Mr. Billionaire 2

I frowned, about to ask why–until I spotted the framed photo on the wall. 

Kenneth and Shannon were in the photo. Shannon was wearing that exact gown. 

Nausea rose like bile. I grabbed a different dress. 

As I slipped into the changing room, a stylist giggled. “Shannon, they say imitation is flattery… until you see who’s wearing it!” 

Shannon’s chuckle wasn’t gracious. It reeked of contempt.. 

I couldn’t care less. 

After I got changed, I took a seat on the chair. 

Kenneth walked up to me and put his hand gently around my shoulders. 

Just as the shutter was about to go off, Shannon suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed to the floor. 

“Kenneth, it hurts…” 

The hand on my shoulder vanished in an instant: Kenneth rushed over in a panic. 

He scooped her up in his arms and hurried out–without even sparing me a glance. 

The assistant looked at me with a tinge of pity. 

But I sat up straight and said with a calm smile, “Let’s continue the shoot.” 

The assistant was momentarily stunned, then pouted and resumed taking pictures. 

Afterward, I left feeling content. 

These photos would memorialize just me and our child. Kenneth’s presence was always optional anyway. 

When I stepped outside, I realized the wind had picked up. I found a nearby hotel to stay the night. 

But not long after lying down, my phone buzzed repeatedly. 

It was Kenneth calling. I ignored it. After three calls, it finally stopped. 

Just as I was drifting off into a light sleep, a message arrived. 

I opened it. It was a photo of Shannon lying in Kenneth’s arms. She was even wearing my sleepwear. 

Five seconds later, the image disappeared. 

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“Oops, wrong person!” 

I knew full well it was intentional. But I wasn’t angry at all. I turned off my phone and went right back to sleep. 

The next morning, I took a cab home. 

When I opened the door, I was shocked to find a party going on inside. 

Kenneth was frowning at his phone. When he heard the door, he looked up–and our eyes met. 

His expression instantly softened, though his tone still carried that hint of rebuke. 

“So you do remember to come home.” 

I replied indifferently, “It was windy last night. I stayed at a hotel.” 

Right after I said that I braced for his anger. 

But unexpectedly, he simply gave a calm “Mm” and said, “I know. I saw your phone’s location. But next time you’re staying out, at least tell me.” 

My hands froze mid–motion as I was removing my coat. I looked at him in disbelief. 

“When did you install a tracker on my phone?” 

“It’s for your safety,” he said plainly. 

He didn’t elaborate and turned to introduce me to the people in the house. 

They were all his friends–people I hadn’t seen since our wedding. 

On the other hand, Shannon seemed far more familiar with them than I was. She took on the role of hostess and cheerfully introduced everyone to me. 

“This is Connor Forgeron. His soup is absolutely amazing! 

“This is Aston James–he’s an artist! 

“This is Anthony Angelo. He’s kind of cute, but loves to mess with people!” 

The moment she finished, they all burst into laughter. 

Connor feigned displeasure and teased, “Shannon’s playing favorites–bringing in personal bias!” 

Shannon puffed up her cheeks and playfully pounced on them, blending right in with the group. She never once looked me in the eye, let alone greeted me. 

I didn’t mind. They’d all grown up together–I never expected to force my way in. 

Kenneth gazed at Shannon dotingly, smiling quietly to himself. 

I turned toward the bedroom, but just as I spun around, something in the trash bin caught my eye–and my body went 

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rigid. 

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Step by step, I walked over, each movement feeling like it weighed a ton. Inside the trash, I saw them–pickled veg- etables my mother had made for me before she passed. 

My mind went blank, a loud buzz in my ears. My blood felt like it was rushing backward. 

My mother’s passing had come so suddenly. That jar of pickled vegetables had been the last thing she made for me. 

It had taken her a whole week to prepare. I hadn’t had the heart to throw it away. 

But now, seeing it mixed in with the trash… 

Tears poured from my eyes like a broken dam. My voice trembled as I asked, “Who threw this away?” 

Back in the living room, the laughter and chatter continued. Not a single person noticed my voice. 

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