Too Late For My Ex-Husband's Regret

Aria POV:

The front door keypad beeped sharply just past midnight, shattering the dead silence of suburban Boston townhouse. I gripped my thin cashmere shawl and stood up from the cold leather sofa in the dark living room.

The heavy door swung open, letting in a blast of freezing winter wind that made me shiver. My husband, Brennan Hurley strode inside in his custom black wool coat and slammed his car keys onto the glass coffee table.

The loud crash echoed through the foyer. I ignored my husband's temper and looked past his broad shoulders at the petite figure stepping over the threshold behind him.

His mistress, Brittny Jensen, teetered in on high heels, wearing a thin, skin-tight knit dress that made no sense in a Boston blizzard. She had tugged the neckline low on purpose, showing off the tiny red mole right below her right collarbone.

She flaunted that red mole in my own home like a trophy, showing me exactly what my husband touched.

I clenched my fists at my sides, digging my nails deep into my palms to keep my face blank.

Brennan didn't even glance at me. The NHL All-Star forward turned around, slipped off his heavy coat, and draped it carefully over Brittny's bare shoulders. He wrapped his large, calloused hand - the same hand that held a hockey stick for millions of fans - around her waist.

"Are you cold, baby?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soft murmur.

Brittny leaned into his chest and looked up at me through her gray-blue contacts, her eyes full of smug challenge. She placed both hands over her slightly rounded stomach and let out a weak sigh.

My stomach turned at the sight, but before I could even look away, Brennan finally turned his head toward me.

His pale gray eyes were completely cold, looking down at me like I was trash in my own home. He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of papers, and threw them right at my feet.

The pages scattered across the hardwood floor. The bold black title on the top page - Divorce and PR Remarriage Agreement - stung my eyes.

He shoved one hand into his dress pants pocket. "Sign it. My PR team is announcing it tomorrow morning."

I crouched down and picked up the pages, my fingertips turning white as I gripped the paper. I skimmed the clauses. He wanted me to take the blame for our split so he could marry his pregnant mistress without triggering the morality clause in his franchise contract, and then stage a PR remarriage with me later if the media turned on him.

I looked up and met his gaze directly. "I'll sign the divorce papers. But playing along with a fake remarriage for your PR image? Never."

Brennan let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He stepped closer, his tall athlete's frame towering over me.

"You think you have the right to bargain with me, Aria?" He jabbed a finger hard into my shoulder. "Don't forget, you owe the Hurley family a life."

My throat tightened, and I pressed my lips together hard. Three years ago, his grandfather had pulled me out of a fatal rink-side collapse, and that heavy debt had kept me trapped in this marriage like a prisoner ever since.

Beside him, Brittny let out a soft whimper and grabbed Brennan's arm. Her eyes turned red as tears spilled over her lashes.

"Brennan, please don't fight with Aria because of me," she sobbed. "It's all my fault..."

Brennan immediately covered her hand with his, his expression twisting with disgust as he glared back at me.

"Brittny almost died donating her blood and kidney to save me after my car crash," Brennan said coldly. "Now she's carrying my child. I owe her a proper title."

My eyes dropped to the lower left side of his abdomen. Beneath his expensive shirt lay the faded red scar from a living kidney transplant - the kidney beneath that scar had come from my body. I had never told him the truth.

I took a deep breath, crushing the edge of the divorce agreement in my hand.

"I said I'll divorce you," I repeated, my voice like ice. "Everything else is off the table."