Second Chance With My Billionaire Love

A single candle flickered in the darkened dining room of Neor Mansion, casting a dim, soft glow over the expanse of mahogany that separated Cambrik Neor from the door. Her fingers beat the edge of her glass, filled with wine, untouched, the crimson liquid reflecting her own unsettled eyes. Shadows danced across the high ceiling, bouncing in and out of corners like her agitated thoughts. The clock ticked and reminded Otthen of the hours he had been missing. Cambrik shifted in her seat, the silk of her dress brushing against the chair as she strained to hear even the faintest sound, anything that might signal his arrival. Her gaze lingered on the empty place across from her, the plate she had so carefully set with his favorite dinner, long since gone cold. Three years, three years of a marriage haunted by his absence, of lingering glances at empty doorways and cold bedsides. Lately, he’d been gone more than ever—returning late, slipping in and out with barely a word. But tonight was different. Tonight, her chest was gripped by a twisting ache, fueled by a rumor that gnawed at her heart with every heartbeat. Cynthia Dupp. Her. Otthen’s former lover, the one she had never quite managed to push out of her own mind. Cambrik paced through the empty corridors of Neor Mansion, her bare feet brushing against the cold marble floors. Outside, rain tapped against the windows, and thunder rolled low across the distant hills. Midnight had come and gone, and still, there was no sign of Otthen. Her fingers tightened around his spare phone, her knuckles white as she stared down at the black screen, her heart thundering with each unanswered question. The silence felt thick, suffocating. Each second without him was a silent accusation, a reminder of the unraveling threads of their life. She inhaled sharply and dialed the number she never thought she’d need—her private investigator, James. After a few rings, his voice crackled on the other end, low and cautious. “Mrs. Neor?” “James,” she whispered, barely able to push the words past the lump in her throat. “I need you to locate Otthen. Now.” A brief pause. She could hear him shift on the other end, his professionalism faltering just slightly at the raw edge of urgency in her voice. “Yes, Mrs. Neor. I’ll find him. Just give me a few minutes.” The seconds that followed felt like an eternity, stretching thin, her mind conjuring images she wished she could shake away. The memory of Cynthia’s face, those rumors… they clawed at her, twisting her thoughts, feeding her worst fears. What if he was with her? What if everything she’d tried to deny was true? Finally, her phone buzzed, and she answered before the first ring even ended. “James?” His voice was soft, hesitant, as if each word carried weight. “I traced him, Mrs. Neor. He’s at the old Edenhill hotel.” The words hit her like a blow, stealing her breath, leaving her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She knew the place. It was secluded, exclusive, far from the prying eyes of the city. She swallowed, the silence on her end speaking volumes. “There’s… one more thing,” James continued slowly, as if he knew the next words might undo her entirely. “He’s not alone.” Cambrik’s fingers dug into the phone, her vision blurring with a haze of disbelief and anger. The taste of betrayal lay bitter on her tongue, sharp as broken glass. She could picture it too clearly—the soft glow of the Edenhill’s lamps casting gentle shadows, Otthen’s familiar silhouette entwined with another. Her mind filled with a thousand questions, each one louder than the last. “Is it… her?” she asked, barely recognizing her own voice, the words trembling with a mixture of dread and resignation. “Yes,” James answered, his voice almost apologetic. “It’s Cynthia Dupp.” A breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she felt the weight of everything crashing down around her. Her grip on the phone slackened, and she had to reach out to steady herself against the wall, the polished wood cool beneath her fingers. Every suspicion, every unspoken fear had been true. And the pain of it, the finality, left her hollow, aching in ways she hadn’t known were possible. As the storm outside crashed against the mansion walls, Cambrik drew in a shuddering breath, her heart hardening with a resolve she hadn’t known she possessed. Her tears dried, replaced by a simmering fire. If this was how Otthen wanted to play it, then she would not be the quiet, waiting wife anymore. She straightened, clutching the phone tighter, her voice cold, steady, as she whispered into the receiver, “Thank you, James. That’s all I needed to know.” He was with her. -------- In Edenhill hotel private lounge, Otthen was slumped back in a plush armchair, his shirt unbuttoned, his tie loose, eyes glazed and unfocused. An empty bottle of whiskey sat beside him, evidence of the night’s passing. With each blink, the world around him changed, and his mind became lost in a haze that dulled every thought. Beside him, Cynthia leaned in, her body warm against his side. The soft, suggestive scent of her perfume wrapped around him, teasing the air. Her finger traced a slow line along his jaw, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver up his spine, momentarily drawing his dazed gaze to hers. “Otthen…” she purred, her voice low, honeyed, each