Too Late For Regret: My Cold Husband's Tears

Chapter 3 No.3

Word Count: 811 | Released on: 02/02/2026

y. The overhead track lighting dimmed, plunging the room into a moody twilight. A single, harsh spotl

one announced, her voice trembling with t

It pooled on the flo

sucked the oxyge

standing by a window, half-naked. The play of light and shadow was m

scar ran across the

e knew that scar. She had traced it with her fingertips in the dark. She had kiss

splay for three hund

eilly?" a man whisper

true then," a

hem was sharp. It was a power move. She was telling the world she knew Easton intima

o the podium. "Opening bid

eternal. This wasn't about money. It was about control. Using her traceable trust fund was a fool's move. But moving millions from her anonymous crypt

d. Her voice shook, but it was audibl

d. The room

hest. "Oh, Frederica. You want

nd!" a voice called from the b

s bleeding money from an account that would be scrutinized in t

alms were sweating. She was up to half a million dollars. She

ng tedious," a

bidder. It

onto the stage. He simply raised his phone to his ear,

erest in the Sinclair Gallery's parent company. The price is irrelevant. Once the transaction is complete, dissolve the ga

her facade cracking. "It i

the stunned crowd before landing on Frederica. He di

her hand still rai

mped his hand around her wrist. His grip wa

trying to twist her arm aw

low growl near her ear. "What did you think you

or be dragged. He pulled her through the stunned c

trembling Simone, Easto

ding the dissolution," he threw the w

to the cold night air. He shoved her toward the waiting blac

her into the backseat.

rs," he order

The tinted windows rolled up, sealing them

Chapter End

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Too Late For Regret: My Cold Husband's Tears

Yi Ye Billionaires

“I stared at the cold crystal chandelier of our penthouse, my body aching from an act that felt less like love and more like a hostile takeover. After four years of being treated like a piece of furniture, I finally slammed the divorce papers onto the marble island. But Easton Reilly didn't even blink. Instead, he took a frantic call from his ex-girlfriend and walked out on me to go to her, leaving me naked and shivering in our walk-in closet. The humiliation didn't stop there. That night, his mistress unveiled a massive oil painting of Easton's bare, scarred back to a room full of New York's elite, stripping me of my dignity as his wife. When I fled to my childhood home for refuge, I found my mother in a pool of blood after a violent breakdown. My father, concerned only with his company's stock price, refused to call an ambulance and handed me a hush-money check while my mother lay dying. Even my brother-in-law, the man who had traded me to Easton years ago, tried to assault me in the driveway. I felt like I was drowning in plain sight, surrounded by wolves who viewed my life as nothing more than a line on a balance sheet. I hated Easton for his indifference and my father for his cruelty. I was ready to burn my entire world down just to feel the warmth of the fire. "He took the bait," I whispered into my phone, my voice dead calm. "Initiate Plan B." Just as my father prepared to let my mother die, a team of world-class surgeons stormed the hospital, citing a secret clause in my prenup that I had long forgotten. I looked down the sterile hallway and saw the silhouette of the husband I was trying to leave. He hadn't gone to his mistress; he had gone to war for me. The game had officially changed.”