Dumped My Cheating Ex. Now I'm Sleeping Next to a Billionaire CEO novel Chapter 301

My Dearest Husband: Relax. I seriously doubt any workout could top the one I gave you last time. [smile emoji]

Emmy stared at his reply, death-smile meme and all, feeling both annoyed and on the verge of laughing.

Instantly, memories from that night flashed through her mind. He had carried her from the bedroom to the bathroom, from the bed to the couch, never once seeming to get tired. She had been the one to finally break, sobbing and begging him to let her go. Only then did he finally give her a break.

It had been days, but her lower back still ached if she sat too long. Just thinking about it made her shudder.

Her cheeks burned. Emmy quickly locked her phone, almost like the screen was too hot to touch.

“Ms. Lincoln, I think that’s Mr. Sparrow outside your building,” the driver suddenly announced.

Emmy turned to look out the window. Sure enough, they had just pulled up in front of her apartment building.

Under the streetlights, Dean sat alone on a park bench by the entrance, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and holding a massive bouquet of flowers. He looked heartbreakingly lonely in the dark.

As soon as her car approached, Dean jumped up, his eyes searching for her with a kind of desperate hope.

Her temples, already throbbing from the drinks she’d had, started to pound even harder. Emmy pressed her fingers to her brow, irritation clear in her voice. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

The car drove straight past Dean.

But the second he realized she wasn’t stopping, Dean spun around and bolted for his Maybach, slamming the door and peeling out after them.

Emmy watched his headlights chasing them in the rearview mirror, utterly baffled by him. His beloved “angel” was still lying in a hospital bed, and instead of being there, he was camping out in front of Emmy’s building in the middle of the night? What was wrong with this guy?

The bodyguard glanced at the car tailgating them and said in a low voice, “Ms. Lincoln, please sit tight.”

He floored the gas and the car shot forward.

Emmy gripped the handle beside her as the force pushed her back into her seat.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Lincoln,” the driver—Micah—said, eyes locked on the road. “I used to race cars before I retired. We’ll lose him.”

But Dean’s Maybach was relentless, glued to their bumper.

What Emmy didn’t know was that before security could even press the button, the gates had already recognized her license plate and opened on their own.

The security guard at the entrance scratched his head, confused. “Wait, wasn’t this car already on the list? Why’d they ask me to let it in again?”

Meanwhile, Dean’s Maybach got stopped at the gate, the guard not budging an inch.

Emmy’s car pulled up under Abriella’s building.

Abriella zipped up on a pink hoverboard, did a little circle around the Bentley, and shot Emmy a teasing grin. “Well, well, driving your husband’s car tonight?”

Emmy got out and nodded. “Mine’s at the car wash.”

Ever since James had picked her up from Nelson Tower that night, her own car had been sent for a deep clean and hadn’t come back yet, so James had just left her the Bentley.

“If I’d known you were in your husband’s car, I wouldn’t have bothered coming down,” Abriella said with a laugh.

Emmy frowned. “Why does that even matter? Isn’t security here supposed to be super strict?”