Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 53

AMELIA had not planned to check Charles’s phone.

It was one of those quiet afternoons when the house seemed to breathe slowly, sunlight filtering through the curtains, the ticking wall clock loud in its steadiness. Charles had stepped into the kitchen to get a cup of milk, leaving his phone on the arm of the couch where he had been sitting with her moments earlier. Amelia sat there, flipping through a magazine, pretending not to notice it.

But cheating had a way of planting seeds that refused to stay buried. Right?

She glanced at the phone once. Then again.

Her heart thudded, not with suspicion exactly, but with fear. Fear born from experience. From wounds that never truly healed. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she reached for it. The screen lit up easily; she knew his passcode because he had given it to her without hesitation weeks ago. And she tried it now, it worked so easy, like a piece of cake. Which only meant one thing. He hadn't changed it after telling it to her. He was truthful.

There was no panic in her chest as she scrolled. Just a quiet, methodical need to know.

His messages were open. Conversations with colleagues, his close friends, his sister, a group chat with distant friends planning a charity event. Then she saw her own name in another chat, his conversation with Julian.

‘She hates lies,’ Charles had written. ‘And I don’t blame her. I won’t be the reason she ever doubts herself again, you know.’

Amelia swallowed.

She went further, to emails, call logs, social media. She even checked for hidden apps, she saw none. There were no muted or archived chats. No carefully curated lies. Even his deleted messages folder was empty. Painfully empty.

She put the phone down slowly, her throat tightening. The shame came swiftly, shame at doubting him, at letting her past reach into her present and grip it by the throat. Charles wasn’t hiding anything. He wasn’t performing transparency; he was living it.

A few minutes later he hadn't return from the kitchen, was the cup of milk that heavy to carry?

That was when the raised voices floated in from the kitchen.

At first, Amelia thought she imagined it. Then Hazel’s sharp tone cut through the calm like a blade.

“Why are you always in my business?”

Charles’s voice followed, firm but controlled.

“Hazel, watch your tone. I only asked a simple question.”

Amelia frowned and stood, moving toward the kitchen as the argument escalated.

“You are not my father,” Hazel snapped. “You don’t get to question me like that.”

There was a pause, a heavy and dangerous one.

“I may not be your biological father,” Charles said slowly, “but I am an adult in this house, and I deserve respect.”

Hazel scoffed.

“Respect is earned.”

“That attitude right there,” Charles replied, frustration bleeding through, “is exactly what I’m trying to address.”

Amelia stepped into the kitchen then, the sight stopping her cold.

Hazel stood by the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes blazing with defiance. Charles stood a few feet away, tall and steady, hands clenched at his sides, the patience he prided himself on thinning visibly.

“What is going on here?” Amelia demanded.

Hazel turned immediately.

“He is policing me. Again.”

Charles exhaled sharply.

“I asked where you were coming from and why you ignored my questions.”

“And I said I don’t owe you an explanation!” Hazel fired back.

Amelia’s eyes hardened.

“Hazel.”

The girl flinched but did not retreat.

“What?”

“That is not how you speak to him,” Amelia said firmly. “Or to any adult.”

Hazel laughed bitterly.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify