Delete My Billionaire Husband

Chapter 5

"I'm tired," she said abruptly, rising to her feet, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian Kingsley stood immediately, only to be pulled back into his seat by his friends.

"Your wife looks pale. She should rest."

"Stay, Sebastian. It's been ages since we all hung out."

Annabelle gently withdrew her hand from Sebastian's grasp. "I'll go alone," she said before turning away.

She walked briskly, the hem of her dress cutting a sharp, resolute arc through the night.

Inside the car, her fingers brushed against something cold in her coat pocket—Sebastian's phone.

"Turn around," she told the driver.

By the time they returned to the bar, rain had begun to fall. Just as Annabelle reached for the door, she saw Lillian Grayson leap out of a taxi.

Lillian smoothed her hair while checking her reflection on her phone, then hurried toward the VIP lounge upstairs.

Clutching the phone, Annabelle followed without thinking.

The lounge door was slightly ajar. Inside, Lillian fluttered into Sebastian's arms like a butterfly.

"Missed you so much!" Lillian's voice dripped with saccharine sweetness.

Sebastian smirked, pinching her cheek. "That was fast."

"You called—how could I keep you waiting?" Lillian stood on her toes and pecked his lips.

Whistles erupted around them.

"Damn, the wife just left, and the side piece shows up?"

"Lucky bastard, Sebastian!"

Annabelle's nails dug into her palms. So everyone knew.

"Let's spice things up!" someone shouted, summoning a few scantily clad girls.

A bottle spun on the table before landing on Sebastian.

"Confess—when was the last time?"

Swirling his glass, Sebastian grinned. "Last night. My office."

"Hell yeah! That's wild!"

Lillian blushed and playfully hit his chest, but he pulled her closer. "What? Not good enough for you?"

The room roared with laughter.

"I told you, that sickly wife of yours can't compare to—"

"Enough." Sebastian's expression darkened. "Leave her out of this."

Outside, rainwater trailed down Annabelle's hair. So this was how he defended her—with condescension.

She turned and walked back into the rain. The phone screen lit up—a message from Lillian: "Tomorrow, our usual spot. Miss you."

The downpour intensified. Annabelle remembered the winter she was seventeen, when Sebastian had carried her through the snow. His promise of "forever" had an expiration date after all.

Like this storm, it too would pass.