She Was Never Just the Billionaire’s Wife (Natasha and Chase) novel Chapter 148

(Natasha)

I’ve watched the clip of my husband shouting at Mason’s new girlfriend exactly four times today.

It’s twenty-four seconds long.

Chloe looks stunning and entirely unbothered.

Chase looks like a man who wants to set fire to the room.

He calls her vapid, manufactured, and parasitic in a voice that carries over the string quartet.

He isn’t wrong. Chloe is all of those things.

I spent ten minutes talking to her at a reception the other day and wanted to claw my own ears off.

But Chase doesn’t lose his temper in public.

He’s too tightly wound for that.

Chloe had to have pushed him, hard, and conveniently cropped that part out of the video.

The internet thinks he's a rude asshole.

I know he's just a man who finally hit the end of his rope.

I drop my phone onto the sofa cushion.

I’m feeling mostly human again.

Four days of enforced rest, actual meals, and sleeping in my own bed will do that.

Lily is asleep upstairs. My parents are out. The house is quiet.

I should call Chase.

I owe him a thank you for burying the courthouse footage.

Mason confirmed the lawyers were practically salivating over the chance to use my collapse against me, and Chase shut them down.

But will it last?

Chase is ruthless.

He annihilates his opponents.

Right now, I’m an opponent.

I don’t know how long his sudden burst of chivalry is going to hold up against his desire to win this custody fight.

Plus, if I open a line of communication, he’s going to demand an explanation for Julian.

I still don’t have one.

My phone buzzes against the upholstery and I’m shocked by the message Chase sent.

Natasha. I’ve been a coward. I’m not asking you to do anything with this. I just wanted you to know.

I stare at the screen.

He’s holding out an olive branch. I so badly want to take it.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I type Chase, I-

The doorbell rings and I nearly jump out of my skin.

Mason is standing on the porch.

He’s wearing a navy suit and an expression that looks suspiciously like poorly concealed triumph.

"It's eight-thirty," I say, pulling the door open.

"I bring news."

He walks past me into the hallway.

"Are you drinking wine? Tell me you're drinking wine."

"I’m drinking chamomile tea because I severely dehydrated myself last week, remember?"

Mason grimaces. "Right. Tea is fine. Sit down."

I follow him into the living room and sit on the edge of the armchair.

Mason remains standing.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify