Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 74

074

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074

THE hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon; pale blue walls, a single window with blinds half drawn, a metal tray on a trolley, and the soft beep of monitors somewhere down the corridor. A plastic chair sat opposite the bed, and on it sat Adrian. Overhead lights made everything too clear, too clinical.

Vivian was in the bed, stripped of perfume and make-up, hair matted and mussed from the seizure and the rush to the ER. Her hospital gown rode up where her hand pressed uselessly at her belly; her face was raw and hollow, the bravado scrubbed away. Across from her, Adrian sat very still, the day’s casual ease gone. He stared at her as if he were trying to memorize the woman before him and decide if he recognized her at all.

Silence between them thickened, tight and taut, until it began to breathe out into something ugly.

Vivian could not meet his eyes. When she glanced at him, she forced her gaze away, shame and fear kept her chin down. She had done the unthinkable; the weight of it sat in her like a stone.

Adrian finally broke the silence. He let out a short, bitter laugh and looked down at his hands, ashamed of it before the sound even escaped. He forced a smile that couldn’t reach his eyes and then, as if pulling a knife, asked, “You really tried to kill me?”

Was he asking, or accusing? The question hung in the white light.

She shook her head violently, then summoned enough breath to speak, voice small and unusual.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said. “I… I was scared. You were changing. Everything felt like it was falling apart… I thought if I ended it all, it would end everything at once. I… I just wanted to end it all.”

He scoffed, then laughed.

“They said that… if they don’t take it away immediately, you would be lying dead on the slab in the morgue,” he said, her bulging glassy eyes searching his face for clarity, and then he dropped it.

“You lost the baby,” he scoffed.

Her eyes widened as her left hand went to her tummy, her eyes looking down at it.

“The same baby you used to brag about,” he continued, “now you have lost it. Because of what exactly?” He questioned.

“I… I didn’t know what to do, Adrian. You were slipping off my hands and I didn’t want to lose you. So, I wanted… wanted us to leave this world together,” her voice was as low as a whisper.

“Are you mad?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head again. A tiny breath,

“No.”

“Are you stupid?” His tone was flat now, disbelief folding into something harder.

She only shook her head, courage evaporating.

“Leave which world together?” he pushed. “What did you mean, ‘end everything’?”

She could not answer, she only stared. The rawness of her confession made the room spin. He advanced a step, shoving his seat forward, fury flaring; she flinched back against the pillows.

“And you thought poisoning the drink, planning that stupid toast, killing me, killing yourself, killing the child…

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was a brilliant master plan?” His voice broke and rose. He scoffed, ran a hand over his face, paced once, then laughed, a short, humorless bark.

“What if I had drunk it? What if Hazel hadn’t FaceTimed me? What if I had taken that glass and-” He stopped and his breath came ragged. “That is how you would have rendered her fatherless. Because you were jealous.”

Her lips trembled, as though some word was lodged in her throat, but nothing came out. Adrian didn’t give her the space to find it; he leaned forward, voice hard as flint.

“I would have died,” he said, each word measured, “because you were jealous.”

She tried again, the syllables barely audible.

“I… I didn’t mean to. I was hurt.”

Adrian’s eyes hardened.

“Then you could have killed yourself alone,” he snapped, and his voice cut through the small room like ice. Vivian’s eyes widened, hurt and fear mingling there. He continued, merciless.

“The next time you want to die, pick a bridge of your choice, London Bridge, Third Mainland, whatever. Jump. If that is the kind of person you are, or the kind of marriage you forced yourself into, be my guest. Jump off the bridge.”

He spoke slowly, making sure every syllable landed. She cringed back against the hospital pillows as if physical blows had struck her. The words were not pleading; they were punishment.

Adrian scoffed and ran his fingers across his face, a small, bitter laugh escaping him.

“You stayed five months in my house… five months and you already turned it into a crime scene,” he spat.

Vivian had no answer. She stared at him, wordless.

He pressed on, the memory of Amelia like a hard stone in his mouth.

“I lived with Amelia for over a decade. She forgave me countless times. She took care of our child. She was always there for me, and never for once, did she try to kill me.”

Vivian’s face went soft, a habitual pout she had worn in gentler times. Her voice, when she found it, was a small, frantic thing.

“Baby… I’m sorry. Please, just forgive me. Give me one last chance. I promise I will never do it again. I won’t. Honestly.”

Adrian closed his eyes and shook his head, slow and final.

“No. No, no, no.” He reached out, and, to her shock, his hand came to her cheek. The gesture was almost tender; it was carefully controlled, as if to prove he could touch her without breaking.

“You are never going to get another chance.” His voice was quiet now, a verdict in the hush of the room.

“Please,” she begged. The single syllable fell flat and feeble.

For a heartbeat it looked as if he might relent, as if the old intimacy could soften him. He leaned in, head close to hers, and for a rattling instant she thought he would kiss her. Instead he withdrew, the motion clipped, clinical.

“You are lucky I’m not pressing charges,” he said, each word deliberate. He let his fingers fall away from her face. “But hear me, and hear me well.” His tone sharpened again. “The next time I see you, or your shadow anywhere

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near me, I will pull every force I have to make sure you sleep in a cell for a very, very long time.”

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