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

THE dining room glowed warmly under the soft light of the chandelier, the polished mahogany table spread with elegance and care. Roasted lamb sat at the center, its golden-brown crust glistening, surrounded by bowls of buttery mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread rolls still steaming. A strawberry cheesecake decorated with tiny chocolate shavings waited at the far end, alongside a bottle of red wine, glasses already set. The table was neatly laid with silver cutlery, folded napkins, and a few birthday decorations Hazel had insisted on, balloons tied to the chairs, a small “Happy Birthday” banner tucked against the wall. Everything looked perfect, prepared for the celebration Adrian had promised to make time for.

Amelia stepped out of the kitchen carrying the last dish, a tray of glazed chicken wings, and placed it gently on the table. She smoothed her dress, an elegant navy-blue gown that hugged her figure yet looked effortlessly graceful, her hair curled neatly around her shoulders, makeup soft but glowing. She had dressed for the evening, determined to make it special, even if the hours had stretched longer than expected.

Her eyes drifted toward the living room. On the couch, Hazel lay curled up with her head resting on a pillow, her little birthday tiara tilted to one side. Her face looked tired, her small arms wrapped around herself as though she were trying not to fall asleep while waiting. Amelia’s chest tightened. She turned back toward the table, scanning the feast that had gone untouched, then to the wall clock above the doorway. The hands pointed to 9:20 p.m. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping with the weight of disappointment.

With quiet steps, she crossed to the couch and lowered herself beside her daughter. Hazel stirred, blinking up at her mother.

“Daddy is still not back yet, Mommy,” she whispered, her voice edged with sadness.

Amelia brushed a stray strand of hair from Hazel’s forehead and forced a gentle smile.

“I know, sweetheart. But sometimes work keeps him longer than he wants. I’m sure he is trying his best to come home.”

Hazel’s lips trembled.

“But he promised… today is his birthday. He said he will be here.”

“I know, baby.” Amelia pulled her into her arms, kissing the top of her head. “Maybe he is just running late. We will keep the food warm, and when he comes back, we will still sing for him again. Okay?”

Hazel nodded softly against her chest, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Just then, the phone on the side table rang out, the sound slicing through the quiet room and startling both of them. Amelia glanced at it quickly. It was Clara. Her heart skipped, and she reached for it, declining the call in haste.

Hazel tilted her head, watching her.

“Is that Daddy?”

“No, baby,” Amelia replied gently, setting the phone back down. “It is Aunty Clara.”

Hazel frowned, confused, but Amelia stroked her back, trying to keep her calm. She didn’t want to explain why she had been avoiding Clara’s calls. Not tonight.

***

The bedroom was modest, warm, and quiet, not nearly as extravagant as Adrian’s master suite, but cozy in its own way. The soft glow of the bedside lamp painted the cream-colored walls in a mellow shade, while the faint hum of the night breeze slipped in through a slightly open window.

Beneath the duvet, Adrian lay on his back, his arm loosely draped around Vivian, who had curled into him. Her cheek rested against his bare chest, her breathing steady and light in the afterglow of their intimacy. The sheets were tangled around them, the faint scent of their passion still lingering in the air, blending with the perfume she had worn earlier.

For a long while, silence filled the room, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths.

Then Adrian’s eyes snapped open, sharp and alert as if struck by a sudden realization. He froze for half a second before shooting upright, the duvet falling off his torso. The sudden movement jolted Vivian, who stirred, her full artificial lashes fluttering as she gave a sleepy yawn. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, confusion clouding her expression.

“What is the time?” Adrian muttered hastily, his voice rough with urgency. He stretched across the vanity and grabbed his phone.

The screen lit up.

His face stiffened.

“Oh my God!” he blurted, his voice breaking the fragile quiet of the night.

Vivian’s eyes widened, her sleepy haze vanishing.

“What? What is it?” she asked, worry slipping into her tone.

Adrian turned to her, his jaw tightening.

“It is past one a.m. already,” he said.