My Accidental Husband is a Billionaire

Jenkins was utterly defeated.

She ignored everyone and retreated straight to her tiny room at the Olsen estate.

Despite her cover as Lion being blown, she wasn't treated any differently. Still, the accommodations didn't match the comfort Erin enjoyed in Charles's room—especially since Charles had voluntarily moved into the guestroom for her.

Jenkins sprawled on her bed, torn between crying and screaming.

So Clownfish had driven her away just to flex some control? As long as she left, everything was fine, and returning was perfectly okay?

For years, she had longed to see her friends in Country A but didn't dare visit, fearing she'd endanger them. Now, after everything, it turned out she'd been overthinking it.

She clenched her fists in frustration. Clownfish was maddening! Infuriating!

Grabbing her pillow, she pummeled it as if it were Clownfish's face. The occasional muffled yells from her room echoed faintly into the hall.

In the living room, Erin glanced at Keira, who was working on her laptop. "Should we, I don't know, try to console her? She sounds pretty crushed."

Keira didn't even look up. "Why bother? Peter's already standing outside her door."

"But he

duh. Anyone who tries right now is asking for trouble. Didn't you see the murderous look in her

across her face. She cracked open a bag of pistachios. "Honestly, if I were her, I'd lose it too. Clownfish hasn't changed a bit since we

does

three years old! How's anyone supposed to know how they'd turn out? People change a

her curiosity only deepened. She wanted as much information as possible about Clownfish. Her current position was a direct

intel placed

were kids?" Keira pressed. "Anything

remember Clownfish's parents being kind of eccentric. Clownfish hated going home. And yeah, she was a weird kid—kept to herself, never joined in during nap time, playtime, or even group baths. She'd just sit alone. Oh, and she had a thing for bugs. Used to bring

hated going home. And yeah, she was a weird kid—kept to herself, never joined in during nap time, playtime, or even group baths. She'd just sit alone. Oh,

Keira blinked. "A rat?"

fainted. You know how soft she is—totally

just a mischievous child; Clownfish's

"And?" Keira prompted.

I remember. It's not like my memory is flawless, especially for stuff

deep in thought. It made sense. People tended to vividly recall their