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The Arrogant Captain's Regret: Chasing My Ex-Wife

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 802    |    Released on: Today at 14:05

Norma

penthouse as I walked off my red-eye flight and pushed open the master bedr

e gowns his PR team had bought to dress me up when needed. Instead, I c

n money and my toiletries, leaving the jewelry boxes beari

resolute face in the mirror and slowly slid the heavy

y side on the cold marble surface, pressing my Bruins s

I passed Jaiden's closed bedroom door, wh

e wood panels. Then I turned away without

off the gilded cage that had trapped me for seven

to a quiet estate in the Boston suburbs-the priv

ass sunroom. Christena sat in a rattan chair, readin

oat latte I had bought o

I'm back," I

her sharp eyes examin

egenerative medicine to play housewife for a hockey play

asic data model on soft-tissue regeneration I had written on the plane last night, and slid it across th

stern expression softened as she picked up

off her glasses

ce open all these years, Emilia. Come back and p

inking back the sud

et business hotel downtown, sat at the desk, and logged i

Norto

ut of the bedroom of my Montreal hotel suite. Candice

as completely blank. There was no customary good-morning text from Emili

to the table. She was obviously throwing a tantrum

and my personal assistant ste

stadium security mentioned that Mrs. Norton ca

silk tie. My brows furrowed s

ely. "With her docile temper, she'l

nd someone to

delivered to the penthouse," I instructed, buttoning my cuffs. "Tha

itated, looking d

orton isn't at the penthouse, and her person

I pinched the bridge of my no

plementary credit cards immediately. Let's see how long

strode out the suite door

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The Arrogant Captain's Regret: Chasing My Ex-Wife
The Arrogant Captain's Regret: Chasing My Ex-Wife
“For seven years, I lived in the shadows as the secret wife of NHL superstar Bryant Norton, sacrificing my brilliant medical career to be a low-paid nutritionist for his team. On our seventh anniversary, I flew in to surprise him with my pregnancy ultrasound, only to find him intimately celebrating with Candice. My six-year-old son threw himself into Candice's arms, wiping cake on her couture dress. "Candice is ten thousand times better than Mom! Make her my real mom!" Instead of scolding him, Bryant smiled indulgently, letting my son call another woman mother. When I went to his office to hand in my resignation, Bryant hurled a heavy metal clipboard in a blind rage, violently striking my pregnant belly. As I collapsed in agonizing pain, he rushed past me to comfort Candice, who had merely stepped on a piece of plastic and faked a twisted ankle. "Stop pretending to be hurt to get my sympathy! Security, throw her out!" He cut off my credit cards, assuming a penniless housewife would crawl back begging in three days. He didn't know that the "genius patents" Candice used to climb into his bed were just discarded drafts I threw in the trash during college. Seven years of silent devotion had been reduced to a pathetic joke. I tore up the ultrasound, signed the divorce papers, and permanently waived all custody rights to my ungrateful son. Then, I logged into the encrypted channel of the world's top bio-lab. It was time for the real genius to take her life back.”