Delete My Billionaire Husband

Chapter 27

"Annabelle!"

Sebastian Kingsley jolted awake in the hospital bed, his forehead damp with sweat.

"Sebastian!" The elder Kingsley stood by the bed, leaning heavily on his cane, his expression dark with fury. "From today onward, you will focus on recovering. You are not to see that woman again!"

"Why?" Sebastian coughed violently, his voice hoarse and broken. "She's my wife... We're not divorced yet..."

He struggled to sit up, the IV needle tearing at his skin until beads of blood welled up.

"Enough!" The old man snapped, pulling out his phone and pressing play.

Annabelle Whitmore's icy voice echoed through the room: "I will never forgive him..."

Sebastian's face drained of color.

"No..." He muttered, then suddenly ripped out the IV line. "I have to see her! I need to hear it from her!"

Blood seeped from the torn wound, staining his hospital gown. He staggered forward two steps before collapsing to the floor.

"Take him back," the elder Kingsley said wearily, waving a hand. "Watch him around the clock."

Three days later, Sebastian tried to escape again.

This time, the bodyguards pinned him in the hallway, where he came face-to-face with his grandfather’s exhausted expression.

"Grandfather..." Sebastian's voice cracked.

"Sebastian..." The old man trembled as he grasped his hand. "Consider this my final wish. Let her go."

Sebastian's fists clenched until his knuckles turned white—then slowly relaxed. "...Fine."

From that day on, Prosperity Group gained a workaholic CEO.

He never took off his wedding ring, telling everyone, "My wife is waiting for me at home."

But no one knew that home had been without its mistress for twenty years.

Only after grooming his adopted son as his successor did Sebastian finally board a flight to France.

Wind chimes tinkled softly as he approached the boutique hotel, its notice board reading "Welcome."

"Do you have any rooms available?" His voice shook slightly.

"Mom! A guest!" The mixed-race girl’s bright voice struck him like a hammer.

Sebastian fled.

He opened a post office two streets away, specializing in letters to the past. The most frequent one always read: "Be kinder to Annabelle Whitmore."

Sometimes, he would stand at the corner of the street, watching from afar as a familiar figure passed by. The spring breeze brushed through her hair—but it could no longer reach his heart.