Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Husband
I was twenty-five weeks pregnant, sitting on a cracked plastic chair at the hospital, when my billionaire husband looked me right in the eye and called me "it."
Ellsworth didn't recognize his own wife in my tight coat and swollen ankles; he was too busy shielding his mistress, Jolie, from the "messy cleaning lady" in the hallway.
"Just ignore it," he told his assistant as I struggled to stand. "Close the doors. We’re running late for the gala."
He left me there with a high-risk pregnancy diagnosis and a prescription I couldn't afford, while he drove off in a Maybach with a woman who had meticulously stolen my entire identity.
When I returned to our cold mansion, the nightmare continued. His grandmother treated me like a breeding animal, and the housekeeper tried to starve me because Ellsworth said my weight gain was "embarrassing" to the family name.
I soon realized the sick truth: Jolie wasn't just his lover; she was a mimic, wearing my old clothes and using my old hair tutorials to play the role of the woman I was before the Banks family broke me.
How could a man who once promised to love me now treat me like a stain on his perfect life? Why was he keeping me trapped in a guest room while parading a fake version of me around the city?
They thought I was a broken, penniless ghost with nowhere to go, but they forgot I was once the sharpest financial mind of my generation.
While Ellsworth was busy playing house with a replica, I was secretly accepting a fully funded PhD and auditing his illegal shell companies from the shadows of his own home.
He thinks he can keep me trapped in this marriage just to secure his trust fund. He has no idea that I’m not just leaving—I’m going to burn his empire to the ground before the baby is even born.
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Chapter 2
When Cressie walked in, the Grand Dame, Beatrice Banks, was holding court in the solarium. She sat in a high-backed velvet chair, a cup of bone china tea balanced precariously in her hand. She looked like a hawk perched on a branch, waiting for a field mouse to make a mistake.
Cressie tried to walk past the doorway quietly, but her shoes squeaked on the parquet.
"You're late," Beatrice said without turning her head.
Cressie stopped. She took a breath, steeling herself. "The doctor kept me waiting."
Beatrice turned then. Her eyes scanned Cressie with the same clinical detachment Ellsworth had shown. "You look dreadful. Have you been eating that salty rubbish again? Your face is puffy."
Cressie didn't defend herself. It was preeclampsia, not salt, but Beatrice didn't believe in medical conditions that marred the aesthetic of the family.
Cressie walked into the room and placed the folded ultrasound report on the tea table. "It's a girl," she said softly.
Beatrice's hand froze halfway to her mouth. The tea in the cup rippled.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a slow, terrifying smile spread across the old woman's face. She set the cup down with a clatter.
"A girl," Beatrice breathed. "Finally. The curse is broken. Three generations of boys, and finally a girl."
She stood up, ignoring Cressie entirely, and rang the bell for the butler. "Higgins! Get the decorator on the line. We need the nursery done in pink. Pale pink, not that garish bubblegum shade. And get the family lawyer. We need to update the trust."
Cressie stood there, invisible again. She was just the vessel. The packaging for the gift.
"I'm going to my room," Cressie said.
Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. "Go, go. Rest. We can't have you looking like a drowned rat for the christening photos."
Cressie climbed the stairs, her legs burning. She made it to her room-the guest room she had been subtly migrated to over the last month-and closed the door. She leaned her back against it and slid down until she hit the floor.
Her phone buzzed again. She thought it was her father, and a wave of exhaustion hit her. But when she looked at the screen, it was a California number.
She frowned and swiped accept. "Hello?"
"Cressie? Is that you?"
The voice was warm, energetic, and achingly familiar. It was a voice from a life she had buried.
"Professor Mayer?" she whispered.
"Evan. Please, I told you to call me Evan five years ago." There was a rustle of papers on the other end. "Look, I know this is out of the blue. I know you're... married now. But I'm looking at the candidate list for the doctoral program at Stanford, and frankly, it's depressing. None of them have your brain, Cressie. Your thesis on market volatility is still being cited."
Cressie closed her eyes. Tears leaked out, hot and fast. "Professor... that was a long time ago."
"It was three years ago. Your brain didn't atrophy just because you got a ring on your finger. I have a spot. A fully funded PhD spot. It's yours if you want it."
Cressie looked across the room. There was a mirror on the wardrobe door. She saw herself-the swollen face, the dull eyes. She didn't look like a scholar. She looked like a victim.
"I can't," she choked out. "I'm... I'm having a baby."
"So? Bring the baby. We have daycare. We have housing." Evan's voice dropped, becoming serious. "Cressie, are you happy?"
