Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 35

IT was evening when Adrian finally returned home, the sky outside already bruised purple and blue with the coming night. The house greeted him with its usual stillness, too quiet and too large for one man. He shut the door behind him, loosened his tie with a careless tug, and dropped his briefcase on the couch like it weighed nothing and everything at the same time.

Without turning on the lights, he strode into the kitchen. His movements were mechanical, practiced. He filled a glass with water, drained it in long gulps, then reached for the bottle of wine he had left on the counter the previous night. The cork was already out. He poured, didn’t measure, and lifted the glass to his lips.

With the wine in hand, Adrian walked into the dining area.

He stopped at the doorway.

The dining table sat there, polished and untouched, the chairs neatly arranged around it. The overhead chandelier was off, but the faint glow from the hallway lights spilled in just enough to paint the room in shadows. Adrian leaned against the doorframe, one shoulder resting there, wine glass dangling loosely from his fingers.

He stared.

And hoped.

And remembered.

The room shifted in his mind, colors bleeding into life. Amelia’s laughter echoed where silence now lived. Hazel— eight years old, small and energetic— sat bouncing in her chair, feet swinging, humming to herself while waiting for food. Adrian saw himself entering then, younger, less tired. He leaned down, kissed Hazel’s temple, inhaled her childish scent of soap and warmth, then bent to kiss Amelia’s lips. She smiled at him like he was her whole world.

Food was already on the table. Amelia clasped her hands, her smile radiant.

“Let’s pray,” she said.

They bowed their heads. She prayed softly, beautifully, gratitude woven into every word. When she finished, they ate together. A family. Whole.

Adrian swallowed and lifted his glass, sipping slowly, as if the wine might drown the ache forming in his chest.

He was still standing there, still imagining. Then—

“Dad.”

The voice sliced clean through his thoughts.

Adrian jerked, his heart slamming hard against his ribs. He turned sharply, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the glass.

At the foot of the stairs stood Hazel.

His Hazel.

She stood there in jeans and a hoodie, her hair pulled back loosely, her teenage beauty undeniable. She was taller now, her limbs longer, her posture confident. But it was her face that struck him hardest— Amelia’s face. The same eyes. The same captivating smile, softer now, restrained, but unmistakably her mother’s.

“H- hey,” Adrian stammered. “Wh- what are you doing here?”

Hazel tilted her head slightly, brows lifting. Then she walked toward him, footsteps steady against the marble floor.

“What am I doing in my father’s house?” she asked, incredulous.

Adrian shook his head quickly.

“No, no— not… not that way. I didn’t mean it like that. I just—” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You are not supposed to be here at this time. On this day. Your mom would be worried.”

Hazel rolled her eyes so hard it almost made him smile. Almost.

“No,” she said flatly. “She is too busy worrying about Charles.”

Adrian winced.

“Urgh. Come on, Hazel, don’t say it that way. She would be worried if she finds out you are not home at this hour.”

“Dad,” Hazel exhaled sharply, stopping right in front of him. “Allow me.”

He lifted both hands in surrender.

“Okay. Fine. Fine.” He paused, studying her face. “But seriously, what are you doing here?”

Hazel hesitated.

Just a second.

But Adrian noticed.

She glanced toward the dining table, then back at him.

“I needed to see you.”

His heart tightened.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Not wrong. Just… something I needed to talk about.”

He straightened from the doorframe immediately.

“You scared me.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, then added, “I came alone.”

His brows knitted.

“Alone? Where are your brothers?”

“They are home,” Hazel replied. “Sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” Adrian repeated. “At this hour?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “They had a long day. School, homework, all of that.”

“And your mom?” His voice lowered instinctively.

“She is not home,” Hazel said. “She is out.”

Adrian exhaled slowly.

“Hazel, you shouldn’t be sneaking out at night.”

“I didn’t sneak,” she corrected. “I told her I was studying in my room.”

Adrian stared at her.

“That’s sneaking.”

She shrugged.

“I left a note.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“She’s going to raise hell when she finds out.”

“I will handle her,” Hazel said firmly.

He looked at her again— really looked. The confidence in her eyes unsettled him. It was Amelia’s strength staring back at him, and for a moment he didn’t know whether to be proud or afraid.

“You shouldn’t have to handle your mother,” he said quietly.

“She shouldn’t have to handle everything alone either,” Hazel replied.

That made him pause.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Hazel stepped past him and pulled out a chair at the dining table, sitting down like she belonged there— which of she did. She folded her arms on the table and looked up at him.

“It means,” she said carefully, “that things are… complicated.”

Adrian set his wine glass down slowly, untouched now.

“Talk to me.”

Hazel took a deep breath.

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