From Hidden Lover To His Boss: The Billionaire's Ultimate Regret

The sheets were still warm, but the air in the bedroom felt suffocating. Bailey slipped out from under the duvet, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. She didn't bother to cover herself, nor did she look back at the man she was leaving behind. Dorr sat on the edge of the mattress, a dark, brooding silhouette in the dim light, his jaw tight with a silent, simmering fury she didn't care to unpack.

She walked into the en-suite bathroom, shut the door, and turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, the bedroom was empty. The heavy silence was familiar.

For three years, it had always been like this. Three years of locked doors and drawn blinds. Three years of him taking what he wanted and slipping out before midnight, leaving her alone with nothing but the lingering scent of his cologne.

He never stayed the night. Not once.

But today was different. On the rumpled sheets where he had just been sitting, he had left a manila folder. Inside was a transfer agreement signing the luxury penthouse over to her name, along with a cashier's check bearing enough zeros to buy a lifetime of silence. A severance package.

Bailey stared at the check for a long moment. She picked up her phone and dialed her real estate broker.

"It's Bailey," she said when he answered. "I need you to list the penthouse. Sell it fully furnished, as is. I want it off my hands by the end of the week."

She hung up, packed a single suitcase with her essentials, and walked out the door.

An hour later, her taxi idled outside the wrought-iron gates of the Morrow Estate. Rain lashed against the windows, blurring the city lights behind her. Bailey paid the driver, grabbed her bag, and stepped out into the downpour. She didn't buzz the intercom to announce her arrival; she simply swiped her old keycard. The heavy gates groaned open, reluctant to let her back in.

The moment she pushed open the front doors and stepped into the grand foyer, a crystal tumbler shattered against the wall, inches from her head.

Bailey didn't flinch. She looked down at the glittering shards scattered across the marble floor, then slowly lifted her gaze to the mezzanine.

"Where the hell have you been?" Her biological mother,Ilene Morrow demanded, her voice cutting through the quiet of the house like a whip.

Bailey set her suitcase down and unbuttoned her damp coat. "Is that how we greet family now, Ilene? Throwing glassware?"

"Don't you dare use that tone with me." Ilene stormed down the sweeping staircase, the very picture of high-society rage. The second her heels hit the foyer floor, she swung her hand in a vicious arc aimed at Bailey's cheek.

Bailey caught her mother's wrist mid-air. Her grip was tight enough to bruise.

"You didn't raise me," Bailey said, her voice deadpan. "Don't pretend you have the right to discipline me now. It's pathetic."

She shoved Ilene's hand away. The older woman stumbled back, clutching her wrist, her chest heaving in shock at the sheer defiance in her daughter's eyes.

"You disgraceful brat," Ilene spat. "I know exactly where you've been. Playing house as some rich man's kept woman. He's clearly done with you, hasn't he? You've come crawling back because you have nowhere else to go."

Bailey let out a short, dry laugh. "I came back to pack the rest of my things. And honestly? Watching you lose your mind is just a nice bonus."

"Listen to me," Ilene snapped, stepping closer. "Your sister Jordin is finally securing this family's future. Her fiancé is coming for dinner tomorrow to finalize the merger. I will not have you ruining it with your presence."

Bailey picked up her suitcase, bored with the conversation. "Then tell her to keep him out of my way. I'm not interested in Jordin's leftovers."

"Her fiancé is Dorr Randall," Ilene said, dropping the name like a winning hand. "The CEO of the Randall Group. A man you couldn't even dream of touching. If you so much as breathe in his direction, I will cut you off for good."

Bailey froze on the third step.

The name hung in the air. Suddenly, the abrupt breakup, the massive check, and the rushed apartment transfer all made perfect, sickening sense. He was marrying her sister.

A genuine, humorless smile touched her lips.

She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. "Dorr Randall?" she repeated. "It seems the world is smaller than I thought."

"Stay away from him, Bailey," Ilene warned, her eyes narrowing as she sensed a shift she couldn't quite name.

"Don't worry, Mother," Bailey said lightly. "If he's the best Jordin can do, I almost feel sorry for her."

She didn't wait for Ilene's reaction. She just continued up the stairs, her grip tightening on her suitcase handle. The severance check in her purse suddenly felt a lot heavier.