The question hung in the air.
Happy? She was drowning.
Downstairs, she heard the front door slam. Heavy footsteps echoed in the foyer. Ellsworth was home.
Panic spiked in her chest.
"I have to go," Cressie whispered.
"Think about it," Evan urged. "The offer stands until the semester starts."
"I... I accept." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "But I need time. I have... baggage to clear. And I will need resources. Independent resources."
"I can set you up as a consultant for my private research firm," Evan said immediately, matching her sudden shift in tone. "Legitimate income. Safe."
"Do it."
Cressie hung up and deleted the call log immediately. Her heart was racing, but for the first time in months, it wasn't from fear. It was from adrenaline.
The door handle turned.
Cressie scrambled to her feet, wiping her face.
Ellsworth pushed the door open. He didn't knock. He looked tired, his tie loosened, his jacket over his arm. He stopped when he saw her standing by the door.
"Grandmother is screaming about pink paint downstairs," he said, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. "Is it true?"
"Yes," Cressie said. "A girl."
Ellsworth stared at her. His gaze dropped to her stomach, then back to her face. There was a moment-a fleeting second-where he looked like he wanted to say something. To ask how she was.
But then he sniffed the air. He frowned.
"You smell like antiseptic," he said.
"I was at the doctor," Cressie reminded him. "Remember? The elevator?"
Ellsworth's jaw tightened. "Right. The cleaning lady incident." He walked past her to the closet, tossing his jacket on the bed. "Beatrice wants us at the Hamptons tonight for a dinner. Get changed. Wear something... that fits."
As he walked past her, the air shifted. The scent of him hit her.
It wasn't just his cologne. Underneath the sandalwood and musk, there was something floral. Sweet.
It wasn't Chanel No. 5.
Cressie froze. It wasn't Jolie. Or perhaps, it was a different scent Jolie wore for him.
She turned to look at him, her stomach churning. "Ellsworth?"
"What?" He was rummaging through his tie rack.
"Nothing."
She realized then that the rot in their marriage went deeper than a mistress. It was a lifestyle. He didn't just have a lover; he had a separate existence where she didn't exist.
Two hours later, she was sitting in the passenger seat of his Aston Martin. The leather was supple, the engine a low purr.
Cressie tried to stretch her legs. Her ankles were throbbing. She reached for the seat adjustment controls on the side.
The seat slid back. Way back.
It stopped at a setting that was tailored for someone with legs much longer than hers. Someone tall. Like Jolie.
Cressie stared at the dashboard. She pressed the button to move it forward.
"Stop fidgeting," Ellsworth snapped, his eyes on the road.
"The seat was moved," Cressie said quietly.
"The valets move it," he lied. He didn't even blink.
Cressie looked at the infotainment screen. The Bluetooth connection history was open.
Jolie's iPhone connected.
October 14, 11:42 PM.
Cressie felt cold. October 14th. The night he claimed he was in London for the merger talks. He hadn't been in London. He had been here, in this car, with her.
She looked out the window as the city lights blurred into streaks of red and gold. She placed a hand over her belly.
I accept, she thought, repeating Evan's offer in her mind like a mantra. I accept. I accept.
---
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8.9
I was tossed into a dark alley like rotting garbage, bleeding and grieving the child I had just lost.
When I was finally brought back to my fiancé Angelo's penthouse, instead of comfort, I was met with absolute disgust.
His family declared me "unclean" after the kidnapping. Angelo coldly announced he was burying the scandal by marrying my sweet, innocent cousin, Carissa.
When we were alone, Carissa stood over my bed, her voice dripping with venomous delight.
"My father arranged the kidnapping. And now, Angelo and I can finally be together."
Before I could react, she forced a silver letter opener into my hand, deliberately stabbed her own shoulder, and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Angelo stormed in, struck me across the face, and gathered a sobbing Carissa into his arms, looking at me with absolute revulsion.
The family matriarch appeared at the door, her cold eyes sweeping over the scene before she gave a chilling order to the maids.
"Clean this up."
They pinned me down and brutally drove the blade directly into my chest.
I choked on my own blood, staring at the man who had promised me the world as he turned his back, calling my murder a "mercy."
As my heart beat its final agonizing rhythm, I made a silent vow to the shadows that if there was a next life, I would have my vendetta.
When I opened my eyes again, there was no blood, only the soft silk of my nightgown.
I had returned to the day before my eighteenth birthday.
