After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets

Chapter 6 6

Word Count: 597 | Released on: 27/01/2026

arlier that day. He was younger than she expected, sharp-eyed

t it's legally binding once signed a

he envelope and slid it into her ov

quiet elegance, the view of Central Park breathtaking. The Maitre

nd. For a split second, Deliah felt a pang of guilt. What if she was wrong? What if the second bracele

rs. The conversation

lit up on the tab

r drained from his face. His e

knocking his napkin to

ip was desperate. "Jere, sit dow

"It's an emergency, Deliah. Security breach a

k like a man worried about servers. He

he hissed, "o

ely devoid of affection. "Don't threaten me, De

stack of hundred-dollar bills onto th

bill,"

fast, weaving through the

table was deafening. She felt the eyes of the other diners on her-pity

dly she couldn't coordinate her movements. She

the clutch o

n. The contents spilled onto the plush carpet.

lack letters at the top of the document wer

immediately. "Let m

urging through her veins. If the pr

n on the text just as th

ped, her voice too loud

startled, hands raise

back into the envelope an

ing against her ribs

the table-she didn't

into the rainy New York night,

ed a yellow cab, oblivious 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.”