Too Late For Regret: The Surgeon Heiress

Chapter 3

Word Count: 733 | Released on: Today at 10:04

but resolutely through the heavy glass

oved perfectly with her measured strides. Her sleek, flat loafers mov

out the large leather chair at the head of the long mahogany

ant, Marcus, were already sitting

nsive suit and the rigid, almost unnatural perfection of her posture.

is arms over his chest. He was waiting

hrob at the base of her spine, she opened her slim lea

it hard. The paper slid across the smooth, polishe

the sliding document with his hand and

scanned the text. It was a formal declaration

'Alimony Settlement'. The number print

s the table at her. He was absolutely cert

chological games," Courtland s

c fountain pen. She uncapped it, leaned forward carefully, and signed

e table. She tapped her index finger o

o sorrow, no lingering attachment. His chest suddenly fe

comfortable irritation washed over him. Th

Sir," Marcus whispered, his voice low. "Legally,

the pen off the table. He pressed the nib down ha

d. He pulled the document away from Court

nts. She reached down and buttoned the center

tood up. He reached into the inside pocket of

onto the wooden table. The number wr

e was loud, dripping with condescending pi

her head and looked down at the rectang

x and middle fingers to pinch the edge

nt, arrogant smile. He was sure she had fi

bbed the other side with her left hand and ri

her fingers. They fluttered down and landed

hed instantly. His skin flushed dar

e same measured, rigid grace without looking back, leaving Courtla

Chapter End

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Too Late For Regret: The Surgeon Heiress

Tango Modern

“On our third wedding anniversary, I waited in our empty penthouse until twenty minutes past midnight. When the private elevator finally opened, my husband stepped out, followed closely by a younger woman who was practically swallowed by his oversized suit jacket. He coldly announced she was staying the night because her apartment lock was broken. When I calmly pointed out her building had armed security, she immediately dropped to the floor, faking a hysterical panic attack. "Don't touch me! Please, keep her away!" she shrieked. Without a second of hesitation, my husband violently shoved me to protect her. My spine crashed hard into the sharp edge of the marble kitchen island. A blinding, white-hot pain knocked the breath completely out of my lungs. "You are vicious! You have absolutely zero sympathy!" he roared, his eyes full of disgust. But as I gasped for air, I saw the crying woman peek out from behind his broad shoulders. Her lips slowly curled up into a triumphant, mocking smirk. The agonizing pain in my back suddenly faded into absolute, freezing numbness. For three years, I had hidden my true identity to play the gentle, loving wife, only to realize my marriage was a pathetic joke. I pulled off my heavy diamond wedding ring and threw it directly at his feet. "I want a divorce." I walked straight out into the freezing rain, where a massive black Maybach was already waiting. It was time to stop playing house and return to my throne as the billionaire heir of the Stephenson family.”