Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 47

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SHOCK was an understatement, Vivian was more than shocked. Her body froze where she sat up in bed, and the color drained from her face. She cringed as the figure in the doorway took a step forward.

“Yeah, it is me,” Claire said, her lips curving in that smug little smile that sometimes made Vivian’s stomach

churn.

Vivian’s hand clutched at the duvet.

“How… how did you get into my… my house?” Her voice wavered, caught between disbelief and panic.

Claire leaned lazily into her seat.

“Your house? Oh, Vivian… you really should be more careful with doors. People can just… walk in.”

“W… what do you want from me?” she asked, her eyes darting between the three figures in the room.

Claire’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it, only venom. She pulled her seat closer, the four heels dragging against the floor in a rhythm that made Vivian’s skin crawl.

“I came to remind you of something,” Claire whispered, stopping just beside the bed. She leaned down, her face inches from Vivian’s. “That thing in your womb… it doesn’ belong here. Get rid of it. For your own sake.”

Vivian’s lips trembled, her hands shaking violently.

“Y… you can’t… you can’t tell me what to=””

Claire cut her off with a hiss, her voice low, slow, and chilling.

“Oh, but I can. And I will. Because if you don’t, Vivian… you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Vivian’s lips wobbled uncontrollably as her wide eyes watered. She felt like the walls were closing in, like the room had no air left.

Claire straightened and gave a satisfied scoff.

“Be wise. Consider it… advice from someone who knows exactly how dangerous this game can get.”

Without another word, Claire got up and walked out of the room, the two men following behind with one last scornful look. The sound of their heels faded down the corridor. Moments later, Vivian heard the slam of the front door and the rumble of a car engine.

As soon as she was sure they were gone, Vivian scrambled out of bed, her feet nearly tangling in the sheets. Her chest heaved as she dashed to the door, locked it with shaking hands, and pressed her back against it as though the flimsy lock could keep their threats out.

Her gaze darted to the window. Through the blinds, she caught sight of their sleek black car reversing out of her driveway, it shimmered under the security lights. A fresh wave of terror gripped her.

With trembling fingers, she rushed for her phone, unlocked it in haste, and began dialing Adrian. Tears blurred her vision as she pressed the phone to her ear, her eyes glued to the window, afraid they might suddenly return.

“Pick up, Adrian… please, pick up,” she whispered despera ely, her voice cracking.

***

The next morning dawned thin and gray, the kignd of light hat made every shadow look a little sharper. Adrian had driven to Vivian’s place without thinking of anything else, sleep-drunk panic, guilt, and a need to put some distance between Claire’s threat and the life he had been trying to keep intact. He parked, walked up the short path, and found his feet carrying him to her door like they had a mind of their own.

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He knocked once, then again, a measured, impatient rap. Inside, he heard a small shuffling, a sucked-in breath. Silence. Then a tremulous voice from within:

“Who is it?”

“Adrian,” he said. His voice sounded foreign in his ears, too loud in the quiet morning. “Vivian, it is me. Please,

open up.

A pause. Then the door slid open slowly, and Vivian peered around it, eyes rimmed with red from a night without sleep. When she saw him, she crumpled; relief crashed into her so hard she reached out without thinking and pulled him into a hug that was fierce enough to bruise.

Adrian stiffened for a beat, surprised by the intensity, then allowed the embrace for a second. Her body trembled against his chest; she smelled of cheap perfume and fear. She buried her face at his shoulder, whispering hoarsely, “Oh thank God. You came. You came, Adrian.”

He held her briefly, feeling the paper-thin steadiness of his own pulse against the soft back of her neck. He wanted to soothe her, to say whatever would make her still. But his arms were mechanical; his mind catalogued the facts, Claire, the night break-in, the pistol, the threat. He pulled back and studied her face, trying to read what the fear had written there.

Vivian’s hands clung to his shirt.

“They were in my room,” she blurted. “Claire… Claire and two other men, masked. They… she said… she told me to get rid of it. She threatened me, Adrian. She said if I don’t, I won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened; anger flared hot and red.

“They… you mean Claire came into your house?” He tried to keep his voice level, but there was steel in it now. “In the middle of the night?”

She nodded, her lips quivering.

“They did. The two others were masked. A man with a gun. They just… walked in. Claire sat by the bed and put her hand on my belly, Adrian, she touched me like she owned me. She said awful things. She… she threatened me with my life.” Her breath hitched and a stifled sob escaped. “The minute they left, I locked the door and called you, but you didn’t pick up. I- I was so scared.”

Adrian moved a fraction closer.

“You called me?” His voice went small for a moment; the memory of the very late night call, the frantic breath, that female voice on the line came back to him as a raw, exposed thing. He hated himself for the part he had played in her fear, hated the fragility in his own chest that softened at the sound of her panic.

She released him briefly to look at him, eyes imploring.

“I need you, Adrian. I don’t know what they will do next. Claire said she will come back. She said things she didn’t even say out loud. I thought, I thought you would protect me. Please, you have got to do something.”

Adrian’s mind scrambled through options like a man riffling through a drawer: call the police, get a restraining order, confront Claire, stay with her, move her to a hotel. Each option carried consequences that would ripple into places he did not want them to reach. He pictured Amelia’s face, hollowed out from that morning’s revelations; Hazel at her grandmother’s, and the image made his chest tighten with a guilt that felt like drowning.

“What did she say exactly?” he asked, forcing himself to be practical. “How did she… what did she threaten?” 1

Vivian’s nails dug into his sleeve.

“She told me to get rid of the baby. She said it doesn’t belong here. She said if I didn’t, I would be dead before I

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knew it. She said she would make sure I suffer. She said… she said things I can’t repeat.”

Adrian closed his eyes for a second, then opened them, hard,

“That is a threat. That is a crime.” His voice carried the weight of someone claiming he was suddenly older and more dangerous than he had planned to be. “I should have come sooner. I should have picked up when you called.” The admission was rough in his throat; he didn’t want to say it, but it landed anyway. “I will handle this, Viv. I will talk to Claire. I will go to her mother. I will do whatever it takes. Nobody… nobody threatens someone in this family and gets away with it.”

Vivian clung to him again, that desperate gratitude shining through the fear.

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