The "Dying Wife" He Abandoned: Too Late to Regret

By the time I returned to our penthouse in the Triharbor District, it was already eight in the evening.

Ethan was sitting on the leather sofa in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

On the coffee table lay the check I had applied for earlier. It was the surgical deposit the doctor had recommended, two hundred thousand dollars.

For our current level of family wealth, it was not an amount we couldn't afford.

"Chloe, I can't sign this check." Ethan slid it back toward me, his brows drawn tight. "It's just a deposit, but the follow-up costs are unpredictable. You studied finance. You understand sunk cost. The company's cash flow is tight right now. Every dollar has to be used where it counts."

I stared at that thin slip of paper, and the last trace of hope inside me went out completely.

"Then I won't treat it," I said evenly, following his lead. "But I'd like to keep the money. Maybe I'll use it to travel."

Ethan's expression softened.

He stood and walked over to me, his tone turning gentle.

"That's my good wife. Instead of suffering on an operating table, you should enjoy the time you have left. Next week, we'll go to a private island in Suncrest Cay. Just the two of us."

Three days later, on the morning we were supposed to leave, I had already packed my suitcase.

That was when Ethan took a call.

After hanging up, he turned to me with a grave expression. "The SEC just announced a surprise audit. I have to go to the company immediately. I might need to stay there for a few days. You go ahead to the airport. I'll take the private jet over as soon as I'm done."

His performance was flawless, urgency layered with just the right touch of guilt.

"It's fine. Work comes first." I straightened his tie for him and watched him hurry out the door.

The moment the elevator doors closed, I took out my phone.

I opened the "Find My Phone" app.

Ethan's location wasn't moving toward Gilded Row.

The red dot drifted west and finally stopped at a familiar place, Ivory House Club.

It was one of Crownport's most exclusive private clubs.

I didn't go to the airport. I took a cab to Ivory House Club instead.

When I pushed open the heavy oak door of the VIP lounge, an auction was already underway.

The air was thick with expensive perfume and cigar smoke.

Ethan was seated in the front row, his special assistant Bella nestled in his arms.

Bella wore a backless red gown and excitedly pointed at a pink diamond displayed on stage.

"Three million dollars!" Ethan raised his paddle, his voice loud and extravagant.

Thunderous applause filled the room as the auctioneer's gavel came down hard.

I stood at the doorway, watching the scene unfold.

Two hundred thousand dollars for my life was a sunk cost to him. Three million dollars for a diamond was a bargain.

I walked straight in.

My heels made no sound against the carpet. I didn't stop until I stood directly in front of them, blocking their view of the diamond.

Bella froze for a second, then let out a sharp scream and shrank into Ethan's arms.

Ethan jerked his head up.

For a split second, panic flashed across his face. Then it hardened into anger.

"What are you doing here?" He lowered his voice into a harsh whisper, trying to rise and shield himself from the curious eyes behind him. "You're supposed to be on the plane."

"So this is where the SEC is conducting its audit?" I looked at him and pointed toward the pink diamond on stage. "Or is that diamond part of the IPO strategy too?"

Ethan's face turned ashen.

Whispers began to ripple through the room. The stares pressed into his back like needles.

"Don't make a scene, Chloe," he said through clenched teeth. "Bella is just here with me to entertain clients. You're dying. Do you really have to nitpick everything?"

"I asked for two hundred thousand dollars for surgery and you said cash flow was tight. Now you're throwing 3 million dollars at a rock. Suddenly you're generous."

As soon as I finished speaking, a few of Bella's socialite friends covered their mouths and laughed.

"So this is the wife with brain cancer," one of them said loudly enough to be heard. "Bad luck just looking at her. A real dead woman walking. No wonder Ethan wants nothing to do with her."

Ethan couldn't bear the humiliation.

Seeing Bella startled only pushed him further over the edge.

He grabbed a glass of red wine from the table and flicked his wrist, splashing it straight across my face.

The liquid hit with a sharp sound.

Dark red wine ran down my hair and cheeks, soaking into my ivory trench coat.

It was cold as it slid beneath my collar, sending a shiver through me.

"Wake up!" Ethan pointed at me, his voice devoid of remorse. "You're dying. What good is money to you? Are you taking it into the coffin? Bella is young. She has a long future with me. She deserves that diamond."

The VIP lounge fell into a deathly silence.

I stood there, wine dripping from my face.

That single glass extinguished the last shred of marital affection I had for him.

I lifted my hand and wiped my face.

My gaze moved past Ethan to Bella, still shaken, then to the glittering pink diamond on stage.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

"Ethan," I said, meeting his eyes, my voice steady and cold, "I hope those 3 million dollars were worth it."