to weakness.

Access to Charles.

Amelia exhaled softly, picking up her cup again.

“Plan harder,” she whispered under her breath, a faint smile playing at her lips.

Across the parking lot, however, there was nothing amused about Shantel. The moment she slid into her car and slammed the door shut, the mask fell.

“What the hell was that?!” she snapped to herself, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened.

Her chest rose and fell sharply.

What was wrong with that woman? Why wouldn’t she react?

Every angle she tried to open, Amelia had calmly sealed. Every bait she threw out had been gently returned.

No insecurity. No oversharing. Not even an emotional leakage.

Just that infuriating composure.

“She thinks she is smart,” Shantel hissed.

The memory of Amelia’s steady eyes replayed in her mind. That knowing softness. That subtle control.

It felt like being toyed with.

And Shantel hated being toyed with.

She hit the steering wheel with the heel of her palm.

“She is frustrating my plans!” she screamed, the sound trapped inside the car.

Her breathing quickened.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Amelia was supposed to complain. To confide and express doubt.

One crack, just one crack was all that Shantel needed. But there were none.

Instead, she had walked straight into a wall made of silk.

Shantel leaned back against the seat, dragging a hand down her face.

“Fine,” she muttered.

If Amelia wouldn’t expose weakness willingly…

Then maybe the weakness needed to be created. Her eyes slowly sharpened as a thought cut across her.

Then she started the engine abruptly, the sound cutting through the parking lot.

“Plan B,” she whispered to herself. A slow, satisfied breath escaped her.

By the time she adjusted her rearview mirror, her face was calm again. Composed and polished.

No trace of the fury that had filled the car seconds ago.

But her eyes, her eyes carried intent.

She shifted the gear and pressed the accelerator.

The car zoomed out of the resort parking lot, tires gliding over asphalt with purpose.

***

The bar was alive with its usual Tuesday night rhythm— low music humming through the speakers, glasses clinking, laughter rising and falling in waves.

Charles sat in his usual corner booth with Marcus and Julian, a half-finished drink resting in his hand. For a while, everything felt normal.

Marcus was in the middle of an exaggerated story.

“I’m telling you,” he said, pointing at Julian, “if that girl calls you ‘bro’ again, it’s over. There is no recovery from that.”

Julian burst out laughing. “It was one time!”

“One time is enough,” Marcus shot back. “That is emotional demotion.”

Charles chuckled faintly, shaking his head.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“At least I’m not the one still trying to decode women like they are encrypted files,” Julian teased, nudging him. “That is you.”

Charles smirked.

“I don’t decode. I lead.”

“Sure you do,” Marcus muttered under his breath.

They all laughed again. Drinks were raised. The mood was light.

For a moment.

Then gradually, Charles’ laughter faded. His grip around his glass tightened slightly. The noise around him dulled as Amelia’s face drifted into his mind.

Her calm voice and very steady eyes that evening.

“I’m staying in tonight.”

The memory replayed.

The way she had said no without guilt. Without fear. Without needing to soften it, and his jaw tightened.

“Hey,” Julian said, squinting at him. “You good?”

Charles blinked, snapping back slightly.

“Yeah.”

Marcus leaned forward, studying him.

“Nah. That’s not a ‘yeah.’ That’s a ‘something’s eating me.’”

Charles exhaled through his nose.

Marcus raised a brow.

“Hey bro, how did it go with your fiancée? Remember you sent a text you were going to see her?”

Julian snapped his fingers.

“Yeah! You probably left like a man on a mission.”

Charles leaned back against the booth, staring at his drink.

“It went… fine.”

Marcus frowned.

“Fine is dangerous.”

Julian nodded.

“Fine means not fine.”

Charles scoffed faintly.

“You guys overthink.”

“Then say it was great,” Marcus challenged.

Charles didn’t respond immediately.

Julian exchanged a glance with Marcus.

“There it is,” Julian muttered.

Charles ran a hand through his hair.

“She is completely different now.”

Marcus tilted his head.

“Ok. How different now?”

“She’s… calm.”

“That’s bad?” Julian asked.

“Not that kind of calm,” Charles replied, frustration creeping into his voice. “Controlled calm. Like she is already five steps ahead of whatever I’m thinking. I was hinting at this guys, remember?”

Marcus leaned back slowly.

“Oh.”

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