Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 94

CHARLES’ hand tightened around the phone, pacing the length of his spacious living room. His flip-flop clicked against the marble tiles with every frustrated step. The anger simmering inside him refused to die down. He had tried, tried so hard to ignore Ken’s relentless calls, but now, the sheer audacity of Amelia had pushed him over the edge.

“Bro, please pick up, this is urgent,” he muttered through gritted teeth, dialing Marcus again.

After a few tense rings, Marcus finally picked up.

“Hey yo,” Marcus said, voice half-distracted, half-annoyed, as though he had been pulled away from something important.

“Guy, I told you,” Charles blurted, pacing faster.

“Told me what?” Marcus asked, curiosity breaking through his irritation.

“I told you guys… something is off about Amelia—”

“You have called her?” Marcus interrupted sharply.

“Yes. I just did. You won’t believe what this woman told me, goodness!” Charles spat, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“What did she say?”

“She compared me to her ex-husband.”

“What?” Marcus’ tone was incredulous.

“Yes, she did! Ex-husband that did her dirty, cheated on her with some college student, and then she found me, loving her with everything in me and this is how she gets to treat me, just because I asked her for money!” Charles’ pacing turned into a full-blown storm across the living room, arms flailing in helpless frustration.

“Yo! You did? We told you to chill about that, bro. Why did you?” Marcus’ voice now carried concern mixed with disbelief.

Charles ran his hand through his hair, tugging slightly in exasperation.

“The manner with which the conversation started was the issue. We had our first argument, and it was she who ignited it.”

“Jeez! This is more serious than I thought. You need to chill, let’s hang out tonight and talk this over drinks.”

“I need money right now. Ken has been blowing up my phone. What do I do?” Charles asked rhetorically, frustration thick in his voice.

“Guy, cool it. We talk about everything when we meet,” Marcus replied calmly, trying to rein in the storm.

Charles stopped pacing for a moment, taking a deep breath, though it barely soothed the heat crawling up his neck.

“You don’t get it, Marcus. She actually hung up on me! Can you believe that?”

Marcus chuckled dryly.

“She hung up? That was… bold.”

“Bold? That was disrespect!” Charles shouted. “Who does she think she is? Who hangs up on their fiancé? Because of what— money?”

Evening settled over the resort with a soft amber glow, casting long shadows across the polished floors of the bar. Amelia walked in as usual, expecting the familiar warmth of Ifeanyi’s presence. The scent of citrus and sea breeze mixed with the faint hum of jazz music, but something felt… off.

Another bartender, someone she hadn’t paid much attention to before, was already cleaning glasses behind the counter. He greeted her politely, a professional nod, but there was none of the easy familiarity that came with Ifeanyi.

Amelia’s eyes swept the bar, searching for the one she had come to expect at this hour. She glanced at every table, hoping to catch a glimpse of him laughing with a guest, or even better, stealing a glance at her, as if he had been waiting just for her. But no.

Her shoulders slumped slightly. She walked to her usual seat at the corner, where the light hit just right and the music softened enough to feel like a private conversation was still possible. She ordered her drink, a small smile on her face despite the subtle disappointment settling in her chest.

She nursed her glass, swirling the amber liquid as her thoughts wandered. She found herself missing him, missing the effortless way he made her evenings feel lighter, the way he could talk about culture, travel, or a random observation about people and make it sound like a philosophy lesson wrapped in laughter. She missed the depth in his voice, the calm intelligence in his eyes, the way he seemed to listen to her without ever prying.

Her gaze wandered around the bar again, a faint hope flaring in her chest that maybe he was late, held up by some shift or a guest who needed him. She waited in silence, letting the music and the muted conversations of other patrons fill the void.

When her patience finally thinned, Amelia turned to the bartender, her tone casual but tinged with curiosity.

“Ugh… where is Ifeanyi?”

The bartender paused, glancing over briefly as he continued to polish a glass.

“Oh! He didn’t come today,” he replied.

Amelia froze for a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. She hadn’t expected that answer. Not today.