Goodbye Forever Ex-Husband (by Ammund) novel Chapter 165

Chapter 165

ADRIAN’S POV

I turned off the tap that had been running for far too long. The sound of water splashing against the sink, once calming, now just got on my nerves. Even small things were beginning to irritate me lately, like a dripping water or the ticking of a clock. Things I used to ignore now seemed louder, heavier. Unbearable.

I reached for the towel hanging beside me and slowly dabbed my face, trying to wipe off more than just water. Maybe if I rubbed hard enough, I could erase the exhaustion written all over me. The dark circles under my eyes had deepened–silent witnesses to my countless sleepless nights.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a while. Longer than necessary.

The man who looked back at me felt unfamiliar. There was a time when my reflection radiated confidence, purpose… even power. Now it just looked hollow. Worn. Like I was barely holding myself together with an invisible thread.

I let out a long breath and hung the towel back on the rack. The soft clink of the metal hook echoed in the bathroom and disappeared into silence. That’s what this house had become lately–a quiet, sterile place. A home filled with echoes instead of laughter. A mansion haunted by everything that once was.

I stepped out of the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom, the thick carpet muffling my steps. I sat on the edge of the bed, then fell backward onto it, staring blankly at the ceiling.

People on the outside look at me and see a billionaire. They see the mansions, the cars, the success–and they assume that I must have everything. That I’m living the dream. If only they knew.

“If anyone sees me, they’d think, ‘He’s a billionaire. He doesn’t have problems. And even if he did, money could fix them,” I muttered, my voice low and tired.

But not all wounds can be bought off. Not all pain can be healed with luxury.

People wish they could be in my shoes, to live my life. But they have no idea about the storm I walk with every day–the ghosts that whisper at night, the memories I can’t escape. Money can buy you anything, they say. But it can’t buy you peace.

It’s been five years since Olivia died.

Five years later, and I still see her in my dreams. Still hear her voice when I close my eyes. Her stubborn little scowls, the way she called me out on my bullshit when no one else dared to.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just stuck–frozen in time while the rest of the world moves on. People say I should let her go. That I’m holding onto the past too tightly. Maybe they’re right. But how do I let go?

1 tried. God knows I tried.

I’ve been on more blind dates than I care to count. Each one worse than the last. Women smiling at me like they already had their claws in my wallet. Conversations that felt scripted. Forced laughs. Fake compliments. And each time I sat there, pretending to be interested, I’d hear Olivia’s voice in the back of my mind, mocking the performance I was putting on.

But the problem isn’t them. It’s me. I can’t trust anymore.

Not after what Dora did.

I wasn’t in love with Dora. But she was part of my childhood–my history. I trusted her. I believed in her loyalty. I chose her over Olivia when she told me she was pregnant, and that single choice became the biggest regret of my life.

I still remember that day–how she looked me in the eyes, trembling, and told me she was carrying my child. How my world tilted just a bit, how I felt the ground shift beneath me. I panicked. I was so desperate to do the “right” thing. And in that moment, I did the complete opposite

The truth came later. Ugly and devastating.

1/3

All those years I’d known Dora, I never once imagined how far she’d go to get what she wanted. I thought her desperation was harmless–just emotional outbursts and immature games. But nothing prepared me for what she actually did.

I knew that she was desperate to get my love, I thought the worst act of desperation she could do was when she drugged me and made it look like we had sex

I forgave her for that.

I truly did. I thought maybe–just maybe–she had changed. That she’d grown past the desperate girl who once clung to a love that was never truly hers to have. I wanted to believe she was different, that the fire behind her actions had softened into maturity. But that was my mistake–thinking people like Dora ever change.

And maybe I would’ve lived with my choice if not for one thing: the child.

I wasn’t a coward. When she told me she was pregnant–carrying my child–I didn’t run. I stood my ground like any man should. I brought her into my home. I took responsibility, even if my heart remained locked in a coffin six feet deep, buried. I didn’t love her, not even close, but a child changes things. Or so I thought.

But people don’t always operate with the same principles.

She manipulated me–for months. Every smile, every craving, every fake doctor’s appointment–lies, all of it. And the worst part wasn’t just that she lied. It was what she lied about. A life. A child. A chance at something pure in the middle of my emotional wasteland.

How could she lie about something so sacred? About creating life? About being a mother?

And then it all began to make sense. All those nights she came to me, dressed in silk, eyes gleaming with fake innocence, brushing her fingers across my chest, trying to kiss me. At first, I thought maybe pregnancy hormones were making her clingy. But no–it was desperation. She knew the lie couldn’t last forever. So she tried to make it true. She wanted to trap me again, this time with something real.

If she could just get pregnant before I uncovered the truth, she could spin it. Manipulate the timeline. She nearly succeeded.

When I found out the truth, I didn’t yell. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even break anything. I simply looked her in the eye and said, “Leave.” And when she begged, I turned my back and walked away.

Sometimes she waits at the gate for hours. Other times she tries to sneak in through the side entrance, trying to bribe new guards or claim she left something behind. I’ve changed staff countless times, but she finds a way

Love doesn’t linger like a shadow, clawing at the past, refusing to release. Love doesn’t ignore rejection for half a decade and still hope for a different

answer.

How can you still chase someone who cut you off, who never loved you–not for one second?

Even after 5 years

it’s pathetic.

2/3

And yet, even

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