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

THE glass entrance doors of Cole Holdings swung open, and Adrian stepped into the late evening air with a calm precision that mirrored his reputation. The city was awash in the faint glow of streetlights beginning to hum alive, while the final rays of sunset streaked amber against the steel and glass towers.

He carried himself with the kind of composure that commanded silent respect. His tailored suit hugged his lean frame; his polished shoes clicked against the concrete floor with rhythmic authority. In his right hand, he held his sleek black briefcase, the same one he had carried for years, each detail carefully maintained, not a scratch out of place. In his left ear, a single airpod gleamed under the dying sun, pulsing faintly as he dialed a contact on his phone.

His thumb slid effortlessly over the screen, eyes narrowing slightly at the familiar name. The call rang once. Twice. And then—

“Mr. Adrian!”

A voice broke the rhythm of the evening. Adrian stilled mid-step, recognizing the tone. He turned, eyes sharp but softened by familiarity.

Peter hurried across the granite steps, slightly breathless from trying to catch up. He clutched a folder tight to his chest, his tie loosened, betraying a day’s worth of exhaustion.

“Peter,” Adrian greeted, his voice even, a touch distracted as his phone continued to ring faintly in his ear. “You sound like a man chasing shadows. What is it?”

Peter stopped in front of him, taking a moment to compose himself.

“Just the final set of documents you asked me to review. I wanted to confirm if you will need them at tomorrow’s board session. There are figures inside that may stir questions, and I thought it better to prepare your responses ahead of time.”

Adrian’s gaze softened for a fleeting second, he valued Peter’s diligence, he always did.

“Always two steps ahead. That is why I keep you close.” He shifted the briefcase in his hand, free fingers drumming lightly against it. “Leave them on my desk. I will go over them tonight.”

Peter nodded, relief flooding his expression.

“Of course, sir.” He hesitated a moment longer, as though debating whether to say more. Then he gave a small, respectful incline of his head. “Safe trip home, Mr. Adrian.”

Adrian’s lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile.

“Good night, Peter.”

Satisfied, Peter turned and made his way back toward the entrance, his silhouette soon swallowed by the revolving doors.

Adrian exhaled quietly, returning his attention to the call in his ear. Just as he began moving again, weaving through the dimly lit parking lot toward his black sedan, the ringing stopped and a soft, melodic voice filled his ear.

“Vivian,” he breathed, his tone dropping, smooth and unguarded now that no one else lingered near. A rare warmth slipped into his words. “My day was fine, angel. And how are you?”

The gravel crunched beneath his soles as he approached the car. He shifted the phone closer, his briefcase swaying at his side.

“Mm. I knew you would say that,” he replied softly, listening intently. A low chuckle escaped his chest, startling even him with how natural it sounded.

“Well, I’m just clearing my desk. Work had me chained longer than I intended.”

The sedan gleamed under the lot’s fluorescent lights. Adrian reached it in stride, pressing the unlock button with a subtle flick of his thumb. The locks clicked open. With a practiced motion, he opened the back door, slid the briefcase inside, and shut it with finality.

“You can’t wait, huh?” His voice dropped lower, his chuckle carrying a teasing note now. “Patience, angel. I will be right at the house soon. You will manage a little longer.”

He pulled open the driver’s side door, slipping into the leather seat with an ease that spoke of habit. One hand found the wheel, the other adjusted the airpod in his ear. He stared straight ahead, his reflection caught briefly in the rearview mirror, pair of sharp eyes, unreadable expression, but his voice softened again when he spoke.

“Yes,” he murmured, almost to himself, “I will be there before you know it.”

He ended the call with a gentle tap, slid the phone into the pigeon hole, and sat for a heartbeat in silence. The engine purred to life beneath his hands, headlights cutting sharp beams across the dim lot. Without hesitation, Adrian steered the car forward, the powerful hum of the vehicle echoing into the night as he pulled out and disappeared into the city’s veins.

***

The sedan rolled to a halt outside the gated compound, and Adrian climbed out, his eyes immediately finding the familiar cream-colored building with its wide balcony. It was the house he had made possible, every wall, every roof tile, every door lock was a reminder of his quiet devotion to her. He handled her rent, her tuition, her small luxuries; and though Vivian never asked aloud, she knew he never let her lack.

He pressed the bell, the sound faintly echoing within. The night carried the faint scent of hibiscus from the garden nearby, and he straightened his shirt as anticipation stirred inside him. The click of the lock was soft, but the sight that followed melted the tension in his chest.

There she was, Vivian standing in the doorway to her room, wrapped in a pair of soft pastel pyjamas. Her hair tumbled loosely over her shoulders, her skin glowing even in the dim hallway light. She leaned casually against the doorframe, lips curving into a teasing smile.

“Look who we have here,” she began in a playful sing-song voice, her eyes sparkling as they locked with his. “The birthday boy.”

Adrian chuckled, shaking his head as he walked toward her. “So you remember,” he teased back. “For a second, I thought you would pretend to forget.”

“Forget?” she gasped in mock offense, pushing a hand lightly against his chest as he reached her. “Please, you have been on my mind all day. How could I forget the most important day of my baby boo’s life?”

Their laughter mingled, soft and easy, until words dissolved into closeness. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she welcomed him into her warmth, arms circling his neck. They sank into each other like puzzle pieces that always knew how to fit.

“You smell like the night,” she whispered against his cheek, breathing him in.

“And you smell like home,” he murmured back, brushing his lips lightly against her temple.

Her laughter bubbled out again, light and musical.

“Cheesy,” she accused, though her eyes softened, betraying how much she liked it.

“Maybe,” he smiled, pressing his forehead to hers, “but it is true. You have no idea what it does to me, walking through your door.”

Vivian tilted her head, her voice dropping to a low, intimate hush.

“Then don’t ever stop walking through it.”

Their lips met, a tender kiss that carried years of relationship tangled with something unspoken, something deeper. Her fingers threaded into his hair as his hands slid across her back, pulling her closer, sealing the moment.

When they finally drew apart, she kept him in her arms, her laughter returning in that sweet, unguarded way that always undid him. She tugged at his hand mischievously.

“Come on, birthday boy. Don’t just stand there looking dreamy. You are mine tonight.”

Still giggling, she tugged him gently into her room. The sound of their laughter drifted through the corridor, her small feet padding across the tiled floor as she pulled him in, the door closing softly behind them.