Divorced and Betrayed: The Billionaire's Regret

Chicago in late summer felt like breathing through a wet towel-humid, thick, unrelenting. I'd been here three months, and the city still felt like a stranger wearing a familiar coat. The apartment in Wrigleyville was small: one bedroom, creaky hardwood floors, a kitchenette that smelled faintly of old coffee. But it was mine. No Ethan's name on the lease. No Serena's perfume lingering in the closets. Just me, a growing belly, and two tiny heartbeats that kicked harder every day.

Mornings started early. I'd wake before dawn, hand on my stomach, counting kicks like they were promises. Ava and Noah-they already had names in my head, even if the ultrasound hadn't confirmed genders yet. I talked to them constantly. Told them stories about their grandparents. Sang off-key lullabies my mom used to hum. Promised them a life without lies.

Work kept me sane. I'd turned down Victor Langston's offer after digging deeper into his company's history-turns out the "rival firm" my parents had clashed with before their accident was indeed Langston Tech. No direct proof of foul play, but enough smoke to make me walk away. Instead, I freelanced. Hard. Late nights at the kitchen table, laptop glowing, sketches piling up. A local café chain needed new branding. A nonprofit wanted an app redesign. Small jobs at first-$800 here, $1,200 there-but they added up.

My first real win came in August: a mid-sized hotel group hired me for a full rebrand. Logo, website, marketing collateral. $18,000 upfront. I cried in the bathroom after signing the contract. Not from sadness. From relief. From knowing I could pay rent for six months without touching the emergency fund.

Mia flew in for a weekend. She brought cheap wine (for her), sparkling water (for me), and zero bullshit.

"You look good," she said, eyeing my bump as we sat on the tiny balcony. "Glowy. Pissed off. Hot."

I laughed. "I feel like a whale who's been betrayed by her best friend and husband."

Mia raised her glass. "To whales who build empires."

We talked until 2 a.m. She asked about Ethan. I told her about the blocked numbers, the deleted voicemails, the way my heart still stuttered when unknown calls came through.

"He's trying to reach you," she said. "Saw a headline. Harrington Enterprises stock dipped again. Rumors of internal audit."

I shrugged. "Let it dip."

She studied me. "You're not even a little curious?"

"I'm curious about how much longer I can go without throwing up at 3 a.m. That's my curiosity limit right now."

She hugged me tight before she left. "You're gonna be the best mom. And the hottest single one in Chicago."

"Single?" I raised an eyebrow.

Mia grinned. "For now. But when you're ready... watch out, Windy City."

The first ghost appeared two weeks later.

I was at a coffee shop near my new "office" (a rented co-working desk in River North), finalizing the hotel proposal, when I felt eyes on me. Looked up. Across the street, half-hidden by a parked SUV, Ethan stood. Hood up. Hands in pockets. Staring.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I froze. He didn't move closer. Just watched. Then turned and walked away-slow, shoulders bowed.

I left the coffee shop shaking. Called Mark from the sidewalk.

"He's here. In Chicago."

Mark cursed. "How do you know?"

"Saw him. Outside the café. Didn't approach. Just... watched."

"Stay home. I'll file for a restraining order if he contacts you. But right now, no crime. No threat. Just creepy ex-husband behavior."

I went home. Locked the door. Sat on the floor with my back against it, hands on my belly.

The twins kicked-hard, like they felt my fear.

"I've got you," I whispered. "I've got you."

That night, I couldn't sleep. Every noise made me jump. I ended up on the couch, laptop open, working until dawn. Poured the fear into design-sharp lines, bold colors, nothing soft. Nothing breakable.

The second ghost came quietly.

An email from an unknown sender. Subject: Proof.

Attachment: a single photo. Me, outside my old New York penthouse, the night I left. Wedding ring on the dresser behind me in the open doorway. Ethan's hand reaching for it.

Caption: He still keeps it. Thinks about you every day.

No sender name. No follow-up.

I forwarded it to Mark. He traced it-burner account, untraceable.

"Could be Ethan," he said. "Could be Serena. Could be someone else entirely. But it's harassment. Document everything."

I did. Then I changed my email. My phone number. My habits.

But the ghosts kept whispering.

A week later, flowers arrived at the co-working space. White roses. Same as before. Card: Congratulations on the babies. I hope they look like you. – E

The receptionist handed them over with a smile. I stared at them like they were poison.

I carried them to the trash outside. Dropped them in. Watched petals scatter in the wind.

Back at my desk, I opened a new document.

Voss Designs – Expansion Plan

First line: Hire a junior designer by Q4.

Second line: Secure office space. River North or West Loop.

Third line: Build something unbreakable.

I hit save. Then I opened another file-the evidence drive I'd kept from New York. Emails. Transfers. Offshore accounts. Enough to bury Harrington Enterprises if I ever chose to.

I didn't. Not yet.

But knowing I could?

That was power.

The kind no ghost could touch.