Dumped My Cheating Ex. Now I'm Sleeping Next to a Billionaire CEO novel Chapter 862

Once the sun slipped completely beneath the waves, Dean finally steered the yacht back to shore. At dinner, Emmy barely touched her food. After a few small bites, she pushed her plate away and headed upstairs to bed, leaving Dean alone at the table. He watched her walk away, her figure small and tired, and a deep worry settled between his brows.

He’d seen the signs. Emmy would get a spark of excitement every now and then, but after that, she always seemed to sink even lower, swallowed up by a sadness she couldn’t shake.

The next morning, Dean decided to do something about it. He brought in a private psychologist, a sharp-looking woman with blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He explained Emmy’s situation, leaving nothing out. When he finished, the psychologist’s face grew serious.

“Mr. Sparrow, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like your wife is showing early symptoms of depression.”

Dean’s face fell. “Depression?” All he wanted was for her to be happy here with him. How had things gotten to this point? He had to help her. He had to fix this.

That afternoon, he found Emmy stretched out on a lounge chair on the terrace, staring off into nothing. He tried to sound as gentle as possible. “Hey, let’s go diving today. I know a new spot. The coral reefs over there are huge, way more colorful than the last place we went.”

Emmy just shook her head. “I don’t want to go.” Her voice was flat, almost empty. “I just want to lay in the sun and sleep.”

The days blurred together. Emmy spent most of her time sleeping. When she was awake, she’d bury her nose in a book about the local language, hardly ever looking up. Dean even had the latest gaming consoles flown in, hoping they might cheer her up. She played for a few minutes, then never touched them again.

More and more, she’d just take a chair down to the edge of the beach and sit there for hours, staring out at the endless blue, not moving, not saying a word.

From the upstairs balcony, Dean watched her every day, worry etched deeper into his face. The psychologist joined him, her voice heavy with concern.

“Mr. Sparrow, her condition isn’t looking good.”

Dean just stared at her, waiting.

“She’s probably already slipped into mild depression.”

He spun around. The anger in his eyes was impossible to hide. “Just tell me. What does that mean?”

The psychologist hesitated, clearly unnerved by his intensity, but pressed on. “It means that if we don’t step in soon, things will get worse. Right now, she spends all day just staring at the ocean. Later on, that view won’t be peaceful anymore. It’ll start to feel like an escape. A way out. Somewhere she might go to find relief from everything she’s feeling.”

She paused, then lowered her voice. “She might start thinking about... going in. About not coming back.”

The words hit Dean like a punch. He felt the air in the room change, turning cold and tense. “Jumping in?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

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