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

AMELIA hadn’t realized how much time had slipped through her fingers until her eyes drifted to the corner of her screen.

9:52 PM.

She blinked.

“Already?” she murmured to herself.

The ocean breeze had grown cooler, the once golden horizon now swallowed in deep indigo. The soft glow from lanterns lining the pathway cast long shadows across the sand. She had finished her dinner nearly an hour ago, but somewhere between replying to emails she couldn’t completely ignore and scrolling mindlessly through articles she wasn’t reading, time had quietly betrayed her.

She exhaled and pushed herself up from the beach chair.

The plates had long been cleared. The wine glass stood half-finished. The night had deepened.

As she made her way back toward the building, heels in hand and sandals dangling from her fingers, she told herself she would just stop briefly at the bar. Just to say thank you again. A polite gesture. Nothing more.

Just appreciation.

The lobby lights shimmered softly against the marble floors as she stepped inside. The murmur of conversations drifted from the bar lounge. Crowd had dwindled a bit. Soft jazz hummed in the background.

She slowed unconsciously.

For some reason, she expected to find him exhausted, perhaps leaning lazily against the counter, tie loosened, movements slower than earlier. It was late. Surely he would be winding down.

But fate had its own amusement planned.

Ifeanyi wasn’t tired.

He was alive. He was bubbling.

He stood behind the counter animatedly speaking with a group of guests, laughter spilling easily from him. His sleeves were still rolled just enough to reveal those strong forearms, his movements precise yet relaxed. He polished a glass, slid it effortlessly across the counter, winked at a joke someone cracked.

And then his eyes found her.

They lit up.

He excused himself with a graceful nod and leaned slightly forward across the bar.

“Well, well,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “I was beginning to think the ocean had decided to keep you.”

Amelia raised a brow, pretending composure.

“I nearly let it,” she replied lightly. “But I remembered someone might take offense if I vanished without saying thank you.”

He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.

“Offense? I would have launched a search party.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself.

“I just wanted to appreciate you again for dinner. It was… thoughtful.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Just thoughtful?”

“Very thoughtful,” she corrected.

“Better,” he said with mock approval.

She had intended to remain standing. A quick exchange. A polite goodbye. That had been the plan.

But somehow, the stool beside the counter seemed inviting.

And somehow, she found herself sitting.

“So,” he began, resting his forearms lightly on the polished wood. “How does the night compare to your city nights?”

She leaned back slightly, considering.

“Quieter. Less urgent. No constant traffic. No phones ringing every five minutes.”

“No chaos?” he teased.

She gave him a knowing look.

“There is always chaos. It just hides better in some places.”

His smile softened slightly at that.

A couple approached the counter and he moved efficiently, mixing a drink while still half-facing her.

“You see,” he said as he worked, “this is my favorite hour. Late enough that things slow down. Early enough that no one is overly dramatic.”

“Overly dramatic?” she echoed.

“You would be surprised what people confess to bartenders after midnight.”

She laughed.

“I’m sure you keep secrets.”

“Always.”

The word lingered a moment longer than necessary.

She found herself asking about the other staff, how long they had worked there, where they were from. He answered easily, weaving small anecdotes between preparing drinks. He pointed discreetly toward a young bartender near the end of the counter, he wasn't present the first time he unofficially introduced his colleagues to her.

“First week on the job,” he whispered. “Terrified of mixing anything beyond soda.”

She smiled.

“And you?” she asked. “How long have you been here?”

“Five years. Said this before.”

She rolled her eyes.

“And you still look that enthusiastic at ten PM?”

He chuckled.

“You make it sound suspicious.”

“It is suspicious.”

“I enjoy people,” he said simply. “And I enjoy observing them.”

“Observing me too?” she asked lightly.

He paused just a fraction before replying.

“Especially you.”

The words weren’t heavy. They weren’t inappropriate. But they landed somewhere deeper than surface banter.

She looked away first.

A half hour slipped by unnoticed.

Thirty minutes of light teasing. Of conversations about travel. Of laughter that felt surprisingly unforced. She asked about the music that played nightly. He told her the manager insisted on jazz because it “made people tip better.”

She nearly choked laughing.

Finally, she glanced again at the time.

“Alright,” she said, sliding off the stool reluctantly. “If I don’t leave now, I might forget I have a schedule tomorrow.”

“And what is on that schedule?” he asked.

“Rest. More rest. Possibly excessive rest.”

“A very demanding itinerary.”

“It is.”

He stepped slightly back from the counter, offering that practiced half-bow again.

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