Delete My Billionaire Husband

Chapter 21

Sebastian Kingsley stood before the boutique hotel, his fingertips trembling slightly.

He rang the doorbell three times, but no one answered.

When he pushed the door, it didn’t budge. The metallic click of the lock sounded cold, almost mocking his foolish hope.

The words "Closed Today" on the notice board stung his eyes. It wasn’t an invitation—it was a dismissal.

The sea wind carried the briny scent of salt, hitting him in the face. Suddenly, he remembered that night three years ago, when Annabelle Whitmore had walked barefoot on the beach, pointing at this blue-and-white building and saying, "Our boutique hotel should be painted like this one day."

Back then, he had just signed the acquisition contract. Holding her close, he promised, "The entire coastline will be yours."

But now, she wouldn’t even see him.

"Annabelle..." He pressed his forehead against the door, his voice hoarse and broken.

Behind him, the sharp click of high heels echoed. A wave of overpowering perfume engulfed him.

"Are you alone, sir?" A blonde woman’s red lips nearly brushed his ear.

Sebastian whirled around, his eyes dark with fury. "Get lost!"

The woman stumbled back, disbelief flashing across her face. The way this Eastern man had looked at her—like she was something filthy.

In the hotel bathroom, steam clouded the mirror.

Sebastian scrubbed his arms mechanically, his skin already flushed an unnatural red. The sound of the shower couldn’t drown out his fractured whispers:

"I’m clean... I swear..."

"See? I pushed her away..."

The tiles reflected his bloodshot eyes. Water dripped from his chin—whether from the shower or his tears, he couldn’t tell.

A memory surfaced—a rainy night. Annabelle curled up on the couch, waiting. The steak on the dining table had long gone cold, the fat congealing into white streaks.

Where had he been that night? Ah, right. Accompanying Lillian Grayson to an audition.

The shower turned scalding. Sebastian tilted his head back, letting the burning water sear his throat.

Maybe this was for the best. If pain could make him remember—how he had lost the girl who once waited for him to come home.