syllable drawn out, slipping past the edges of his foggy mind. His eyes, heavy-lidded, slid over to meet hers, unfocused yet drawn to her touch, the softness of her voice a lifeline in the swirling haze. “You look so stressed out today,” Cynthia murmured, her voice smooth, each word dripping with a practiced seduction. Her lips lingered dangerously close to his ear, a whisper that curled around him like smoke. “Do you want me to take your stress away, honey?” Otthen blinked, his eyes heavy, distant. He looked at her as though through a fog, his mind drifting between the present and the memories he tried so desperately to drown tonight. Cynthia’s hand was warm on his cheek, guiding him back to the room, back to her. Her eyes, dark and piercing, held his, a reminder of the past they’d once shared. Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, her breath a soft warmth against his neck. “Let me help you forget, Otthen,” she purred, tilting her head, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth from his. Her hand slid down, tracing the outline of his collarbone, a gentle, insistent pressure urging him further, deeper into the escape she offered. Otthen’s hand hovered, caught between pushing her away and pulling her closer. His mind was clouded with every mistake he’d tried to drown tonight. He closed his eyes, the memories of his fractured marriage and the image of Cambrik slipping like sand through his fingers. Cynthia’s expression shifted, surprise flashing in her eyes, but it quickly melted back into a smile, her hand still lingering on his chest, a gentle insistence. “Oh, Otthen,” she whispered, tracing his cheek, her lips ghosting over his skin. “You deserve to let go… just for one night.” Cynthia’s fingers moved to his collar, slipping beneath the fabric, her touch soft but insistent. “Forget about everything else,” she whispered, leaning closer, her mouth mere inches from his. “Just be here… with me.” ---------------------- Cambrik’s heels clicked softly against the polished floors of the Edenhill Hotel as she made her way down the quiet hallway. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat louder, more insistent, fueling a growing storm inside her. The dim light cast long shadows down the corridor, and with every step, she felt herself slipping further into the unknown, moving toward the truth she had been so afraid to confront. Room 307. She paused outside the door, her hand hovering just above the handle, her breath hitching as a thousand different scenarios flashed through her mind. The anger, the disbelief, the ache—all of it surged within her, but she steadied herself, forcing herself to turn the handle. The door creaked open, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room. And then she saw them. In the soft glow of the room, Otthen slumped back on the couch, his head lolling, eyes glassy and distant. Beside him, Cynthia leaned in close, her hand resting on his chest, her lips pressed against his in a kiss. Cynthia’s fingers curled around his collar, pulling him to her as though sealing him into her grasp. Cambrik froze, her hand still on the door, her breath caught in her throat. A cold, sickening numbness washed over Cambrik, spreading from her chest to her limbs, rooting her in place. Her fingers trembled, clenching the door handle so tightly she thought it might snap. The hope that she’d clung to, the last thread of faith in their marriage, unraveled before her eyes, leaving her standing in a silence so thick it felt like it could suffocate her. She wanted to scream, to shout his name, to tear them apart—but her voice was trapped, locked somewhere inside her. All she could do was stand there, the betrayal spreading through her veins like poison. At that moment, Cynthia’s eyes flicked up and met Cambrik’s in the dim light, a slow, triumphant smile curling on her lips as she kept her hand on Otthen, refusing to let him go. The look in her eyes was unmistakable, a silent challenge, a declaration of victory that cut deeper than any words could. Otthen’s gaze followed Cynthia’s, and his eyes widened as he saw Cambrik standing there. The fog of alcohol seemed to lift just enough for him to realize the gravity of what was happening. His face twisted in horror, a wave of remorse crashing over him, but it was too late. He opened his mouth to speak, to reach out to her, but the words failed him, dying on his lips. Cambrik took a single step forward, her eyes locked on his, her expression unreadable, frozen somewhere between devastation and fury. “I didn’t want to believe it,” she whispered, her voice so soft yet cutting through the silence like a knife. “But here you are.” Cynthia’s smile grew, her fingers still lingering on his chest, as if savoring her conquest. “Well, I guess you’ve seen enough now,” she said, her tone laced with mockery, as if dismissing Cambrik from her own marriage. But Cambrik’s eyes never left Otthen’s, filled with a strength and pain that silenced both him and Cynthia. “I came here,” she continued, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath, “because I thought there was something left worth saving.” Without another word, Cambrik turned, her steps purposeful as she left the room. The sound of the door closing behind her resonated like a heartbeat—a painful, final punctuation to a love that had been betrayed.