Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 83

SHE hesitated.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no visible conflict in her expression, no sharp intake of breath. Just a quiet pause. A measured second where her mind weighed impulse against caution.

A walk.

At night.

With a man she had known for barely two days.

He didn’t rush her. Didn’t add pressure to the silence. He simply stood there, hands loosely clasped in front of him, waiting as though her answer— whatever it would be— was perfectly acceptable.

Amelia exhaled.

“Alright,” she said finally, her tone light but deliberate. “A short walk.”

The way his face brightened caught her off guard.

It wasn’t smugness. It wasn’t triumph. It was something almost boyish, like a child whose carefully folded paper plane had actually taken flight.

“Great,” he said, unable to mask the small grin spreading across his face. “Good. That is… good.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You are surprisingly enthusiastic.”

“I like the beach at night,” he admitted. “It feels like a secret.”

“Now I’m more curious, even though I have gotten to experience it myself,” she replied, sliding off the bar stool and he laughed.

“I don't think you experienced what I'm about to make you do,” he said.

“Let's see,” she giggled.

They stepped out together.

—

The night air wrapped around them in a gentle, warm breeze. The beachfront was illuminated by soft lantern-style lights lining the walkway, their glow reflecting off the dark, endless stretch of water.

The sound of waves was steady, unhurried and rhythmic.

They walked side by side at first, a polite distance between them. The sand path gave way to a wooden boardwalk that curved past small beach houses painted in pastel shades— peach, turquoise, pale yellow. Soft lights flickered on their porches.

A few souvenir stalls were still open, their vendors lazily arranging handmade bracelets, straw hats, and carved wooden figurines.

“Tourists love these,” Ifeanyi said, nodding toward a stall displaying bright woven bags.

“Do you?” she asked.

“I admire the patience it takes to make them,” he replied. “That is enough.”

She smiled faintly.

They passed a vendor playing soft reggae from a small speaker. A couple nearby attempted to dance, off-beat and laughing at themselves.

Amelia found herself laughing too.

“That would be me,” she said. “Zero coordination.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oh, you should doubt it,” she insisted. “I once tripped walking into a conference hall. In front of investors. Once though.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

“And did you recover?”

“I pretended it was intentional.”

“Of course you did.”

Their laughter came easier than she expected. Effortless. Not forced. Not strategic.

She told him about a disastrous attempt at cooking local food during one of her business trips. He countered with a story about mistaking a spicy pepper for something mild and paying for it dramatically.

“You cried?” she teased.

“Briefly,” he said with mock dignity. “But only internally.”

She nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“Liar.”

He placed a hand over his chest.

“I would never lie about peppers.”

They walked further down until the stalls thinned and the beachfront opened wide, the lights stretching like a quiet constellation along the shore.

The waves shimmered silver under the moonlight.

For a moment, neither spoke.

The silence didn’t feel awkward.

It felt shared.

“You were right,” she said softly. “I didn't experience this part.”

He glanced at her, then at the water.

“Less expectation.”

She understood what he meant.

During the day, beaches were performances. Sunbathers, laughter, noise, bright colors. At night, it was just the water and whoever dared to sit with it.

She inhaled deeply, the salty air filling her lungs.

They talked about small things after that, about how different cultures expressed hospitality, about how some guests tipped extravagantly while others barely made eye contact.

“Do you ever get tired of watching people come and go?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it also reminds me that everyone is passing through something. Some people are celebrating. Some are escaping. Some are starting over.”

She glanced at him sideways.

“And what do you think I’m doing?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“I think,” he said carefully, “that you needed air tonight.”

She didn’t argue.

By the time they circled back toward the resort entrance, she hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as they slowed near the lobby doors.

“For the walk,” she clarified. “It was… unexpectedly necessary.”

He nodded, that soft smile returning.

“Anytime.”

There was no awkward lingering. No attempt to extend the moment artificially.

“Goodnight, Amelia.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify