The Billionaire’s Forgotten Wife

Episode8

The smell of burnt toast lingered in the kitchen, and for once it wasn’t Leona’s fault. Adrian stood by the counter, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, holding a spatula like it was a foreign object. Alora sat cross-legged on a stool, a teddy bear pressed to her chest as she wrinkled her nose at the blackened bread on her plate.

“You’re not eating it?” Adrian asked, forcing a smile.

“It’s crunchy,” Alora said with a seriousness only children could muster. “Too crunchy.”

“It’s supposed to be crunchy,” he tried again, lowering his voice into mock authority. “That’s how champions eat it. Champions don’t complain about a little… extra crisp.”

Alora tilted her head, unimpressed. “Mommy makes better toast.”

Leona, leaning against the doorway with her arms folded, bit back a laugh. She hadn’t wanted to stand here watching this scene, hadn’t wanted to feel anything that would weaken her resolve, but the sight of Adrian, the billionaire who once lived behind iron walls of cold power,....fumbling over toast for their daughter was too disarming.

Adrian caught her gaze, something flickering across his eyes. He looked like a man who wanted her to acknowledge his effort, even if he knew it wasn’t enough.

“I’ll fix it,” he muttered, reaching for another slice of bread.

Leona finally spoke. “She has to leave in fifteen minutes. Maybe don’t experiment today.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m trying, Leona.”

Her chest squeezed at the rawness in his tone, but she hardened herself quickly. “Trying doesn’t erase everything else.”

Alora, sensing the tension, hugged her teddy closer and looked down at her plate.

By noon, Adrian was at his desk, reviewing contracts with half his mind, while the other half drifted to Alora’s laugh that morning when she’d run out the door. He had promised himself he would make up for lost years. He had promised he’d learn how to be a father.

But promises didn’t erase shadows.

At the schoolyard, a man leaned casually against a rusting fence, pretending to scroll through his phone. His gaze, however, never left Alora. He watched the way her braids bounced as she skipped, watched her break into laughter with friends. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

When the bell rang for recess, he slipped something small from his pocket, his eyes narrowing on her juice box sitting unattended on a bench.

Leona’s phone buzzed just after two.

“Mrs. Wanjiru? Please, it’s the school….”

Her heart stopped. She didn’t wait for the rest. She grabbed her car keys and bolted from the salon, almost colliding with a customer on her way out.

By the time she reached the school, Adrian was already there, sprinting across the yard like a man possessed.

Alora lay on the ground, pale, her tiny chest rising shallowly. Teachers hovered, one pressing a cold cloth to her forehead, another frantic on the phone with emergency services.

“Alora!” Leona fell to her knees, cradling her daughter. “Baby, stay with me, stay with me…..”

Adrian’s face drained of color. He crouched, his hand trembling as it brushed Alora’s arm. “What happened? What the hell happened?”

“We don’t know,” a teacher stammered. “She was fine, then she collapsed. She had some juice and then…..”

Adrian’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Juice?”

“Yes, from her lunchbox,” the teacher said. “She drank, and minutes later she….”

His chest turned to ice. No. No, not this. Not her.

The ambulance arrived, pulling them into a blur of sirens and flashing lights.

At the hospital, sterile white walls closed in on Leona as she paced the waiting room. Adrian sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. For the first time since his amnesia, the mask was gone, and all that remained was a man unraveling.

When the doctor finally approached, Leona nearly collapsed. “Please, tell me she’s okay.”

“She’s stable,” the doctor said, voice calm. “But tests show she ingested traces of a sedative. Not lethal, but dangerous for a child her size.”

Leona froze. “Sedative? How? She doesn’t….”

Adrian stood, towering over the doctor. “You’re saying someone drugged her?”

The doctor nodded gravely. “It wasn’t accidental.”

Leona’s knees gave out. Adrian caught her before she hit the floor, holding her against his chest as her body shook. She shoved him away, eyes blazing through tears.

“This is your fault,” she whispered hoarsely. “All of it. Whoever you were before, whatever filth you were in, it’s reaching for her now. For my daughter.”

Adrian flinched, but he didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. Memories flooded in fragments, dark rooms, voices bargaining over lives, his own hands signing off on sins he couldn’t wash away. He thought the amnesia had buried it. He thought he had outrun it.

But now his little girl lay in a hospital bed because of him.

“I’ll fix this,” he said, voice ragged. “I swear to you, Leona. I’ll find who did this, and I’ll end it.”

Her tears cut down her face, her hands clenched tight. “And if you can’t? If she gets hurt again because of you?”

Adrian’s chest heaved. “Then I’ll burn everything I’ve built. I’ll burn the world before I let them touch her again.”

Later that night, when the corridors were quiet and the machines beeped softly in Alora’s room, Adrian’s phone buzzed with an unknown number.

He stepped into the hallway and answered.

“Saint-Laurent,” a voice rasped. “We know she’s yours. You owe us. Consider this a warning. Next time, we won’t miss.”

Adrian froze, blood running cold. His grip tightened until the phone cracked.

He turned, looking through the glass at Leona curled up by Alora’s bedside, her hand clasping their daughter’s.

He whispered to himself, voice breaking: “God help me… what have I done?”

And in that moment, Adrian Saint-Laurent knew his past hadn’t just come back. It had come for blood.