The Billionaire's Regret: Too Late to Love
He betrayed his wife.
He buried her memory.
And he never knew she carried his sons.
Allen Hale had everything-power, wealth, and a woman who loved him without conditions. Until he chose another woman and signed away his marriage without regret.
Mia Hale vanished the night their divorce was finalized. The world said she died. Allen believed it-and moved on.
But Mia lived.
Reborn as Iris Morris, the sole heiress of a legendary billionaire dynasty, she returns years later with unimaginable power... and two twin boys Allen never knew existed. Boys with their eyes. His blood. His past.
As Iris quietly dismantles Allen's empire, he's forced to face the truth: the woman he destroyed is the one holding his future-and the sons he never deserved.
Now regret is no longer a feeling.
It's a reckoning.
Mia must decide if the man who broke her heart deserves a place in her sons' lives... or if some betrayals come with no second chances.
Because some loves are realized too late- and some regrets last forever.
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Chapter 2
Mia got home before Allen.
That alone felt wrong.
The apartment lights were off when she stepped inside, the city's glow slipping through the windows in thin, indifferent lines. She didn't turn anything on right away. Just stood there, keys still in her hand, listening to the quiet settle around her like dust.
She kicked off her heels near the door. One tipped over, the sound sharp in the stillness. She flinched at it. Funny-she hadn't flinched at seeing him with her.
Her purse went on the counter. Slowly. Carefully. Like if she moved too fast, something might break that was already cracked.
She walked into the living room, touching nothing. The couch where they'd once fallen asleep together during late movies. The coffee table Allen insisted stay clear of clutter. The framed photo on the shelf-five years ago, a gala, his arm firm around her waist, her smile unguarded.
She turned the frame face down.
Not angrily. Just... decisively.
The gift came next.
She opened the closet and pulled it from its hiding place, still wrapped, the ribbon perfectly tied. She stood there a long moment with it in her hands, fingers tightening around the edges of the box.
She imagined his face again. The surprise. The gratitude she'd rehearsed in her head.
Then she slid the gift back onto the shelf and closed the door.
In the kitchen, the candles were still where she'd left them. Unburned. She blew them out anyway. The wine bottle stood unopened, quiet accusation.
She poured herself a glass of water instead. Drank half of it in one go. The rest sat forgotten as she leaned against the counter, staring at nothing.
Time passed strangely after that.
She sat. She stood. She wandered from room to room, touching the life they'd built like she was already preparing to leave it. She checked her phone more than she wanted to admit.
No messages.
At some point, she curled up on the edge of the bed, still in her dress, knees drawn to her chest. The fabric felt too delicate now. Like a costume from another life.
Her breathing was shallow. She focused on it. In. Out. Again.
He'll come home, she told herself.
He'll have an explanation.
The words sounded tired even to her.
The lock clicked sometime after ten.
She didn't move.
Allen's footsteps were familiar-measured, unhurried. The sound of his keys hitting the bowl by the door. His jacket being shrugged off.
"Mia?" he called.
She answered after a beat. "I'm here."
He appeared in the doorway, loosening his cufflinks. He looked... fine. Normal. Not a man who had just undone five years with a single evening.
"You didn't go to bed," he said.
She watched him. The way his gaze skimmed over her, not quite landing. The faint scent clinging to him-something floral, layered over his cologne.
"I was waiting," she said.
"For me?"
"For tonight."
Something flickered across his face. Not guilt. More like irritation-softened, but there.
"Yeah," he said. "Sorry. It ran late."
She nodded.
He stepped closer, pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Habitual. Absent. His lips barely touched her skin.
Her body didn't lean into it the way it used to.
He didn't notice.
"You eat?" he asked, already moving toward the closet.
"No."
He paused. Half-turned. "You should."
She almost laughed. The sound got stuck in her throat instead.
He changed out of his clothes methodically. Shirt folded. Watch placed carefully on the dresser. He checked his phone twice, thumb moving fast.
She sat on the bed, hands folded in her lap, watching the distance between them grow without either of them stepping away.
"Did you forget what today was?" she asked.
He stilled.
Just for a second.
"No," he said. "Of course not."
She waited.
He didn't add anything.
"Then what happened?" Her voice was calm. Too calm.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Work happened. Things come up, Mia. You know that."
"Tonight?" she asked.
He met her eyes then. Really met them. Something sharp moved behind his.
"I said I was busy."
She held his gaze. "Did you go to dinner?"
Another pause.
"Yes."
There it was.
She nodded once. Small. Controlled.
"Where?"
He frowned slightly. "Why does it matter?"
Because I saw you. Because I heard you laugh. Because she touched you like I used to.
Instead, she said, "I made a reservation."
