Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 41

SHE opened the door, and the image that greeted her made her breath hitch.

The woman standing on the porch was young. Much younger than her. Her dress clung tightly to her body, short enough to expose smooth, confident legs, the neckline plunging low as though daring anyone to look away. Her heels were impossibly high, her posture practiced. Heavy makeup sat boldly on her face— thick artificial lashes, glossy lips, sharply contoured cheeks, all giving her a polished, nightlife glow even in the quiet afternoon light.

For a split second, Amelia simply stared.

“Yes?” she finally managed, her voice steady despite the sudden chill creeping up her spine. “What can I do for you?”

The girl looked her up and down, amusement dancing in her eyes. Then she laughed, a light, careless and mocking laugh.

Amelia's eyes widened in response to that.

“Excuse you?” the girl said. “This is my man’s house. I want to get in.”

The words hit Amelia like a slap.

“Your… your what?” she asked slowly, her brows knitting together as though her ears had betrayed her.

“My man’s house,” the girl repeated, rolling her eyes. “Or—” she paused, stepping back off the porch and glancing around, squinting at the building, “—am I at the wrong place?”

She turned, surveying the compound, the driveway, the mailbox. Everything matched. With a shrug, she walked back onto the porch, heels clicking against the tiles.

No mistake.

All the while, Amelia stood frozen, her hand still resting on the door, her mind racing faster than her heart. This wasn’t funny. This wasn’t possible. This—

“This is my man’s house,” the girl continued impatiently, crossing her arms. “And I’m here to see him. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

Something in Amelia snapped.

She let out a short laugh, sharp, hollow, entirely devoid of humor. Then she laughed again, louder this time, longer, the sound echoing strangely in her own ears. It felt surreal, like watching herself from a distance.

Without answering the girl, Amelia turned back into the house.

“Babe—” she called, her voice breaking slightly as she spun around—

And stopped.

The living room was empty.

Charles wasn’t there.

Her heart skipped violently. Panic surged. She scanned the space, the couch, the hallway, the kitchen entrance.

Nothing.

What?

Her breath came quicker now, chest tightening. In one swift, impulsive move, she slammed the door shut.

The door banged loudly, the sound final and decisive.

Outside, the girl yelped in surprise, immediately grabbing the knob.

“Hey!” she shouted, rattling it. “What is wrong with you? Open this up!”

Amelia leaned her back against the door for half a second, eyes wide, heart pounding like it wanted out of her chest.

“Open this door!” the girl yelled again, banging harder now. “You can’t just lock me out. This is my man’s house!”

Amelia pushed herself away from the door and walked deeper into the house, her steps unsteady, her thoughts spiraling.

What was going on?

Where was Charles?

And who exactly was that woman?

Amelia didn’t make it to the couch before Charles emerged from the room, phone still pressed to his ear, talking quietly.

“Okay, please, call her now,” he said firmly and hung up.

Amelia froze mid-step, lifting her right hand and pointing it dramatically toward the door.

“Who the hell—”

“Relax,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, his tone calm but firm. “That is Marcus’s girlfriend. I have just called him. She will be leaving soon.”

Her hand slowly dropped, disbelief written all over her face.

“Marcus?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “His girlfriend… here?”

Charles shrugged casually.

“Yeah. Seems like he wanted to drop by.”

“But… what would his girlfriend be doing here?” Amelia pressed, eyebrows knitting in frustration.

“I will take the hug, I promise. Strangling… maybe later, during training,” he teased.

“You better not,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “But seriously, Charles… I just can’t deal with surprises like that. Not at the door, not ever.”

He nodded, understanding completely.

“I know, and I will handle it. You just… keep cooking, okay? I will make sure Marcus doesn’t bring anyone else over. Not while you are here, at least.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head, and headed toward the kitchen.

“Fine, but don’t think I’m letting him off that easily. He owes me an explanation for today!”

“Deal,” Charles called after her, smiling warmly. “But you? Go cook. You look too adorable to be pacing around.”

Amelia shot him a quick glare, playful and real, then disappeared into the kitchen. The door clicked closed behind her.

The second the door shut, Charles exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief. He slumped against the wall for a moment, running a hand over his face, then made the sign of the cross.

“Thank God… that could have gotten ugly. It was so close.”

He shook his head, muttering to himself, “Marcus… honestly, man, what were you thinking?”

Then he glanced around the living room, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the adrenaline still pulsing in his veins.

“Alright… she is calm now, she is okay. That is what matters.”

And with that, he left the wall and collapsed into the couch.

***

Meanwhile back in the kitchen, Amelia stood by the counter, her hands steady as she reached for a knife, but her eyes were cold enough to freeze the room.

She didn't start cooking. Instead, she leaned against the marble, listening to the silence of the living room, then the heavy thud of Charles collapsing onto the couch in relief.

Marcus’s girlfriend.

The lie was so flimsy, it was insulting even. She knew Marcus. Marcus was many things— clumsy, loud, annoying— but he didn't have the spine to send a girl like that to Charles's front door. And that girl? The way she had said "This is my man’s house" wasn't the confusion of a visitor. It was the arrogance of a resident.

She looked down at her reflection in the blade of the knife, her mind racing. The typical Amelia would have ended this in thirty seconds. She would have dragged Charles by his collar to that porch and made them both scream the truth. But a predator didn't strike the moment it saw the prey twitch. It instead, let him breathe, she thought, a slow, dark smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Let him think he is a genius. Let him make the sign of the cross and thank his lucky stars. She wasn't being ‘adorable’ in the kitchen. She was calculating.

She gripped the knife handle tight. Charles thought he was playing a game of hide-and-seek, but he didn't realize Amelia had switched the game to chess. And she had already taken his Queen.

With that, she turned on the faucet, the sound of rushing water drowning out the noise of her own racing thoughts. She would cook. She would smile. And then, she would destroy him.