Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 54

NIGHT had settled fully over the house, wrapping it in a quiet that felt heavier than usual. Amelia sat on the edge of her dresser, her body angled toward the mirror, her eyes fixed on her own reflection. The soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminated her face, highlighting the faint lines of worry etched across her forehead.

She barely recognized the woman staring back at her.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Hazel.

When had it started? When had her once gentle, affectionate daughter who used to curl up beside her on the couch and chatter endlessly begun to harden this way? The sharp words. The hostility. The defiance that seemed to flare up whenever Charles so much as breathed in her direction. It frightened Amelia more than she cared to admit.

At first she had dismissed it as normal teenagers initial refusal, but now, it was clear to her that it wasn't, it was more than that.

She sighed, resting her elbows on her thighs.

Charles.

For the life of her, she could not understand it. What was wrong with Charles? He was patient, kind and intentional. He showed up, not halfway, not when it was convenient, but fully. Although not always, he slacks at times but still, he shows up. He loved Hazel in his own steady, respectful way, never trying to overstep, never trying to erase her father. And yet, Hazel acted as though he were some kind of intruder, a threat that needed to be fought off.

Amelia searched her reflection, as though the answer might be written there.

Why couldn’t she see what Hazel claimed to see?

The truth pressed in on her quietly, painfully clear. Hazel wasn’t seeing Charles at all, not really. She was seeing her father. Or rather, she was seeing the fear of losing him completely. In her mind, Charles wasn’t a man offering love; he was a competitor, taking up space that once belonged to someone else.

And for a child her age… that fear made sense.

Amelia’s shoulders slumped as understanding settled in. Hazel wasn’t wicked. She wasn’t heartless. She was wounded. She was confused. Fighting a battle she didn’t have the words to explain.

But even at that, this attitude of her daughter was driving her insane, slowly insane. More of this tantrum would completely send her raving mad if she doesn't act as she should.

What was she going to do? Just what? She wondered, lightly hitting her right index finger on her right palm.

Then, a thought suddenly sparked in Amelia’s mind, sharp and insistent enough to make her straighten. An idea, fragile but hopeful, it took shape. If Hazel needed reassurance, then perhaps it was time to give it to her in the only language she might understand.

And with that, Amelia stood, turned off the lamp, and slipped under the covers. As she lay there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, her heart felt heavier, but steadier.

***

The next morning found Amelia seated across from Clara at a quiet café, the soft hum of conversation and clinking cups filling the air around them. They had chosen a corner table by the window, sunlight spilling gently across the polished surface between them.

Clara stirred her drink and glanced up at Amelia, studying her face with a knowing look.

“So,” she began, resting her elbow on the table, “what have you called me for today?”

Amelia inhaled slowly, as though gathering herself. She wrapped her fingers around her cup but didn’t drink, looking away.

“I’m worried, Clara,” she said finally, turning to her. “Deeply worried.”

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