He looked around, as if noticing the absence of evidence for the first time. The empty space. The quiet.
"Oh," he said. "I didn't realize."
That hurt more than she expected.
"I went anyway," she said.
"Did you?" He sounded surprised. Almost impressed.
"Yes."
"How was it?"
She swallowed. "Nice."
He accepted that. Just like he'd accepted everything else she'd let slide over the years.
He climbed into bed beside her, already reaching for sleep. Turned his back without thinking.
The space between them felt vast.
"Mia," he murmured, voice already heavy. "We'll do something this weekend."
She stared at the wall.
"I won't be free," she said.
He didn't ask why.
His breathing evened out quickly. He always slept well.
She lay there long after, listening. The rhythm of his breaths. The city beyond the glass. Her own heartbeat, loud and insistent.
Carefully, she slid out of bed.
In the bathroom, she washed her face, watching herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked darker. Older. Like they'd learned something they couldn't unlearn.
She reached for her wedding ring.
Twisted it once. Twice.
It caught on her knuckle as she pulled it off. The sting was brief but sharp. She welcomed it.
She placed the ring on the counter, right beside his watch.
Then she opened her phone.
A new note. Blank.
Her fingers hovered.
Finally, she typed a single line:
Things I need to know.
She stared at it for a long time.
From the bedroom, Allen shifted in his sleep. Mumbled something unintelligible.
She didn't go back.
Instead, she scheduled an appointment.
Just to be sure.
When she finally lay down again, she faced the edge of the bed, back to him, knees tucked close.
Her hand rested there without thought. Low. Protective.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in five years, she let herself imagine a future that didn't include him.
It terrified her.
It steadied her.
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7.1
Princess Aurelia Blackwood has spent her entire life learning how to obey.
As the sole heir to a modern royal dynasty, her future has already been written, strategic alliances, a public marriage, and a crown that allows no room for personal desire. Love is a luxury she was never meant to claim.
Everything changes the day she meets Dr. Elara Voss, the academy's newest senior lecturer.
Calm, brilliant, and devastatingly attractive, Elara represents everything Aurelia should avoid. Their connection is immediate, unsettling, and impossible to ignore. What begins as restrained conversation and stolen glances soon deepens into something far more dangerous, an emotional bond that threatens duty, reputation, and the crown itself.
The age gap, the hierarchy, and the rules of the monarchy stand firmly between them. When their forbidden relationship is exposed, Aurelia is forced to choose between the life she was born to live and the woman she was never meant to love.
Because some hearts are not meant to be ruled.
Some crowns are meant to be rewritten.
And some love stories are worth breaking tradition for.
7.5
To save my dying father, I made a deal with the billionaire Christopher Kirkland. I became his secret, a bird in a gilded cage he paraded around when it suited him.
But I was just a pawn in his twisted game to win back his ex-girlfriend.
He proved it when he publicly outbid me for my own mother's heirloom necklace, only to gift it to her right in front of me.
Then he threw me out of the penthouse. My few cherished belongings-my books, a photo of my parents-were tossed out.
"Chaney doesn't like clutter," he told me, erasing my entire existence for her.
A text on his phone confirmed the brutal truth.
"Our little game is working perfectly," she'd written. "She's completely fooled."
Years later, after she betrayed him and his empire nearly crumbled, he came back begging. He thought he could buy my forgiveness. He was about to learn that my freedom had no price tag.
8.6
I thought I was living the dream as the wife of a billionaire, until my husband came home at 2 A.M. reeking of expensive Scotch and "Midnight Rose"—the signature perfume of his ex-lover, Lucinda. While I spent my nights alone in the nursery with our sick twins, William was out in the city, making it clear to everyone that our marriage was nothing more than a cold, calculated business merger.
When I finally confronted him with the evidence of his infidelity, he didn’t offer an apology. He simply looked at me with disgust and told me I was a "liability" who should stay home and play the part of the perfect mother while he lived his real life with someone else.
The humiliation reached its peak at the hospital when his grandfather suffered a massive heart attack. William showed up with Lucinda on his arm, comforting her in front of the entire Sterling clan while his mother publicly mocked me for being a useless gold-digger. Even after William tried to force himself on me in a drunken rage the night before, he had the audacity to treat his mistress like the grieving wife while I was pushed into the shadows.
I felt something inside me finally snap. The man I loved had turned into a monster who saw me as an acquisition rather than a human being. I was ready to sign the divorce papers and disappear with nothing but my pride, just to escape the suffocating weight of his indifference.
But then, the dying patriarch called me to his bedside and handed me a sword: five percent of the company’s voting shares and a three-month ultimatum. I’m not running away anymore. I’ve decided to stay for ninety days, but not to save a dead marriage. I’m staying to become the one thing William Sterling never saw coming—his most dangerous nightmare.
