Redesigning His Regret After She Left

"I'm okay. It's nothing. Just didn't sleep well." Celina pressed a hand to her chest and swallowed the unease away.

"Really?" Blake pressed. "Fine. I'll be moving out today. Take your time going over the divorce agreement."

He turned and walked away. His footsteps were steady, confident, disappearing down the hall without a single backward glance.

The apartment was silent again. Celina stared at the divorce agreement. A single tear escaped, then another, falling onto the cold paper and blurring the ink.

She pushed the document away, a wave of nausea rising in her throat. She ran to the bathroom and retched violently into the toilet, her body convulsing with the force of the morning sickness, and the brutal shock of her new reality.

After a while, Celina splashed cold water on her face, staring at the pale, hollow-eyed stranger in the mirror.

"Are you feeling unwell, Ma'am?" Maria, the housekeeper, arrived with a tray in her hands. "Mr. Ingram gave me orders before he left to bring you some hot tea. He thought it might help you feel better."

A flicker of light returned to Celina's eyes. He did care about her. Maybe Blake didn't really not love her, or not value their marriage. It wasn't as hopeless between them as she had imagined.

A glimmer of hope rose in her heart. Maybe she could tell him she was pregnant. Perhaps that could change everything.

But before anything else, she had to find out who that woman was. She had to learn the whole reason behind the divorce.

She walked back to the dining room, where the divorce agreement lay like a verdict. Picking up her phone, she sent Blake a short, direct text.

"I need a real reason."

The reply came after a long wait. "My office. Now."

She dressed carefully, choosing a sharp, tailored suit, applying makeup like a coat of armor. She would not let him see her break. She drove herself to the towering glass skyscraper that housed Ingram Industries.

In his office on the top floor, he was standing with his back to her, a formidable silhouette against the panoramic view of Manhattan.

She didn't waste time with pleasantries. "Is it because of her? The woman who answered your phone."

Blake turned. There was no guilt on his face, only a weary resignation. "Yes and no."

"What does that mean?" she demanded, her voice tight.

He was quiet for a moment, then he said the name. "Estella is back."

Estella Woodward. Celina had chatted with her a couple of times in college. But now the name was a physical blow. Estella was Blake's college sweetheart. The one he never, ever talked about, which somehow made her presence in his past loom even larger. The ghost in their marriage had just walked through the door, and even answered the phone for Blake last night.

A wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped the edge of his massive desk to steady herself. So that's all this was. A placeholder marriage, valid only as long as his true love was away.

"Celina," Blake's voice was laced with a cruel sort of honesty now. "I married you only because your family had done mine a favor. You know I've always thought of you... like a sister."

A sister.

The word was more devastating than any curse. It erased three years of marriage, of shared meals, of sleeping in the same bed. It made their entire life together a lie.

A brittle laugh escaped her lips. "So, your real love is back, and the little sister needs to get out of the way. Is that it?"

He didn't deny it. His silence was a confession.

"Blake, I want to ask you... What if I were pregnant?" Celina said. She wanted so badly to tell him, to watch his face when he heard the news. Maybe then he wouldn't be able to say he thought of her as a sister. She looked forward to the look of surprise on Blake's face, and to hearing him say that he cared about her.

Blake's eyes, however, sharpened instantly, and any remaining softness in his gaze vanished. "Don't tell me you're trying to use a child to save this marriage. Are you actually pregnant?"

"No. I mean, what if."

"The prenuptial agreement is quite clear. "Blake's brow furrowed. "The child will not be 'ours'. It will only be 'mine'. We are over."

Celina froze. Dimly, she recalled the clause in the agreement. Article 9. If the wife becomes pregnant, the husband has the right to demand termination of the pregnancy to avoid complications related to inheritance. If the pregnancy is not terminated according to the husband's wishes, the custody and guardianship of the child will belong solely to Blake Ingram, and the wife forfeits all rights to visitation and contact.

Now it was crystal clear to her. She could not use the child to bind him to her, and she wouldn't let him use it to hold anything over her. If she wanted this baby, if she wanted to be a mother, she had to keep quiet. This was her secret now. Only hers.

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and walked out. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Outside, the noise of the city was a dull roar. She walked aimlessly, her heels clicking on the pavement. She pulled out her phone, scrolling through social media out of a desperate need for distraction.

A new post popped up at the top of her feed. It was from Preston Sinclair IV, one of Blake's oldest friends.

It was a group photo from a party. In the center of the frame, Blake was smiling, his arm wrapped securely around the waist of a stunning blonde woman. The woman was leaning into him, her face alight with a joyful, possessive smile.

Celina recognized her instantly. Estella Woodward.

The caption read: "Welcome back to NYC, Estella!"

The timestamp on the post was from last night. While she was at home, waiting for him, setting a table for two.

His lie about being stuck in traffic, about being tired-it was all to attend a welcome home party for her.

The truth, raw and brutal, crashed down on her, shattering the last of her composure. She leaned against the cold brick of a building, the strength draining from her body.

It was all a sham. From the very beginning. And she was the only one who hadn't known.

With trembling fingers, she unfriended Preston. She left every group chat, every social circle that connected her to Blake. A digital severing.

She looked up at the gray, unforgiving sky. She reached out and touched her abdomen.

From this moment on, she was living for two people. Herself, and the baby Blake would never know about.

She made a silent promise to herself that once she finished her current work project, she would divorce Blake, leave him, and raise the child on her own.

She hailed a cab, giving the driver the address of her private design studio. She needed to work now. She needed to feel like she was more than just a discarded wife.