Billionaire, Let's Divorce! by BELLA

Chapter 0292

"Oh!" She piped up, her eyes widening to the size of saucers,

You're back."

I held her gaze unflinchingly, deliberately refraining from responding to her startled exclamation as she likely anticipated. We remained locked in an unwavering stare for what felt like a few more seconds, and throughout that prolonged moment, try as I might, I couldn't suppress the wayward thoughts racing through my mind at breakneck speed.

Even as she continued to stare at me, her entire demeanor exuded a palpable sense of unease. Her palms were tightly curled around the torn page from Amie's drawing book.

I fixed her with a questioning gaze, my eyes darting back and forth between her face, which was etched with poorly concealed anxiety, and her balled fist, which seemed to tremble slightly under my s scrutiny. She appeared to comprehend the unspoken inquiry in my expression because she abruptly let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a strangled hiccup. Raising her clenched fists in a gesture that was likely meant to appear casual but came across as forced.

She blurted out the most transparent lie I'd heard in recent memory, "Oh this? It's absolutely nothing."

1 arched my eyebrows skeptically, the muscles in my forehead tightening as I regarded her with mounting suspicion.

She widened her grin in response, the corners of her mouth stretching again as she reiterated, "It's nothing?"

the forced grin was not herself. There was definitely something about the torn pages that she clenched

But why uld she do that? This would not be the first time that Amie would

nursed the possibility that she might have just been leading me on all this while. Maybe she really didn't want me for her friend and she was now actively trying

open hearted talk we had in the car just on our way here,

of pondering on questions whose answers keep eluding me, I decided to cut to the

that, Clara? Why did you tear that

and she finally looked away. Her

don't have to look at me like I just killed someone" she muttered, her voice lacking the sarcasm that was always laced to it

as I squinted at the vivid painting in the paper. Slowly, I walked to her

her.

at the front and back

drawing, on the front page, is an uneven sketch of a hospital bed and someone lying on top of it. If it had just been the pencil drawing, the meaning of the drawing could have been

the leg of the person she drew on the front side of the page while the back carried another painting of a person lying on a bed but with a harrowing

dropped my hand to my side and glanced at the