8.5
After surviving twenty-one years in a brutal orphanage, I finally returned to my billionaire biological family with the silver pocket watch that proved my identity.
But my relatives didn't care about me; they only loved Corie, the fake daughter who had stolen my life after our mothers switched us during a hospital fire.
On my very first day home, the family faced total ruin over a thirty billion dollar debt.
The creditors demanded a Dunlap daughter marry their comatose, vegetative heir to settle the score.
Without a second thought, my grandmother and uncle pointed their fingers at me.
They claimed Corie was too delicate and precious to spend her life nursing a corpse with a heartbeat.
"You're used to hardship and deprivation," my grandmother sneered, demanding I fulfill my so-called family obligation to save them all.
I looked at these strangers who had ignored my existence for two decades, expecting me to sacrifice my future just so a thief could keep enjoying my stolen wealth.
They thought they were tossing an unwanted orphan into a living hell.
But when I saw the medical file of the comatose heir, a cold thrill ran through my veins.
It was Andres Gillespie.
The man who had taken my innocence during a mountain storm four years ago, and the secret father of my hidden twins.
I calmly set down my coffee cup and smiled at my arrogant family.
"I'll do it. I'll marry him."
8.7
My stepmother sold me like a piece of inventory to a man known for breaking people just to plug the financial crater my father left behind. I was delivered to the Morton estate in the middle of a freezing storm, stripped of my phone, and told that if I didn't make myself useful, my senile grandfather would be evicted from his care facility by noon.
The master of the house, Adonis Morton IV, was a monster living in a silent mausoleum, driven to the brink of madness by a sensory condition that turned every sound into a physical assault. When I was forced into his suite to serve him, he didn't see a human being; he saw a source of agony. In a fit of animalistic rage, he pinned me to the wall and nearly strangled me to death just for the sound of a shattering teacup.
I only survived by using my grandfather’s secret herbal blends and pressure-point therapy to force his overactive nervous system into a drugged sleep. But saving him was my greatest mistake. Instead of letting me go, Adonis moved me into a guest suite connected to his own bedroom by a hidden door. He didn't just want me as a servant; he needed me as a human white-noise machine to drown out the demons in his head.
The nightmare deepened when he took the promissory note that defined my freedom and tore it into confetti. By destroying the debt, he destroyed my exit strategy. He replaced my maid’s uniform with a silver silk dress that clung to my skin but did nothing to hide the dark, ugly bruises his fingers had left on my neck. He branded me as his "primary care associate," a title that was nothing more than a gilded cage.
I felt a sickening sense of injustice as he forced me to sign a contract that banned me from contacting other men and required me to sleep wherever he slept. He looked at me with a possessive heat, calling me his "medication" rather than a woman. My family had sold my body, but Adonis Morton was intent on owning my very presence, using my grandfather’s medical bills as a leash to keep me within twenty feet of him at all times.
Standing in a neglected greenhouse with mud staining my expensive silk, I realized I was no longer a victim waiting for rescue. If I was going to be his medication, I would learn how to be his cure—or his undoing. I began clearing the weeds with a cold, calculated frenzy, determined to turn this prison into my laboratory. He thinks he has trapped a helpless girl, but I am going to pry open the cracks in his stone walls until his entire world comes crashing down.
8.2
I was at the peak of my pop music career, breaking box office records while secretly enduring the nightmare of being my Boston family's forced bone marrow donor.
I thought my boyfriend and producer, Caleb, was my only safe haven.
That was until I saw the custom Rolex I bought him on the wrist of his new artist, Isla.
A quick investigation revealed he wasn't just cheating on me; he was siphoning millions from my accounts and forging my signature to steal my luxury endorsements.
To get rid of me without backlash, Caleb leaked a maliciously edited video to TMZ, framing me as a violent psycho.
The hashtag demanding my cancellation trended worldwide within minutes, and my sponsors started dropping me.
At an elite Malibu gala, Caleb paraded Isla around, playing the abused victim and threatening to blacklist me from the industry.
Isla even fake-cried and threw herself to the ground, accusing me of pushing her out of jealousy.
"If you throw a tantrum here, I will make sure you are blacklisted from every studio in this town."
I had given him my heart and my resources, only for him to try and drain me dry before tossing me to the wolves.
Did he really think I was just a fragile pop princess who would cry and beg for mercy?
With the unedited footage handed to me by a terrifying Wall Street billionaire who suddenly took an obsessive interest in me, I put on my blood-red couture gown.
I walked straight into that gala, kicked Caleb into the infinity pool, and threw the felony fraud lawsuit directly at his wet face.