Too Late For His Empty Regret

Audrey POV:

Ethan' s eyes zeroed in on the red seal on the divorce papers. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. He started to reach for them, his hand outstretched.

Kendall gasped dramatically. "Oh, Ethan! My stomach just twisted into knots. I think I pushed myself too hard on that presentation." She clutched her abdomen, her face paling slightly.

Just like that, Ethan' s attention snapped away from me. "Kendall, darling, what's wrong?" He rushed to her side, his arm wrapping around her, his concern absolute. "You need to rest. Audrey, you can leave now. We'll talk later." He dismissed me with a flick of his wrist.

My heart, already a shattered mess, felt another sharp pang. He didn't care. Not about me. He never would again. It was chilling to see how easily he cast me aside.

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I turned to leave, the papers still in my hand.

"Wait!" Kendall called out, her voice suddenly strong, no trace of pain. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped package. It was a tube of cream. "Oh, and Audrey, Ethan asked me to get this for you. It's for your stretch marks. You know, from the baby. We want you to feel your best." She winked, a malicious glint in her eyes. "He said you really need it, especially with how... persistent they are."

My body stiffened. Shame, hot and prickly, spread across my skin, making my stretch marks burn. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on me.

Ethan took the cream from Kendall, his gaze cold as it met mine. "She's right," he said, his voice flat. He thrust the tube into my hand. "You should use this every day, Audrey. For your own good. It helps with the... the aftermath." His eyes flickered down to my stomach, a look of distinct distaste on his face.

It was a cold, calculated stab. The man I loved, the father of my child, was using my postpartum body, the very vessel that carried his son, as a weapon against me. It felt like he had just plunged a knife into my heart and twisted it.

Ethan and Kendall then linked arms, turning their backs on me, heading toward his private elevator. Just as the doors were about to close, I heard Kendall' s voice, clear and sharp.

"Are you sure that cream will work, Ethan? I read it has some pretty nasty side effects if used too often. Like, skin thinning, increased sensitivity… maybe even some scarring." She giggled.

Ethan' s laugh was equally cruel. "Oh, it'll work, Kendall. It'll work just fine. And if it doesn't, well, at least she'll remember who' s in charge. She needs a reminder of her place."

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, the cream tube slipping from my numb fingers. It hit the polished marble with a dull thud. My head swam. My vision blurred. He had meant to hurt me. To actively, maliciously cause me pain. The man I had loved, the man I had married, was truly gone. Replaced by a monster.

Rage, cold and pure, surged through me. I picked up the tube of cream, my hand shaking with fury, and hurled it against the opposite wall. It exploded, a white splatter against the expensive wallpaper.

I somehow made it home, my body a leaden weight. By the time I collapsed onto my bed, a searing fever had set in. My head throbbed, my skin felt raw and inflamed.

The nanny, bless her heart, called Ethan immediately. "Mr. Blake, Mrs. Blake has a high fever. She' s not responding well."

I heard his clipped, impatient reply through the phone, even from my bed. "Just give her some Tylenol, Maria. She's probably just being dramatic. I'm busy. Don't call me again unless it's an emergency." He hung up.

My tears had run dry. There was nothing left but a vast, aching emptiness. I remembered one winter, years ago, when I' d gotten the flu. Ethan had stayed by my side, pressing cool cloths to my forehead, whispering reassurances, his touch a balm. Now, he couldn' t even be bothered.

The fever raged for three days, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare. On the third night, I felt a cool hand on my forehead. Ethan. I cracked open my eyes. He was there, his face etched with concern, his fingers gently massaging my temples.

A wave of relief, fleeting and dangerous, washed over me. Had he come back? Was it all a misunderstanding? My body, aching and exhausted, leaned into his touch.

Then, the cold, slimy sensation of the cream on my skin. He was rubbing it onto my stomach, his touch rougher than before. "Kendall found this special kind," he murmured, his voice dripping with an artificial sweetness. "She said it's much stronger. Will clear up those ugly marks right away."

His smile didn't reach his eyes. There was a cold, calculating glint there, a flash of something akin to disgust. He hated me. He truly hated me. My stomach churned.

I slapped his hand away, my strength surprising even myself. "Get out!" I rasped, my voice hoarse from fever.

His face hardened instantly. "Audrey, stop being childish," he said, his tone devoid of warmth. "Maria, get her dressed. She's coming with me to Kendall's celebration tonight."

Maria, the nanny, looked at me, her eyes wide with worry. "But sir, she's still very ill. She's barely conscious."

Ethan scoffed. "She'll be fine. And make sure she wears a mask. I don't want her infecting Kendall. Kendall has a very important presentation tomorrow." He then walked to the bathroom sink and scrubbed his hands raw, as if my touch had left him contaminated.

My body felt like lead, my mind clouded by fever. I was a puppet, limp and unresponsive. Maria helped me into a gown, her hands gentle. I was pushed into the back of Ethan's car, my head lolling against the seat.

We arrived at the glittering gala. The doors opened, and the first thing I heard was Kendall' s triumphant laugh, followed by the murmurs of the crowd.