This time, I wouldn't play the desperate victim. I was going to ally with the Devil of Chicago and burn them all to the ground.
8.2
In a kingdom ruled by shadow magic, elemental fire wielders were slaughtered decades ago after a devastating rebellion.
Christabel is the last surviving Flamebound.
Prince William is the heir to the throne that ordered her people's execution.
When an ancient magic awakens one older than both flame and shadow they are forced into an alliance that neither of them wants.
But their powers react when they touch.
And prophecy whispers that only together can they save the kingdom...
Or burn it down.
9.2
Blurb
When broke event planner Isabella "Izzy" Hart agrees to fake an engagement with cold, commanding tech billionaire Alexander Blackwood, she thinks it'll be simple: smile for the cameras, fake a few kisses, collect the money, and walk away.
But nothing about Alex is simple.
Not the way he looks at her.
Not the way he touches her, as she belongs to him.
And definitely not the way he says:
"If this is just business... why does it feel like you're mine?"
It was supposed to be fake.
Now neither of them knows what's real.
7.7
She only wanted a chance at love. She never expected that the one man who truly saw her, challenged her and lifted her higher would be the person she was never meant to meet.
Twenty-four-year-old Janyia Hefling enters Peryn City's most competitive career program hoping to escape the weight of being the eldest of six, the expectations of her quietly struggling family, and the constant pressure to prove she's more than her circumstances.
She wasn't expecting him.
Eric Dusine-calm, brilliant, effortlessly playful, a tech CEO who neither looks nor acts the part. A man who notices things he shouldn't: her humor, her fire, her ambition... her.
Their connection is instant. Their chemistry is sharp enough to cut.
But neither of them knows the secret powerful enough to unravel everything they're building-before it even begins.
When a long-buried truth surfaces, it doesn't just endanger their growing bond, it shakes the foundation of who they believe they are.
Heartbreaking yet meaningful. Emotional with threads of humor. Intense enough to ache.
This is the story of two souls drawn together by fate only to discover that fate came with a warning label.
7.2
Leila never believed in fairy tales - especially not the kind sealed with signatures instead of kisses.
When a carefully structured contract binds her to billionaire Damian Black, it's supposed to be simple: public appearances, flawless smiles, and zero emotional attachment. A calculated arrangement designed to protect reputations and secure power.
But high society is watching.
Whispers follow her into every ballroom. Rumors trail behind every step she takes beside him. They call her an outsider. A contract wife. Temporary.
What they don't see is the silent tension unfolding beneath polished smiles.
Damian Black is controlled, strategic, unreadable - a man who doesn't allow weakness. Yet Leila begins to notice the subtle shifts. The possessive glances. The quiet approval in his voice. The rare moments when his composure falters... just for her.
And Leila is far from fragile.
As jealousy simmers, rivals test boundaries, and past secrets threaten to surface, the line between pretense and reality begins to blur.
What happens when a marriage built on conditions starts to demand something real?
In a world where power is currency and vulnerability is dangerous, can a contract survive the slow burn of genuine emotion?
A billionaire romance filled with tension, rumors, emotional push-and-pull, and undeniable chemistry.
8.8
BLURB
He was the broken boy that everyone made fun of.
She was the courageous girl who came to his rescue.
Cassian Vale would never forget the brave young girl who told him that light could still be reflected from broken glass and stood between him and cruelty.
She became the dream that carried him through a lifetime of pain, the miracle he promised himself he would one day find again.
But fate is cruel with its reunions.
Years later, Liora Ashford returns to his world not as the radiant beauty he remembers, but as a woman marked by scars and silence, her once celebrated face altered by a tragic accident.
When she takes a job at Vale Dominion Holdings, she discovers the boy she once saved has become a cold, powerful CEO and he doesn't recognise her.
Terrified of what he might see, Liora hides in the shadows. But when he mistakes her beautiful best friend for his childhood savior, the cruelest betrayal unfolds.
The woman who stole her identity now stands by his side, bathing in the love that should have been hers.
As lies deepen, enemies rise, and the world turns vicious, Liora must decide if she is brave enough to reveal the truth, while Cassian must confront whether he fell in love with a memory... or the woman fate tried to erase.
In a world that values perfection, will love recognize the scarred truth or remain blinded by beautiful illusion?
Genre: Billionaire contemporary romance,Drama Fiction.
Key Tropes:Mistaken identity ,Ceo obsession, rejection , betrayal /twisted love, cold billionaire, love beyond appearance, stolen Identity, envy-driven Deceit, hostile corporate rivalry