Divorced Wife's Secret Twins: Billionaire's Regret

The Manhattan sky broke open, dumping a torrential, freezing rain over the city. Traffic gridlocked instantly. Horns blared in the gray gloom.

Aubree walked down Fifth Avenue, her cheap black flats splashing through deep puddles.

The administrative manager had threatened her with immediate termination without severance if she didn't hand-deliver the emergency merger contracts to the CEO. They hadn't even given her an umbrella.

She hugged the thick, waterproof document folder tightly against her chest, hunching her shoulders against the biting wind.

The freezing rain soaked through her thin blazer and white blouse, plastering the fabric to her skin. The cold seeped into her bones, making the dull ache in her lower abdomen flare up again.

Twenty minutes later, she pushed through the heavy revolving doors of Le Bernardin.

The warmth of the three-Michelin-star restaurant hit her, but she was shivering too violently to feel it. Water dripped from her hair, pooling on the pristine marble floor.

The maître d' rushed forward, his face twisting in horror at her ruined appearance. "Miss, you cannot be in here-"

"Ell Steele," Aubree interrupted, her teeth chattering so hard the words barely came out.

The manager's face instantly drained of color. He bowed his head and quickly led her down a quiet, carpeted hallway.

He opened the heavy carved wooden door to the VIP dining room.

Soft, golden light spilled out. Ell sat at the table, elegantly slicing a piece of wagyu beef. Across from him sat Brittany, wearing a breathtakingly expensive white silk haute couture gown, laughing at something he said.

Ell looked up. His knife stopped scraping against the porcelain plate.

He took in Aubree's pathetic, drowned-rat appearance. A deep, ugly frown carved into his forehead.

Aubree ignored the intense shivering in her limbs. She walked to the edge of the table and placed the perfectly dry, waterproof folder next to his wine glass.

"The merger documents," she said, her voice completely devoid of inflection.

Brittany's eyes flashed with pure malice. She stood up, pretending to reach for the folder.

As she leaned over the table, her heel intentionally twisted.

Brittany's hand knocked violently into her crystal glass. The deep red Domaine de la Romanée-Conti flew through the air in a violent arc, splashing directly toward Aubree.

Aubree flinched backward, but she wasn't fast enough.

The dark red wine hit her chest, soaking into her wet white blouse. It looked like a massive, bleeding wound spreading across her heart.

"Oh my god!" Brittany shrieked, throwing her hands over her mouth. She collapsed back into her chair, panting as if she had just survived an attack.

Ell threw his napkin onto the table and stood up immediately. He walked around the table and placed a hand on Brittany's shoulder, his eyes scanning her for injuries. He didn't even glance at the wine dripping from Aubree's chin.

Brittany pointed a shaking finger at the tiny drop of wine that had splashed onto the hem of her white dress.

"Ell, she bumped the table on purpose!" Brittany cried.

Aubree stood frozen. The freezing rain on her skin mixed with the sticky, warm wine. She looked at Ell. She didn't even have the energy to open her mouth to defend herself.

Ell finally turned to look at Aubree. His eyes were like chips of dirty ice.

"Apologize to her. Now."

Aubree stared at the man who was legally her husband.

Inside her chest, the very last ember of feeling she had for him hissed and died.

She didn't feel angry. She didn't feel wronged. She felt absolutely nothing.

"There are cameras in the corners of this room," Aubree said, her voice a flat, dead monotone.

Ell didn't even look up at the ceiling. "I don't care about the cameras. That dress is worth one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. I am deducting it from your salary."

Aubree looked at him. A slow, incredibly dark smile spread across her face.

She reached into her soaked pocket and pulled out a crumpled, wet twenty-dollar bill. She dropped it onto the white tablecloth.

"That's for the dry cleaning," Aubree said, her voice dripping with absolute contempt. She looked directly at Brittany. "And you'd better make sure you have the real receipts for that dress. It would be a massive, humiliating scandal if the PR Director of the Steele Group was caught wearing a cheap fake just to impress the boss."

Brittany's face turned a violent shade of purple. She lunged forward, her hand raised to slap Aubree.

Ell caught Brittany's wrist, stopping her.

He looked at Aubree. The dead, empty look in her eyes sent a sudden, uncontrollable spike of irritation straight into his bloodstream. It felt like an itch he couldn't scratch.

He pointed at the door. "Get out."

Aubree didn't hesitate. She turned her back on him, keeping her spine perfectly straight, and walked out of the room.

Back out in the freezing rain, she flagged down a yellow cab.

She sank into the cracked leather seat, shivering violently. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to her lawyer.

Speed up the divorce. I want it done.

Back in the warm VIP room, Ell stared at the wet twenty-dollar bill on the table. A dark, heavy cloud settled over his chest. Suddenly, the wagyu beef tasted like ash in his mouth.