Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 22

**TITLE: Hands Trembled Before Goodbye — Ryan Ellis 22**

“ALL men cheat.”

The weight of that declaration settled heavily in Amelia’s mind, echoing relentlessly like a haunting refrain that refused to dissipate. She cast a glance at Clara, a chill creeping down her spine as the gravity of her friend’s words took hold. Clara wasn’t jesting; there was no hint of exaggeration in her tone. She spoke with the weary resignation of a woman who had long since come to terms with a bitter reality.

“I mean,” Clara continued, reclining in her chair and crossing her legs with a casual air, “you should count yourself lucky that Adrian has the decency to conceal his indiscretions.” She straightened up, her demeanor shifting, her voice sharp and incisive. “But let me tell you something shocking: one of Leonard’s mistresses actually had the audacity to call me and demand that I cease claiming what isn’t mine. Can you believe that? Me, Amelia. Me!”

Amelia’s jaw dropped in disbelief, her expression a mixture of shock and a burgeoning anger that simmered just beneath the surface.

“What?” she managed to utter, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Clara confirmed, nodding bitterly, her eyes narrowing as if recalling the moment still stung.

At that moment, a sales representative approached, balancing a precarious stack of neatly folded shirts on her arm.

“Madam, should we display the new Ankara gowns by the entrance or at the far end?” the young woman asked, her tone respectful.

Amelia turned her attention to her, her voice steady and authoritative. “Far end. Customers prefer to browse through before settling on bold colors.”

“Yes, ma,” the girl responded, her footsteps quickening as she hurried away.

Before Amelia could resume her conversation, another customer approached, holding up a stunning black dinner gown. “Madam, can you check if this is available in size 12?”

“One moment, please,” Amelia replied with practiced politeness, snapping her fingers to summon one of her sales reps. “Could you check size 12 for this lady?”

“Yes, ma,” the rep replied, dashing toward the stockroom.

Turning back to Clara, Amelia’s voice lowered, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief threading through her words. “Clara… what did you actually do?”

Clara scoffed, her demeanor almost too relaxed. “What could I have possibly done? Nothing. I simply informed Leonard about it, and he assured me he would take care of it. That’s all there is to it.”

Amelia leaned in closer, her dissatisfaction evident, her brows knitting together in concern. “And that was it?”

“Mm-hmm,” Clara hummed, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “What else was there to say?”

“Ahh!” Amelia lamented, turning her gaze away and pressing her palm against her forehead in frustration. “Clara, you are astonishingly calm. That would never be me.”

Clara laughed, but the sound was tinged with a sadness that spoke volumes—a weary chuckle from a woman who had long since surrendered to the harshness of reality.

“No,” Amelia said firmly, her voice low yet cutting through the ambient chatter of the boutique. “That lady isn’t simply angry. Because if she were, we would both be mad together.”

Clara’s laughter deepened, filling the cozy space where they sat, a momentary reprieve from the tension.

“No, you can’t try that with me,” Amelia insisted, shaking her head playfully yet with intent. “I will hunt you down wherever you go.” Her eyes sparkled with a quiet fire, and she pointed at Clara, half-joking but entirely serious.

“Oh! Ame!” Clara exclaimed, her laughter bubbling over as she clutched her stomach.

Amelia joined in, a scoff escaping her lips, though her tone remained serious. “No, you really are extraordinarily calm, my dear.”

Clara wiped a tear of laughter from her cheek, still chuckling. “Ah, Amelia, you don’t truly grasp what calm is until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify