After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets

Chapter 3 3

Word Count: 775 | Released on: 27/01/2026

e of the bedroom was s

d aggressively against the wood. It wasn't a c

She watched through her eyelashes as Jere woke instantly. There was no grog

idn't move a muscle. She forced

chair where he had discarded them and dressed in the dark. His movements were ur

later, Deliah heard the soft clic

es. The space bes

call the family driver. She took the keys to her old Audi, the one she had kept

as a routine appointment, but Deliah needed the normalcy. She need

fee that had long since gone cold. She felt exhausted, her skin pale and drawn. Every

e air in the main lobby. As she stood near the glass doors, watching the rain

ybach. Jere

AM saying he was at the office, dealing with

ed her to move. She stayed back, blending in

suits-bodyguards. Deliah felt a prick of irritation. She wasn't even allowed

cardiology wing. He was headi

y. Deliah hid behind a large concrete pillar, her he

own a massive, plush teddy bear. It was ridiculous, the kind o

ually so guarded and sharp, look

im. She smiled familiarly. "Mr. Bol

Jere was a regular here. The nurs

om behind the pillar. But as she approached the corridor lead

ite but firm. He held up a hand. "This are

ut. For a split second, she saw Jere's face through the closi

ispered. "I don

ling him away in a wo

umbled back slightly. Her phone rang in her

id you go? The d

ds were shaking so badly she almost dropped the phon

ss. It had been about a child. The idea took root in her mind, ugly and fast. Je

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.”