Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 76

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The doctor raised her hand gently.

“Mrs. Leonard, I understand your frustration, but please, this is a hospital office, not your home. I will need you both to remain calm. Please.”

“Calm?” Clara’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “You want me to be calm while my husband sits here writing a list of his conquests? Calm while I find out I may be infected because of his recklessness? No, doctor. Calm is not what you will get from me today.”

With a scrape of her chair, she stood abruptly. Her bag swung over her shoulder in one motion. She glared down at Leonard, who still scribbled, his hand shaking, the paper already blotched with ink smudges.

“Meet me in the car when you are done, we can finalize the divorce there,” she spat, her voice low and venomous. Without another glance, she turned and strode out of the office, the door shutting with a thud behind her.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Leonard’s cough returned, weaker this time, but his hand kept moving, writing names down, his shame etched in every trembling letter. The doctor sat back, her lips pressed tightly together, watching the unraveling of a man who had thought himself untouchable… until now.

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ADRIAN returned home.

The house was silent, eerily so. He had expected the quiet, no one was home. But tonight, the silence felt different. It wasn’t just the absence of voices, footsteps, or laughter. It was deeper. The emptiness pressed against him like a physical weight, mirroring the void in his chest.

His footsteps echoed faintly as he walked through the wide hallway, polished marble floors reflecting the dim lights. The air smelled faintly of cedar and wine, the familiar scent of home, yet it felt alien to him tonight. He moved toward the living room, slow, deliberate, as though dragging the heaviness of his soul along. As he walked through the corridor, his eyes caught the dining, the mess and chaos, everything that had happened in there wanted to rush in, and he quickly dismissed it, looking away.

From there, he wandered into his study. The faint aroma of old books greeted him, and on the mahogany shelf sat the frames, his family portraits carelessly stacked together where Vivian had dumped them. For a moment, his hand hovered above them, hesitant, almost afraid of what he might feel if he touched them again.

Finally, he picked one up. His eyes fell on the smiles, on the warmth captured in the glass. His own reflection stared back at him from the surface, harder, emptier. He traced a finger across the image as though it could bridge the gap of time and loss.

One by one, he lifted them; each portrait a story, each face a memory. His throat tightened, his eyes threatening to glisten though he fought it. It was the look of a man who had chased shadows, forgetting the real light he once had. A man who had nearly lost his life and found himself staring into the mirror of what could have been his legacy… and what now might never be.

The silence grew heavier around him. He set the last portrait down gently, almost reverently, and drew in a slow breath. Then, as though needing escape from the memories clawing at him, he left the study.

His steps carried him into the bar corner. The lights reflected off crystal bottles, golden, ruby, amber hues catching his eye. Without hesitation, he reached for a decanter, uncorked it, and poured himself a glass of deep red wine.

The liquid swirled as he held the glass up, the faint clink of crystal against bottle breaking the suffocating quiet. He stared at the wine for a moment, as though it might hold the answers he sought, or perhaps drown the questions he feared to ask.

Slowly, deliberately, he took a sip. The burn wasn’t enough to erase the hollowness inside him.

He leaned back against the bar, glass in hand, staring into the dim room, alone.

***

Vivian lay curled up on her bed, her body trembling beneath the heavy weight of despair. The curtains were drawn tight, shutting out the world, but not the storm raging inside her. Her sobs filled the darkened room, muffled and uneven, like a wounded creature gasping for air.

She clutched her pillow, her face buried into it as if she could scream into its fabric and drown her sorrow there. But nothing drowned it, her pain bled through, spilling over until her chest ached and her throat burned.

She had lost everything.

Her child. Adrian. Her future.

The life she had once envisioned, bright, gilded, secured, was all gone. Shattered, like fragile glass she had

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crushed with her own hands. She remembered how it all began: sliding into Adrian’s life, creeping in through the cracks of his brokenness after Amelia had been chased away by her doing, indirectly. And when she felt him slipping away from her grip, when his heart refused to bend to her jealousy, she had chosen the most desperate path… poison. For him, and for herself.

But fate had been cruel. Or maybe it wasn’t fate. Maybe it was simply the Earth itself working against her, punishing her, stripping her bare of everything she had stolen.

Her sobs grew louder as her hands slid down her body, pressing against her belly. Flat now. Empty.

The child she had once carried, her tether, her excuse, her last hope, was gone. Her hysterical cries tore through the silence as she held herself, rocking back and forth.

“Why? Why me?” she whispered, her voice broken, raspy. “I only wanted him… only wanted us…”

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