Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son - Chapter 21: Chapter 21
You are reading Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son, Chapter 21: Chapter 21. Read more chapters of Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son.
"You're closer," Quinn replied, his tone flat and to the point.
She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she threw me a glance—something between smugness and pity—before turning back to Quinn with a sugary smile. "Alright, I'll whip up some late-night snacks for us when you get home."
With that, she stepped out of the car, though she lingered on the sidewalk, casting Quinn one last longing look.
Quinn didn't even glance back as he restarted the engine.
The frustration that had been bubbling inside me all night was finally spent, leaving nothing but exhaustion. I didn't even want to deal with his frosty attitude anymore.
"You know," I said, managing a faint, self-deprecating smile, "you could just lend me the car. I'll drive myself home."
"Trying to play considerate now?" he sneered, his tone ice-cold—completely different from how he spoke to Diana. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?"
I shrugged, too used to his jabs to let them sting anymore. Honestly, the idea of him being kind to me seemed almost laughable now. If he ever spoke to me nicely, I'd probably assume he'd lost his mind.
"Think what you want," I muttered with a sigh, too drained to argue. Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes and let the silence take over.
Twenty minutes later, the car came to a stop. When I opened my eyes, I realized we were parked at his villa—not my family's house.
Before I could ask why, Quinn was already out of the car and heading inside. Left with no other choice, I followed.
As soon as we stepped through the door, my stomach betrayed me, letting out a loud, obnoxious growl.
I hadn't eaten anything all evening, and the hunger was finally catching up with me. Without much thought, I wandered into the kitchen to see if there was anything edible left.
Quinn stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, his tall frame outlined against the soft glow of the city lights outside.
Out of habit, the words slipped out before I could stop them. "Are you hungry? I could throw something together."
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Diana's apartment was stocked with snacks she'd probably made just for him. The thought made my chest tighten, a wave of self-loathing washing over me.
Even now, I couldn't seem to stop myself from caring about him.
"Yeah," he said unexpectedly.
I froze, caught off guard. "You're... not heading back tonight?"
Quinn turned, his face unreadable. "What, you want me gone?" His voice was cold, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. "So you can run to Grandpa and spill everything?"
I was silent for a moment, not sure how to respond. If I'd really wanted to tattle to Alex, I wouldn't have spent the last three years biting my tongue.
This couldn't possibly be about him caring for Diana, could it? I didn't buy that for a second.
Quinn was sharp—he knew as well as I did that Alex was only playing nice because Diana mattered to him. I couldn't make sense of what was going through his mind.
"Well?" he said, his tone clipped. "Are you going to cook, or was that just for show?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed upstairs, tossing over his shoulder, "Bring it up when it's ready."
Seriously? The guy had bossy down to an art form.
Since Quinn hated having too many people around, we'd never hired a maid or butler. Whenever he decided to eat at home, it was always me in the kitchen cooking for him.
Lately, though, he hadn't been around much, and the fridge was almost bare. There were just two tomatoes and a half-empty box of spaghetti.
I quickly whipped up two plates of tomato pasta and carried one upstairs. Quinn was in the shower when I walked into the bedroom. "I'll leave it on the table. Eat it while it's hot," I called out toward the bathroom.
But just as I set the plate down and turned to leave, the bathroom door swung open. Quinn stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his damp hair, tracing the sharp lines of his muscles.
The sight caught me off guard, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.
Noticing my stare, he smirked and said in that low, commanding voice of his, "Come here. Dry my hair."
She opened her mouth, probably to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she threw me a glance—something between smugness and pity—before turning back to Quinn with a sugary smile. "Alright, I'll whip up some late-night snacks for us when you get home."
With that, she stepped out of the car, though she lingered on the sidewalk, casting Quinn one last longing look.
Quinn didn't even glance back as he restarted the engine.
The frustration that had been bubbling inside me all night was finally spent, leaving nothing but exhaustion. I didn't even want to deal with his frosty attitude anymore.
"You know," I said, managing a faint, self-deprecating smile, "you could just lend me the car. I'll drive myself home."
"Trying to play considerate now?" he sneered, his tone ice-cold—completely different from how he spoke to Diana. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?"
I shrugged, too used to his jabs to let them sting anymore. Honestly, the idea of him being kind to me seemed almost laughable now. If he ever spoke to me nicely, I'd probably assume he'd lost his mind.
"Think what you want," I muttered with a sigh, too drained to argue. Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes and let the silence take over.
Twenty minutes later, the car came to a stop. When I opened my eyes, I realized we were parked at his villa—not my family's house.
Before I could ask why, Quinn was already out of the car and heading inside. Left with no other choice, I followed.
As soon as we stepped through the door, my stomach betrayed me, letting out a loud, obnoxious growl.
I hadn't eaten anything all evening, and the hunger was finally catching up with me. Without much thought, I wandered into the kitchen to see if there was anything edible left.
Quinn stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, his tall frame outlined against the soft glow of the city lights outside.
Out of habit, the words slipped out before I could stop them. "Are you hungry? I could throw something together."
As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Diana's apartment was stocked with snacks she'd probably made just for him. The thought made my chest tighten, a wave of self-loathing washing over me.
Even now, I couldn't seem to stop myself from caring about him.
"Yeah," he said unexpectedly.
I froze, caught off guard. "You're... not heading back tonight?"
Quinn turned, his face unreadable. "What, you want me gone?" His voice was cold, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. "So you can run to Grandpa and spill everything?"
I was silent for a moment, not sure how to respond. If I'd really wanted to tattle to Alex, I wouldn't have spent the last three years biting my tongue.
This couldn't possibly be about him caring for Diana, could it? I didn't buy that for a second.
Quinn was sharp—he knew as well as I did that Alex was only playing nice because Diana mattered to him. I couldn't make sense of what was going through his mind.
"Well?" he said, his tone clipped. "Are you going to cook, or was that just for show?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed upstairs, tossing over his shoulder, "Bring it up when it's ready."
Seriously? The guy had bossy down to an art form.
Since Quinn hated having too many people around, we'd never hired a maid or butler. Whenever he decided to eat at home, it was always me in the kitchen cooking for him.
Lately, though, he hadn't been around much, and the fridge was almost bare. There were just two tomatoes and a half-empty box of spaghetti.
I quickly whipped up two plates of tomato pasta and carried one upstairs. Quinn was in the shower when I walked into the bedroom. "I'll leave it on the table. Eat it while it's hot," I called out toward the bathroom.
But just as I set the plate down and turned to leave, the bathroom door swung open. Quinn stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his damp hair, tracing the sharp lines of his muscles.
The sight caught me off guard, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.
Noticing my stare, he smirked and said in that low, commanding voice of his, "Come here. Dry my hair."
End of Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son Chapter 21. Continue reading Chapter 22 or return to Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son book page.