Second Chance With My Billionaire Love

What happened Three years before

Cambrik lay on the bed, staring at the intricate ceiling of the Hawt mansion room, the soft light casting faint shadows that seemed to mock the chaos in her mind.

Her fingers traced invisible patterns on the duvet as her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to three years ago—the moment everything changed. The moment she became Mrs. Cambrik Neor.

Three years ago, Otthen had been a different man. He wasn’t the volatile, stormy figure who dominated her life now.

Back then, he had been confident and composed, his charm effortless, his vision for his future clear and unshakable. He was the man everyone admired, the perfect heir to the Neor family legacy. And, of course, by his side had been Cynthia Dupp, his fiancée.

Cambrik’s lips pressed into a thin line as she thought of Cynthia. The woman had been everything Otthen thought he wanted—stunningly beautiful, with piercing eyes that could cut a room to silence, and a mind as sharp as her words. She was ambitious, unapologetically so, a woman who commanded attention and thrived in the spotlight. Otthen had admired her for it, even loved her for it, or so it had seemed.

But then, it all came crashing down.

The whispers had begun to sound like a faint buzz in the background of high-society gatherings. Rumors are nothing more at first, but they are persistent enough to plant seeds of doubt. Otthen brushed them aside, confident in his decision and Cynthia's devotion. But as the buzz got louder, it turned into a deafening roar.

The memory of that day was seared into Cambrik’s mind, though she hadn’t been part of the chaos then. It was all anyone talked about. The scandal that shook the Neor family to its core. A video. No—videos.

Otthen’s disbelief had been palpable when he first saw them. The footage spread like wildfire, tearing through the upper echelons of society, dragging his name, his family’s name, into the mire of Cynthia’s betrayal. He had watched in silent horror as the undeniable truth unfolded on the screen.

Cynthia, her dark hair wild and unbound, her laughter echoing in a hotel room, her body tangled with another man’s. The intimacy, the rawness, the betrayal—it was all there for the world to see. The man’s face had never been shown, though whispers suggested he was a "big shot," his identity carefully hidden. But Cynthia’s face, her voice, her every betrayal—it was unmistakable.

Cynthia’s voice, shrill and defensive. “It was a mistake, Otthen! A stupid, meaningless mistake! I didn’t think it would—”

The whispers began subtly at first. Small rumors, harmless enough to ignore. But Otthen couldn’t ignore the wildfire that followed—a scandal that erupted so violently it consumed everything in its path.

It wasn’t just one video. It was videos. Explicit, damning footage that surfaced online like a toxin, spreading through the elite circles like wildfire. Cynthia, in a hotel room, her golden hair wild and unbound. Her laughter, low and breathless, filled the air. She was tangled in the arms of another man, her body entwined with his in moments that left no room for doubt. Her bare skin gleamed under the dim light, the camera capturing every damning detail.

And the man? His face never appeared on the screen, hidden from the scandal by careful angles and discretion. Whoever he was, he was no ordinary lover. He was powerful—a “big shot,” as the whispers described him, a man with enough influence to keep his identity buried. But Cynthia’s face was unmistakable. Her voice, her laughter, the intimacy of her movements—it was all her.

Otthen had watched the footage in disbelief, his heart pounding as the truth unraveled before his eyes. The pristine image of Cynthia he had carried, the trust he had placed in her—it was obliterated in moments. Her betrayal was undeniable, and the shame of it scorched him to his core. He could still hear her voice from the video, the words murmured to her lover that played like a cruel echo in his mind.

“Don’t stop,” she had breathed, her voice dripping with pleasure. “They’ll never know.”

But now everyone knew.

The media descended like vultures, feasting on the scandal that ripped apart the Neor family’s reputation. Cynthia’s ambition, the sharpness Otthen had once admired, now felt like a blade lodged in his back. She had not only betrayed him but humiliated him on a scale he couldn’t have imagined.

