Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 73

“BE good for your father and don’t turn the house upside down,” she laughed lightly into the phone, and the boys’ giggles followed her even after the call ended.

Amelia slowly lowered the phone from her ear, the smile still lingering on her lips like a soft aftertaste. For a brief moment, she remained seated, staring at the blank screen as though she could still hear their excited chatter echoing from it. Gabriel had insisted on telling her, in dramatic detail, how “extremely professional” George was, while Gaddiel kept interrupting to narrate how beautiful Wendy was, as if he had just discovered a rare treasure. Even Adrian’s voice had drifted into the background at some point, steady and amused, reminding them all to let their mother breathe.

It warmed her.

No matter the chaos, no matter the secrets, no matter the silent wars brewing beneath the surface of her life, her children remained her anchor. And hearing them happy, sounding genuinely happy, did something to her heart she could not quite put into words.

She turned her head toward the towering floor-to-ceiling window.

The sky had shifted while she was on the call. The golden hues of late evening had dissolved into indigo shadows, swallowing the city bit by bit. The skyline glittered faintly now, lights flickering on one after another like distant stars descending to earth. From this height, everything looked small, manageable and almost peaceful.

Night was settling in.

She exhaled slowly.

The suite behind her remained untouched from her earlier work session— laptop open but dimmed, a notepad filled with scribbled observations, a half-empty glass of sparkling water, and the faint crinkle of a snack wrapper resting beside it. She had been deep in thought before the call, tracing patterns, connecting dots only she and Ryan knew existed. The mission was just beneath the vacation.

But for now, she allowed herself to breathe.

With deliberate calm, she shut her laptop completely, the soft click echoing in the spacious pent room. She didn’t bother clearing the desk. That could wait. Tonight, she needed air. Space. Movement.

She rose from her chair gracefully and crossed toward the expansive walk-in closet. The lighting inside flickered on automatically, casting a warm glow over neatly arranged garments. Ryan truly had thought of everything, even having a few additional pieces sent ahead.

Her fingers trailed over fabrics; silk, chiffon, structured linen, until she paused at a satin dress. A midnight blue dress. Smooth and fluid. Elegant without trying too hard. The kind of dress that caught low lighting and turned it into something intimate.

She pulled it free from the hanger.

For a second, she held it up against herself in the mirror mounted inside the closet door. The reflection that stared back at her was poised. It was composed. It was as a woman in control.

And yet beneath that surface lay calculations.

She slipped out of what she was wearing and into the satin piece, letting it fall over her frame effortlessly. It clung just enough to accentuate her silhouette without appearing intentional. She adjusted the straps, smoothed the fabric down her waist, and tied her hair back into a low, effortless style. A touch of gloss. Minimal perfume. Something subtle and expensive.

It was perfect.

She stepped back from the mirror and gave herself one last assessing look.

Not too dressed up and not too casual, but just enough.

Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she walked toward the main door. She grabbed her phone and slid it into a small clutch, pausing briefly to glance once more at the city beyond the glass.

There was something about being in a new place at night, anonymous, unobserved, undefined.

She needed dinner.

And perhaps… she needed to observe a little.

With that thought resting quietly in her mind, Amelia reached for the door handle and ambled out of the room, ready to find something to eat.

***

The bar was alive without being loud, just the kind of refined atmosphere that whispered luxury instead of shouting it. Warm amber lights hung low from the ceiling, casting a golden sheen over polished marble counters and dark mahogany shelves lined with crystal bottles. The air carried the faint blend of citrus zest, aged whiskey, and expensive perfume. Soft jazz floated through hidden speakers, blending with the low hum of conversations and the gentle clinking of glassware.

Ifeanyi stood behind the counter, sleeves neatly folded to reveal those strong forearms, black vest fitted perfectly over a crisp white shirt. He was mid-conversation with a woman seated two stools away, carefully pouring a pale rosé into a slim glass. He smiled politely at something she said, nodding in acknowledgment.

But then he felt it.

A presence.

The presence wasn't loud nor demanding, it was just… magnetic.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure standing at the foot of the grand staircase that curved elegantly from the upper floors down into the lounge. His hand stilled mid-air for a split second before he forced himself to finish pouring the drink without spilling.

It was her.

The woman who had checked in earlier. The woman he had barged into her room to catch her fresh from the bathroom. The woman whose image had lingered in his mind far longer than it should have.

And if he had thought she was beautiful before, now she was devastating.

The satin dress hugged her frame effortlessly, catching the golden light and reflecting it like liquid silk. Her posture was poised yet relaxed, eyes scanning the room with quiet observation. She didn’t try to command attention, she simply had it.

He swallowed.

Focus.

He handed the glass to the customer with a charming smile, then allowed himself the smallest glance in Amelia’s direction.

Their eyes met.

He waved.

She hesitated for a heartbeat, almost as if debating whether she should acknowledge him, then she lifted her hand in a restrained wave.

And then, to his quiet relief and growing delight, she began walking toward the bar.

Each step was unhurried and confident. She glanced around as she approached, taking in the décor— the textured stone pillars, the backlit shelves of premium liquor, the velvet seating arranged in intimate clusters. The bar itself curved in a semi-circle, its marble top gleaming under the lights.

She reached the counter and gracefully took a seat on one of the high stools.

“Hi,” Amelia greeted, resting her forearms lightly on the counter.

Ifeanyi’s smile widened instinctively. He dipped his head slightly in that playful, exaggerated bow.

“Hello, Amelia. Beautiful evening to you.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and genuine.

“Funny you. Good evening, Ifeanyi,” she said— but the pronunciation was slightly off.

He chuckled immediately.

“You are getting it wrong there with your accent,” he teased gently. “It is Ifeanyi. Like the letter E. Not the ‘I’ sound.”

She tilted her head, amused.

“Ifeanyi,” she repeated carefully.

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