Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 142

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THE school project had been assigned three weeks ago and Hazel had been putting off the fieldwork component with the procrastination of someone who had too many other things occupying the front of her mind. But the deadline was now five days away, and Amaka... her project partner, her best friend, and the only person who could make Hazel feel genuinely guilty about being disorganized, had called twice that morning to remind her.

"We need the photographs today," Amaka said when Hazel called back on her lunch break. "We can use the equipment at the house. Damien has the camera, the tripod, everything. You can just come over after taking permission from school authority."

"Fine," Hazel said. "I will be there."

"Good. I will definitely be waiting, and don't get yourself carried away by moping at my neighbour's,” she gave her a mischievous smile.

Hazel shrugged. That weird neighbour of hers.

"If only the universe gives me no reason to."

“Well, whatever. I'm sending my address again to you, probably you must have forgotten—”

“For— what?” She scoffed, “don't get me started now, Amy.”

“You never can tell, it's been a while you came by you know.”

She exhaled, saying nothing.

Amaka rolled her eyes and sighed before sending the address to Hazel. The address Amaka sent was in a part of the city Hazel should have known quite well but for months of not coming by. That quiet residential street of detached houses with high walls and electric gates. Amaka's brother, Damien was apparently an architect, which made him useful for their environmental design project, and the house also had the kind of thoughtful landscaping that gave them exactly the visual material they needed.

Hazel arrived at four-thirty and as expected, the weirdo's bungalow still stood untouched with his lawn still grassy, although not too much, an indication that it's been done at least twice since she last came here. She said nothing about it this time, asked no questions as she walked up to the house, she was only watching, paying attention to every detail.

The garden was large and well-planted, which was ideal. Hazel set up the tripod near the back wall while Amaka went back inside to get the spare memory card she had forgotten. It was quiet out there with the birds, distant traffic, the occasional sound of a door opening somewhere on the street.

And then, from the side passage that ran along the house, Hazel heard a voice that made her freeze in place. She knew that voice and recognized it very well.

She stood slowly and moved toward the gap in the hedge that separated the main garden from the side passage, staying well back, staying in the shadow of the large jacaranda tree beside the wall. Through the leaves she could see the side path clearly.

Charles was standing with his back half-turned, phone pressed to his ear, completely at ease in the way of a man who believed he was alone.

And he was standing right on the porch of this house, the weird house, as though he was the owner, as though he was the resident.

Hazel was stunned!

And his voice was crystal clear. Why not? A few minutes walk from where she stood.

"No, listen to me," he was saying, his voice low but clear in the afternoon quiet. "The money is coming. I have two cheques — one from Amelia, one from Sandra and both will be clearing this month. Once they land, I clear the outstanding with your team and we move immediately to phase two." There was a pause as if he was listening to the response of the person on the other end of the call. And then he laughed softly. "I know. I know it's taken longer than expected. But trust me, these women have no idea. Amelia thinks she is investing in our future. Sandra thinks she has found the love of her life." He laughed again, longer this time, the easy laugh of a man performing for an audience he trusted completely. "Neither of them is going anywhere. I have made sure of that."

Hazel did not move. She stood in the shadow of the jacaranda tree and listened to every remaining word... the timelines, the sums, the casual contempt with which he discussed two women who trusted him. She listened to all of it as if she were a private investigator collecting evidence. She had always known that Charles was up to no good, but her mom was so devoted to him that she barely noticed. Something tightened in her chest when she thought about all her mother had gone through, and this man was trying to add to her pains.

When his voice finally faded and she heard the front door of the house click shut behind him, she stood motionless for another full minute, making sure he was really gone and had not noticed her presence from the other side where she stood.

Then she reached into her pocket and looked at her phone. She had started recording the moment she confirmed it was him. It had been an unconscious thing, but she was able to get most of the conversation. Now, she had proof to show her mother how much of a terrible person he was.