Otthen’s world crumbled, his once-flawless composure shattered. Vivienne Neor had been relentless in her fury, demanding immediate action to salvage the family’s name. Cynthia was cast out, her engagement dissolved in a blaze of public disgrace. She became a pariah, a name spoken only in whispers, her fall from grace swift and merciless.

But her excuses had fallen on deaf ears. The Neor family was unforgiving. Otthen had been raised to protect the family’s name above all else, and Cynthia’s actions were a stain that couldn’t be erased.

The decision to end the engagement wasn’t his alone; the family made it clear—Cynthia Dupp could never become a Neor.

And then, like a quiet storm waiting in the wings, Cambrik had entered Otthen’s life.

Cambrik’s breath hitched as the memory of last night slammed into her like a freight train, shattering the fragile composure she had been trying to cling to. She sat up on the bed, her body trembling, her fists clutching the edge of the blanket as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

But now, Cynthia is back.

That thought alone was enough to send a cold wave of dread washing over her. For the past few months, Cynthia Dupp—the woman who had been exiled from Otthen’s life in disgrace—had reappeared like a ghost from the past, clinging to him at every turn. At first, Cambrik hadn’t wanted to believe it. Cynthia couldn’t possibly worm her way back into his life after everything she’d done. Could she?

But she had.

Cambrik’s stomach twisted as she remembered the events of the past weeks. Cynthia, with her stunning beauty and sharp charm, had seemed to slip seamlessly into Otthen’s world again. Business dinners. Charity events. Private gatherings. Everywhere Cambrik turned, Cynthia was there, smiling that perfect, polished smile, standing too close to him, her hand brushing against his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And Otthen—he hadn’t pushed her away.

Her heart clenched painfully, her breathing growing shallow as she recalled the way he had looked at Cynthia. It wasn’t love, not exactly, but something simmered there. Something Cambrik had never seen directed at herself. It was familiarity. Comfort. A connection forged years before Cambrik had ever stepped into his life.

But last night—last night—was the breaking point.

Cynthia and Otthen, standing in the shadowed alcove of the grand staircase. Cynthia’s laughter had floated through the air, light and musical, as she leaned closer to him. Otthen hadn’t pulled away. He hadn’t stopped her. And then, the moment that had ripped Cambrik’s heart to shreds—Cynthia had kissed him.

Otthen, sitting on the sofa, his usual composed demeanor softened, his head tilted as Cynthia leaned in. And then, just like that—they kissed.

It wasn’t a lingering, passionate kiss, but it didn’t need to be. It was deliberate, bold, and calculated.

And Otthen? He hadn’t shoved her away. He hadn’t looked disgusted or outraged. He had simply sitting there, his hands loosely at his sides, his expression unreadable.

Cambrik had frozen, her world crumbling around her in that instant. She had turned on her heel and fled, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floors, each step like a hammer driving nails into her own heart.

Now, sitting in the quiet room, the weight of it all pressed down on her like an unbearable burden. Her hands trembled as she buried her face in them, her tears spilling freely onto her palms.

“Why?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Why wasn’t I enough?”

She had tried so hard. Tried to be the wife Otthen needed, the partner who could rebuild what Cynthia had destroyed. But now, it was clear. Cynthia hadn’t just haunted their marriage—she had been lurking, waiting for the moment to strike. And Otthen? He had let her.

The betrayal was a knife twisting in her chest, but alongside it was a growing ember of anger. Not just at Cynthia, but at Otthen, and even at herself for allowing this to happen. She had sacrificed so much, bent over backward to fit into his world, his expectations. And still, it wasn’t enough.

She wiped at her tears furiously, her jaw clenching. No more, she thought. If Otthen wanted Cynthia, if he couldn’t see what he had in front of him, then maybe he didn’t deserve her. Maybe it was time to stop fighting for someone who really never cared for her.

And now, here she was. Lying in someone else’s bed, in someone else’s house, with the weight of that moment crushing her chest like a leaden weight.

The anger came next, bubbling up from the depths of her despair like a volcano threatening to erupt. How dare he? How f*****g dare he? After everything she’d endured, after every sacrifice she’d made to hold their fragile marriage together, this was how he repaid her?

