My Wife Is A Billionaire (Grace and Antonio) novel Chapter 94

Chapter94 

The door opened, a wry smile playing on my lips, but the room fell silent. 

Every eye was on me, a mix of embarrassment and discomfort etched on their faces. 

My fiance lay cradled in a woman’s arms face was intimately familiar from his laptop. 

a woman whose 

Antonio’s friends, unprepared for my sudden arrival, scrambled to pull him away from Mandy. 

He, wasted and oblivious, roared, “Back off! Leave me alone!” 

I’d ever seen him like this; alcohol was not his vice. 

One friend hissed, “Grace’s here! Get it together! You’re getting married.” 

The others joined the effort, finally separating Antonio and Mandy. 

After a few tense minutes, Antonio plopped onto the couch, his face flushed. 

{ 

One friend finally exhaled, turning to me. 

“This is Mandy, an old high school friend. She’s back from Nardoven for the party. Antonio is wasted. Don’t take it personally.” 

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A piece of my mind would have been unleashed on Antonio 

years ago, 

Now, I could only manage a strained grin. 

“Are you Antonio’s friend?” Mandy, assessing me with curious eyes, asked. 

Antonio’s friend began, “This is Antonio’s fiancee.” 

Antonio cut him off, his voice sharp. “No, we’re just friends!” 

My fists clenched, nails biting into my palms. 

The room shifted uncomfortably, sympathy heavy in the air. 

This wasn’t the first time Antonio had hidden our relationship. 

The Facebook silence, the avoidance at work, the re ́ sal to invite our families the signs had been there. 

I’d been in denial, gambling eight years of my life on a hope that proved tragically misplaced. 

I plastered on a smile, shaking Mandy’s hand. “Hi, I’m Grace Parrish, a friend of Antonio’s. You look even more beautiful in person.” 

The room fell deadly silent. 

Mandy laughed it off, grabbing snacks. 

Antonio, suddenly alert, sat up straight. “You’re allergic to nuts!” 

Mandy’s hand froze. “Sweetheart, these are potato chips. You’re drunk.” 

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My heart shattered. Antonio had never truly cared about my feelings. 

“Grace, are you crying?” someone asked, noticing my tears. 

I touched my cheek, the wetness cold against my skin. 

Why was I crying? 

I had given my prime years to a fraud. 

I’d tried to correct him countless times. 

My severe seafood allergy, ignored as he repeatedly chose seafood restaurants for our dates. 

Initially furious, I’d excused it as stress and forgetfulness. 

I pulled him to his feet, silent. 

Downstairs, Mandy followed. 

“Antonio has a sensitive stomach. He can’t sleep hungry. Maybe you could make him something?” she said. 

He’d never mentioned this. 

At the car, Mandy stopped me again. “Can I have your number? In case he needs something in the middle of the night.” 

“He is restless after drinking, but honey water usually helps,” She persisted. 

My nails bit into my palms. Tears prickled my eyes. 

I met her gaze, lost and forlorn, and gave in. 

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We exchanged numbers. Then I saw it — her Facebook cover photo: Antonio and Mandy, kissing on a beach, a kiss that felt brutally real. 

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