My Billionaire Ex Beg For A Second Chance-Chapter 106: A Taste of His Own Poison

The bouquet of deep red roses rustled gently in Leonard’s grip as he walked down the corridor of Miranda’s luxury apartment. The crisp scent of the florist shop still lingered in the wrapping paper, mingling with the subtle citrusy cologne he wore. He was in a good mood—better than good, even. The kind of mood only a man in love, or something dangerously close to it, could feel.

He had left work early, something rare and nearly unheard of, all because Miranda had texted him that morning saying, "Let’s do something wild tonight. Just us."

Leonard chuckled at the memory. Miranda was chaos in a bottle, and somehow, in those months, he’d convinced himself that her chaos was the kind he needed.

He stopped in front of her door, shifted the bouquet to one hand, and rang the doorbell.

No response.

He waited. Five seconds. Ten.

He rang again.

Still nothing.

A small frown tugged at the corners of his lips. Odd. Miranda wasn’t the kind of woman who left plans hanging.

He pulled out his phone, dialed her number. Straight to voicemail. He tried again. Same result.

Leonard’s brows furrowed. Anxious thoughts fluttered through his mind—was she okay? Had something happened? He glanced at the bouquet, then back at the keypad by the door.

He hesitated only a second before reaching for it. He knew the code. She’d given it to him casually, weeks ago, saying something like, "In case you want to sneak in and surprise me." The irony wasn’t lost on him now.

He typed the numbers in, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open slowly.

The apartment was dimly lit, the curtains drawn. Soft music floated from the speakers in the living room, something jazzy and slow. A jacket—definitely a man’s—was draped over the arm of the couch.

That was the first red flag.

Leonard stepped inside, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. "Miranda?" he called out.

No answer.

Then he heard it.

Laughter.

A man’s voice.

And hers.

Leonard’s gut twisted. His hands tightened around the bouquet. Slowly, as if sleepwalking toward a nightmare, he turned the corner into the bedroom.

What he saw made the blood in his veins freeze.

Miranda was on the bed, straddling a shirtless man, her blouse undone, hair messy, her mouth on his. The man’s hands roamed her bare back, and they were so deep into their moment that they didn’t even notice the man standing frozen in the doorway.

Leonard’s mind went blank for a beat. Then it flooded with noise. A rush of disbelief, fury, nausea, humiliation.

"Miranda."

His voice cracked like thunder across the room.

Miranda jerked back from the man, her eyes widening as she turned toward the door. She didn’t scream. She didn’t flinch. Her expression was... pretty much calm. Almost bored.

The man beneath her looked toward Leonard and chuckled, shameless. "Well. This the mam you told me about?"

Leonard took a slow step forward, bouquet still clutched like a foolish symbol of something now meaningless.

"What the hell is this?" His voice was low, tight, dangerously calm.

Miranda stood up slowly, buttoning her blouse without any urgency. "It’s exactly what it looks like," she said flatly. "Don’t be dramatic."

Leonard’s gaze flicked between her and the man, who remained lounging on the bed, arms behind his head like he owned the place. "You knew I was coming."

"I didn’t ask you to."

"You texted me this morning."

"And then I changed my mind," she said with a shrug, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "But your kind of love, Leonard... it’s never spontaneous. It’s calculated. Expected. You weren’t even fun anymore."

Leonard’s heart hammered in his chest. "So this is your way of entertaining yourself?"

"This is my way of living, Leonard," she snapped, eyes flashing. "You stopped being exciting. All that brooding and guilt and pretending to love me."

The man on the bed laughed again. "Man, she said you’d get this serious. Thought she was exaggerating."

Leonard’s jaw tightened. "You don’t get to speak."

The man stood, cracking his neck and puffing his chest slightly. "Or what? You gonna cry in your fancy shoes?"

That was it.

Leonard dropped the bouquet without a word, took two long strides, and drove his fist into the man’s jaw.

The crack echoed in the room. The man stumbled back with a grunt, hitting the edge of the bed.

"Leonard!" Miranda shouted.

Leonard’s breathing was ragged. His knuckles ached, but the rage in him didn’t settle. He turned to Miranda, eyes burning. "You used me. Played with me. Humiliated me."

Miranda crossed her arms, clearly trying to reassert some power. "You weren’t exactly innocent, Leonard. You had a wife while you were in my bed."

"And I destroyed my marriage for you." His voice was raw now, throat tight. "And what did I get in return? A knife in the back."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You destroyed your marriage the second you looked at me with that look. Don’t blame me for your guilt."

Leonard stared at her for a long moment. His face was pale, his jaw clenched. Then, slowly, he backed toward the door.

He looked down once at the bouquet of roses, now lying on the floor like something dead.

He didn’t pick them up.

Without another word, he walked out.

The door slammed behind him, and the echo chased him down the hallway, down the elevator, down into the weight pressing against his chest.

He drove without knowing where he was going. His hands gripped the wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

And then it hit him, sharp and cold and relentless.

Is this what Katherine felt?

The betrayal. The rage. The humiliation of walking in and seeing the one you trusted lose themselves in someone else’s arms. The absolute breakdown of your world in a single, burning image.

He had done this to her.

And now, he knew what it was like.

A taste of his own poison—and it was bitter as hell.