Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 4

THE house was unusually quiet that morning, the soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen being the only constant sound. Mrs. Harlow sat in her favorite chair by the living room window, a delicate teacup balanced in her hand. She had that pinched look on her face, the one that meant she had been waiting for an opportunity to speak her mind.

Claire walked in, her hair hastily tied up, her eyes shadowed with sleeplessness. She had barely managed a smile since her breakup weeks ago, but she was trying, at least in her own way.

Her mother’s gaze flicked to her instantly.

“Claire,” Mrs. Harlow started, her voice sharp yet laced with an air of superiority, “I don’t know what is wrong with you. Honestly, I don’t.” She set the cup down on the table with a quiet clink. “Twenty-eight years old and still unable to keep a man for longer than five months. Do you ever stop to ask yourself why?”

Claire froze at the doorway, already weary of where this was going.

“Mother, not this morning,” she murmured, rubbing at her temple.

But Mrs. Harlow was not one to be silenced once she had picked her target. “Don’t ‘Mother’ me. I am saying this because I care for you. Look at your sister, she is married to the richest man I have ever known, living a life that any woman would envy. And then there is you… stumbling out of one failed relationship into another. It is embarrassing, Claire. Embarrassing for me, embarrassing for this family.”

Claire felt her chest tighten. She bit down hard on her lip, fighting to hold back tears.

“So because Amelia married well, I’m suddenly a disgrace? Is that what you are saying?”

Mrs. Harlow leaned back in her chair, her tone calm but cutting.

“Don’t twist my words. I’m saying Amelia is proof that a woman who carries herself properly, who knows what she wants, gets it. Meanwhile, you— well, it seems you can’t even hold a simple relationship together. Men walk away from you as if you have nothing to offer. And I am tired of watching you wallow in your misery.”

The words hit like blows, each one sharper than the last. Claire’s fists clenched at her sides.

“You don’t understand, do you? You don’t know what I have been through. Do you think I wanted things to end the way they did? Do you think I enjoy feeling like this every single day?” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts.

Mrs. Harlow waved a dismissive hand.

“Excuses, Claire. Always excuses. The truth is, you don’t know how to keep a man. You push them away, or they leave because you don’t try hard enough. Meanwhile, Amelia doesn’t need to try, men line up for her. That is the difference between the two of you.”

Claire’s throat burned. She could feel the lump rising, threatening to choke her. Her mother’s words carved deep into wounds that were already raw from heartbreak. Amelia’s name, always Amelia thrown in her face like a reminder of everything she wasn’t.

“Maybe men don’t line up for me because I’m not like her,” Claire whispered fiercely, blinking back tears. “Maybe I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not just to be loved. Maybe I’m tired of being compared to Amelia as though I’m some failed version of her!”

Her mother’s brows rose, unbothered by the outburst.

“That bitterness, that tone right there, it is no wonder men don’t stay. You should learn to soften, Claire. Learn from your sister before it is too late. You are not getting any younger.”

That was the last straw. Without another word, Claire turned away, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she stormed toward the hallway. She didn’t care if her mother called after her; she didn’t care about another round of comparisons. The moment she reached her room, she shut the door with a firm thud and leaned against it, pressing her palms flat against the wood.

Her chest heaved as the silence of her room swallowed her whole. The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, hot and unrelenting. Claire buried her face in her hands, the weight of her mother’s voice still ringing in her ears, Amelia’s name echoing like a cruel shadow she could never escape.

Outside, Mrs. Harlow picked up her teacup again, sipping as if nothing had happened. To her, it was just another morning, another lecture. But to Claire, it was another crack in a heart already struggling to hold itself together.

Back in the room, the rage on her face suddenly slowly melted into a twisted smile as she let out a low, mocking laugh.

“Adrian, indeed…” she muttered, striding toward her dresser where a phone lay waiting. “Maybe Mother should first know what her golden boy has up his sleeves before singing his praises.”

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