Cambrik sat up abruptly, her breathing uneven as the rage coursed through her veins. Cynthia had always been a threat—a specter she could never fully banish.

But now, she was a reality. And Otthen… Otthen had let her in. Welcomed her back into their lives, their world, without a second thought for what it would do to Cambrik.

Her teeth clenched as the memory of his words earlier that night echoed in her mind. “I don’t owe you any explanation.” His voice, so cold, so dismissive, as if she had no right to demand anything from him. As if she were nothing more than an afterthought.

Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. She wouldn’t cry. Not for him. Not for Cynthia. Not for a man who clearly didn’t see her, who had never truly seen her, even after three years of marriage.

Her gaze shifted to her phone, still face down on the bed. The thought of Otthen storming around the Neor mansion, fuming over her absence, filled her with a bitter satisfaction. Let him rage. Let him stew in his own arrogance.

But beneath the anger, beneath the heartbreak, a question lingered, gnawing at the edges of her mind: What now? Could she go back? Should she? And if she didn’t… if she truly walked away this time, what would that mean for her?

Cambrik buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent emotion.

Cambrik sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. The room was quiet, the muted tones of the Hawt mansion offering her a fleeting sense of peace, though it did little to calm the storm inside her. She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling slightly.

Her phone buzzed on the night stand, the sudden sound breaking the silence and making her flinch. She reached for it hesitantly, her stomach sinking when she saw the name flashing on the screen: Vivienne Neor.

Her breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She stared at the screen for a moment, her thumb hovering over the answer button. She already knew what this call would bring—the sharp, biting words, the endless litany of criticisms.

Cambrik took a deep, shaky breath and cancelled the call, the small act of defiance leaving her feeling both guilty and relieved. She set the phone down and closed her eyes, pressing her palms against her temples as if trying to push the tension away.

The phone buzzed again, the sound grating against her already frayed nerves. She picked it up and saw Vivienne’s name flashing once more, as persistent and unrelenting as the woman herself.

No. Not now. Not today, she thought. Cambrik turned the phone over, face down, as if that could somehow shield her from the inevitable.

Her mother-in-law’s voice echoed in her mind anyway, sharp and venomous, as though she were already there, standing in the room. “Do you think this is enough for my son, Cambrik? You don’t even try. A wife should give her all to her marriage, to her husband. Otthen deserves better. Look at you pathetic.”

The familiar sting of those words settled in her chest like a stone. It wasn’t the first time Vivienne had made her feel small, unworthy, inadequate. Every phone call, every dinner at the Neor mansion, had been a reminder that, in Vivienne’s eyes, Cambrik was never enough. Never the perfect wife. Never the woman who could meet her precious son’s impossibly high standards.

The guilt gnawed at her, relentless and cruel. Maybe she’s right, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Maybe I wasn’t enough. Maybe I failed him.

But another part of her—the part that had dragged her to her feet and out of the Neor mansion in the dead of night—rebelled against it. No, she thought fiercely, clenching her fists. This isn’t my fault. I tried. I tried everything, and it was never enough for them. For him.

The phone buzzed again, louder this time, as if mocking her attempt to ignore it. Cambrik snatched it up, her hands shaking, her thumb hovering over the cancel button once more. She could already imagine what Vivienne would say if she answered.

“You’re ruining everything. You think walking out is the answer? You think you’re justified in humiliating Otthen like this?”

Cambrik’s lip quivered, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the torrent of imagined accusations.

“You can’t even keep him happy. You can’t manage a household properly. What do you even bring to this marriage?”

Her thumb pressed down, ending the call, her breaths coming faster now, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. The phone went silent, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Vivienne Neor was relentless, just like her son.

Cambrik dropped the phone onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. She stayed like that for a long moment, her shoulders trembling as she fought against the tears threatening to fall. The weight of Vivienne’s disapproval, Otthen’s rage, and her own feelings of inadequacy pressed down on her like a heavy blanket.

But somewhere in the depths of her despair, a flicker of defiance stirred. She had left for a reason.