Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 111

111

ADRIAN’S mansion was bathed in soft golden light, the kind that did little to mask the emptiness of its wide halls. He had returned from the gala almost an hour ago, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. His jacket was already

off, draped lazily over the arm of a sofa, the top button of his shirt undone. In his hand was a crystal glass half-

filled with deep red wine, the liquid catching faint glimmers from the chandelier as he strolled slowly across the living room.

He paused at the large glass window that overlooked the city, the lights below glittering like a sea of fireflies. Taking a sip, he let the silence around him settle, but his thoughts refused to quiet down. Amelia. Her face, her smiles, the way her eyes darted nervously when Ryan appeared, it all replayed in his mind like an unrelenting film reel.

Adrian exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair.

space

“Ryan…” he muttered bitterly under his breath. That man always had a way of being there, intruding on the that should have been his and Amelia’s alone. He clenched his jaw at the memory of seeing Ryan walk right into them at the restroom hallway, interrupting what could have been, or what should have been a moment. The look on Amelia’s face had betrayed everything. She was shaken. Torn in between. And though she tried to mask it, Adrian could feel it, her heart still knew him.

He lowered himself into the leather armchair setting the wine glass on the table beside him. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together and stared into the fireplace across the room, though the flames there had long burned out. His mind slipped back to the way Amelia looked at him during the gala, half defiant, half vulnerable. If there was ever one thing he now hated, it was himself. He hated himself for letting her slip away from him, and building a life that excluded him.

The wine burned warmly down his throat as he took another sip, but it couldn’t wash away the sting of Ryan’s presence. The man had stolen enough of his wife’s time, her attention. Adrian hated the thought of him being the one Amelia confided in when she should have been leaning on him.

“Ahhhh!” He sighed deeply.

He tilted his head back against the chair, eyes closed. He thought of Hazel, his little girl. Did she ask about him tonight, while he was out pretending to play the perfect host, perfect man, at that gala? He imagined her eyes, wide and curious, asking Amelia why her father wasn’t there at dinner. The thought dug deep into him, the ache of longing swelling in his chest.

He rose to his feet again, restless, and paced slowly back toward the window. The glass was cool under his fingertips as he pressed his palm to it, staring out at the glowing city below.

“I should be there,” he whispered to himself, almost angrily. “I should be with them.”

Yet he wasn’t.

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