Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 95

THE realization hit her like a sting, sharp and sudden. He hadn’t shown up today. Amelia’s chest tightened, a flutter she hadn’t expected catching at her heart. ‘Why?’ she wanted to ask, wanted to know if something had kept him away, or if he had simply forgotten. But she held herself back, forcing her curiosity into quiet corners of her mind. The bartender gave no explanation, no hint of an excuse, and she let it slide, though it left an unusual emptiness lingering.

Something in her shifted. Maybe it was the absence of his voice, or the missing warmth of his presence, or perhaps just the hollow ache of an expectation unmet. She drained the last of her drink in one long swallow, her lips brushing the rim of the glass with a faint, distracted sigh.

Stepping out of the bar, Amelia let the soft sand sink beneath her bare feet. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of the ocean, whispering through the palms lining the shore. She walked along the beach alone, the gentle waves brushing the sand with rhythmic patience, like they were trying to soothe the strange restlessness inside her.

She kept glancing back at the bar, as if the sight of it might magically reveal him standing there, apron on, a smile ready, just for her. But the bar remained unchanged, humming softly with the low chatter of other guests, oblivious to the quiet longing simmering in the shadows.

A small, uncomfortable laugh escaped her lips. ‘Foolish,’ she thought. ‘Why am I caring this much about a man I barely know?’ She kicked lightly at the sand, scuffing a small path behind her. The thought gnawed at her, prickling at her sense of reason. She felt foolish, letting herself slip into this strange attachment.

Her mind flickered, sharp with regret. ‘I should have taken his number. Just in case. Maybe I could have called, sent a message. But no, I let it pass.’ The internal tug-of-war gnawed at her, the rational self wrestling with the irrational ache of curiosity and, yes, something warmer that had begun to bloom unexpectedly.

“Come on, you are here to relax,” she told herself firmly, clenching her fists against her sides. “You are not falling in love with a man you just met.” The words were meant to be ironclad, but they trembled slightly on her tongue. She forced herself to focus on the mission that had brought her to this island, on the tasks waiting back in her room, on the quiet duty she had imposed on herself for the night.

Still, as she returned to her room, the soft light of the ocean spilling across the floor through the balcony doors, her gaze fell on her phone. She picked it up, fingers hovering over the screen for a fraction longer than necessary, her eyes tracing every familiar icon, every unread notification. Her thumb brushed the screen, lingering, as if she hoped, secretly, for a message that might never come.

And for a long while, she stared at it, quiet, thoughtful, and just a little unsettled.

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