After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets

Chapter 2 2

Word Count: 876 | Released on: 27/01/2026

th a soft, cheerful chime that sounded

his footsteps on the floor. Jere stepped into the dark penthouse, the rustle of fabric tel

ld. He paused near the doorway. He must have smelled the faint, lingering scent of antiseptic from

sat on the edge. Deliah could feel the heat radiating from him,

her shoulder. His hand

d before her mind could stop it, jerking a

nd hovering in the

he smell of a conference room, stale coffee, or the crisp scent of his usual cologne. It was sweet. Sic

d nose, or perhaps it was just the association that made it repulsive, but

ndaged hand in the folds of the fabric. The darkness hid her f

ced. It was the voice he used for shareholders. "It was

hadn't seen the photo, she would have believed him. She would ha

or him, a way to seek intimacy to assuage his

lips landed awkwardly on her cheek.

ion seeping into his tone

iet, almost a whisper. "

effortlessly. "We

r throat, burning and acidi

a slight pause in his breathing. He hadn't expected her to notice. He hadn't bothered to chec

through the sheer curtains. He noticed the white

into that register of concern that used to

s nothing. Just a broken glass." She paused, letting the silence st

e f

n realizing he had made a tactical error. Their third wedding anniversary had been two days ago. He had mis

sharply. "Deliah, I'm sorry. With the m

days," Deliah said, her voice trembli

ay coming up in a few weeks, or perhaps hers. He didn't rea

an unreasonable child. "I'll make it up to you. I b

back to him. She stared at the wal

ough explaining. He stood up and walked to the bathroom. A moment later, she heard the sh

for the first time in three years, she didn't feel t

Chapter End

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After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets

Bing Daner Modern

“I sat alone at my long marble dining table, staring at a plate of cold truffle risotto. My husband, Jere, was late again, claiming he was stuck in a "war zone" of a board meeting for a multi-billion dollar merger. A single Instagram notification shattered the silence. It was a photo of a candlelit birthday dinner, featuring a man's hand resting on a white tablecloth. I recognized the slight veins, the jagged scar on the thumb, and the navy-faced Patek Philippe watch I had spent six months tracking down as a wedding gift. Jere wasn't in a boardroom; he was celebrating his ex-girlfriend Irina's birthday while texting me to "don't wait up." The next morning, I followed him to a VIP hospital wing. I watched through a cracked door as my husband cuddled a five-year-old boy and whispered tender promises to Irina. When he came home, he tried to buy my silence with a rare pink diamond bracelet, but I found the receipt: he had bought two identical ones. He had branded his wife and his mistress with matching jewelry, using hidden trackers to keep us both on a leash. When I confronted him, he didn't flinch. He coldly reminded me that he owned my father's massive debts and could send him to prison for insolvency fraud with one phone call. "Stop with the attitude, Deliah," he said. I felt like a ghost haunting my own life, trapped in a gilded cage by the man who paid for my mother's heart surgery while keeping a secret family across town. The humiliation peaked at our rescheduled anniversary dinner when Jere received a text, threw a stack of hundreds at me like I was a stranger, and abandoned me in a crowded restaurant to rush back to her. "Pay the bill," he commanded before walking out. Standing in the wreckage of a shattered crystal vase back at the penthouse, I realized my silence was the only thing keeping his empire standing. I pulled the crumpled divorce papers from my purse and signed my name with a steady hand. I wasn't just walking away; I was calling his sister to help me burn his perfect world to the ground.”