Delete My Billionaire Husband

Chapter 23

Sebastian Kingsley stood on a foreign street, his tailored suit failing to conceal his disheveled state. His grip on the phone turned his knuckles white.

"Annabelle Whitmore, where the hell are you?"

Three days. He had searched every possible place she could be. The last clue led him to this hotel.

"Sir, guest privacy is—" The receptionist hesitated.

Sebastian slid a check across the counter. The amount made her pupils dilate.

"She checked out yesterday," the receptionist said, fingers flying over the keyboard. "She went to Bali."

His phone buzzed—the 103rd automated apology post had gone live. The comments section was in chaos.

[Mr. Kingsley is so devoted.]

[Miss Whitmore, please forgive him.]

On the plane, Annabelle swiped through her tablet and scoffed before closing the tab.

"Pathetic."

Outside the window, clouds churned. She touched the faint mark on her ring finger—now smooth, as if nothing had ever been there.

The Balinese sun was blinding. The moment Annabelle unlocked the boutique hotel’s door, her phone erupted with vibrations.

Unknown number. The seventeenth one.

"How long are you going to keep harassing me?" She finally answered.

Labored breathing filled the silence on the other end.

"Annabelle..." Sebastian’s voice was hoarse. "Just give me five minutes."

The sound of crashing waves suddenly grew louder. Annabelle studied her freshly painted nails—coral pink, glinting under the sunlight.

"That rainy night three years ago," Sebastian said abruptly. "You said you’d make me ginger soup."

Her fingers twitched.

"I lied when I said it tasted awful." His voice trembled. "It was the best thing I’d ever had."

The sunlight stung her eyes. Annabelle squinted.

"Too late, Sebastian."

She hung up and blocked the new number. The wind chime at the entrance jingled as a new guest wheeled in their luggage.

"Welcome," she said with a practiced smile.

As she turned away, a drop of moisture landed on the registry. She wiped it away quickly, as if it were just sea spray.

Meanwhile, Sebastian stood in the airport terminal. The departure board displayed the next flight to Bali—three hours from now.

His boarding pass crumpled in his grip, revealing Annabelle’s latest photo—watering flowers outside the boutique hotel, sunlight gilding her profile.

This time, he wouldn’t let go.