Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 99

THE morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of the ocean and the faint hum of activity from the resort. Amelia moved through the lobby with measured steps, her luggage trailing behind her, all the while keeping her mind on the last moments she had left in this place.

Before heading to the checkout desk, she made a small detour to the bar, hoping to see Ifeanyi one last time. The bar was quiet, the soft clink of glasses and the low hum of background music creating the familiar cocoon she had come to treasure. And there he was— standing straight behind the counter, arranging a few bottles with practiced precision. His eyes lifted briefly as she approached, and he gave her the same professional nod she had come to recognize, that small bow that carried respect without intrusion.

“Good morning, Amelia,” he said, his tone polite, calm, steady.

“Morning,” she replied softly. She lingered for a moment, studying his face, memorizing the way he carried himself, the gentle seriousness in his expression. There was no attempt to press her, no request for her number, no hint of desperation. That mattered, more than she expected.

As she adjusted the strap of her bag, she hesitated for a fraction of a second, then reached into her purse. From it, she pulled a small card and handed it across to him.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said lightly, a small smile on her lips, betraying the faint tremor of emotion beneath her calm exterior.

He took the card with steady hands, examining it briefly before looking back at her.

“I won’t misuse it,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

No dramatic farewell followed. No promises to call. No declarations of longing. Nothing but a simple, grounded acknowledgment of the connection they had shared, unspoken yet significant.

“Safe flight, Amelia,” he said, his words measured, carrying a quiet weight that lingered even as she turned to leave.

She walked toward the exit, suitcase wheels tapping lightly against the marble floor, and did not glance back.

But he did.

He watched her go, standing behind the counter, her figure slowly fading from sight. In the quiet of the bar, with only the soft music and the distant crash of waves, he allowed himself a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. And though neither of them had said much, the memory of this morning, of this parting, settled into a quiet permanence for both of them.

***

Adrian closed the office door behind him, the soft click sounding unusually loud in the quiet space. His hand still gripped the phone, and he paused in the middle of the room, staring at the screen. Unknown number. Hesitation flickered for a moment, but instinct won. He swiped, pressed the call icon, and held it to his ear.

“Hello, Adrian Cole,” his own voice sounded smooth, confident, steady.

“Hi, Adrian. It’s Amelia—”

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