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After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets Novel Cover

After Divorce:My arrogant ex-husband regrets

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.
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Chapter 3

At 2:00 AM, the silence of the bedroom was shattered by a vibration.

Jere's phone, resting on the nightstand, buzzed aggressively against the wood. It wasn't a call; it was a rapid succession of notifications.

Deliah was already awake, though her breathing remained rhythmic and slow. She watched through her eyelashes as Jere woke instantly. There was no grogginess, no confusion. He checked the screen, and his entire body went rigid.

He glanced over at her. Deliah didn't move a muscle. She forced her chest to rise and fall evenly.

Satisfied she was asleep, Jere slid out of bed. He grabbed his clothes from the chair where he had discarded them and dressed in the dark. His movements were urgent, frantic. He didn't even put on socks, just shoved his feet into his loafers.

He left the room quietly. A minute later, Deliah heard the soft click of the front door latching shut.

She opened her eyes. The space beside her was cold.

The next morning, the sky was a bruised purple, heavy with rain. Deliah didn't call the family driver. She took the keys to her old Audi, the one she had kept from before the marriage, and drove herself to New York-Presbyterian Hospital.

Her mother, Eleanor, had a post-op heart checkup at 10:00 AM. It was a routine appointment, but Deliah needed the normalcy. She needed to be a daughter, since she was clearly failing at being a wife.

She sat in the waiting area of the Cardiology department, clutching a paper cup of coffee that had long since gone cold. She felt exhausted, her skin pale and drawn. Every time her phone buzzed, she jumped, but it was never Jere explaining where he had gone.

She walked her mother to the examination room and then stepped out to get some air in the main lobby. As she stood near the glass doors, watching the rain lash against the pavement, a familiar black car pulled up to the VIP entrance.

It was a Maybach. Jere's Maybach.

Deliah frowned. Jere had texted her at 7:00 AM saying he was at the office, dealing with the fallout from the "European negotiations."

Curiosity and a heavy, sinking dread compelled her to move. She stayed back, blending in with a group of visitors carrying balloons.

The car door opened, and Jere stepped out. He was flanked by two large men in suits-bodyguards. Deliah felt a prick of irritation. She wasn't even allowed to have a driver half the time, yet here he was with a full security detail.

He wasn't walking toward the cardiology wing. He was heading toward the Pediatric Wing.

He stopped at a high-end gift shop kiosk in the lobby. Deliah hid behind a large concrete pillar, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.

Jere pointed at something on the top shelf. The clerk pulled down a massive, plush teddy bear. It was ridiculous, the kind of thing you bought for a child to apologize for something huge.

Jere took the bear. His face, usually so guarded and sharp, looked softer. He looked... worried.

A nurse in blue scrubs approached him. She smiled familiarly. "Mr. Bolton, this way. He's asking for you."

He.

Deliah realized with a jolt that Jere was a regular here. The nurse knew him. The security knew him.

She tried to follow him toward the elevators, stepping out from behind the pillar. But as she approached the corridor leading to the VIP elevators, a security guard stepped in her path.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, his voice polite but firm. He held up a hand. "This area is VIP access only. Do you have a pass?"

Deliah looked past him. She saw the elevator doors sliding shut. For a split second, she saw Jere's face through the closing gap. He was looking down at the bear, adjusting its ribbon.

"No," Deliah whispered. "I don't have a pass."

The doors closed, sealing him away in a world she couldn't touch.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. She stumbled back slightly. Her phone rang in her pocket, jarring and loud. It was her mother.

"Deliah? Where did you go? The doctor is ready."

Deliah forced her voice to be steady, though her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the phone. "I'm coming, Mom. I just... I needed some water."

She turned away from the elevators. The text last night hadn't been about business. It had been about a child. The idea took root in her mind, ugly and fast. Jere had a secret family. And he was protecting them with walls she couldn't climb.

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