Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Husband

Cressie was seated at the far end, near the kitchen door. Beatrice tapped her spoon against her wine glass. "Attention, everyone. A toast. To the future of the Banks dynasty. A girl." "Finally," Victoria, Ellsworth's cousin, drawled from across the table. She swirled her red wine, her eyes locking onto Cressie. "Let's hope she gets the Banks height and not the Winters... constitution." A ripple of polite, cruel laughter went around the table. Ellsworth was at the head of the table. He didn't laugh. He didn't scold her either. He just cut his steak, the knife slicing through the meat with surgical precision. Cressie stared at her plate. She hadn't touched her food. After dinner, the air in the house was thick with cigar smoke and brandy. Ellsworth caught Cressie's eye and jerked his head toward the study. She followed him. The study was dark, lit only by a green banker's lamp on the mahogany desk. The family lawyer, Arthur, was already there. He looked uncomfortable. "Sit," Ellsworth said. He didn't sit. He leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms. Arthur slid a thick document across the leather surface. "What is this?" Cressie asked, though she knew. "A settlement," Ellsworth said. "We're ending this farce. The child will be a Banks. You will have visitation rights, of course. Generous alimony. A lump sum to pay off your father's debts." He said it so casually. Like he was buying a company. Cressie looked at the papers. Dissolution of Marriage. She should have been devastated. She should have been crying, begging him to reconsider, to think of the baby. That's what the old Cressie would have done. But the old Cressie had died in an elevator at Mount Sinai. She picked up the Montblanc pen lying on the document. It felt heavy in her hand. "I have conditions," she said. Her voice was steady. It surprised her. Ellsworth raised an eyebrow. "You're in no position to negotiate, Cressie." "I want the debt restructuring rights for Winters Inc.," she said. "Not a payoff. I want legal control of the restructuring process and the removal of the Banks lien on the Brooklyn property." Ellsworth laughed. It was a short, sharp sound. "You? You want to play CFO? You haven't looked at a spreadsheet in three years." "And," Cressie continued, ignoring him, "I keep the baby until she is weaned. Full physical custody for the first year. No nannies. Me." Ellsworth looked at Arthur. Arthur shrugged. "It's reasonable, Mr. Banks. Courts favor the mother for nursing infants." Ellsworth sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked bored. "Fine. Whatever. Just sign the damn thing so we can move on." He thought she was bluffing. He thought she wanted the restructuring rights so she could funnel money to her father. He had no idea she intended to save the company, not just pay its bills. Cressie uncapped the pen. She didn't hesitate. She signed her name with a flourish, the ink dark and permanent. Cressida Winters. Not Banks. She signed her maiden name. She pushed the papers back. "Done." Ellsworth blinked. He seemed taken aback by her speed. He had expected a fight. He had expected tears. "That's it?" he asked. "That's it," Cressie said. She stood up. "I'm going to bed." She walked out of the study, leaving the two men in silence. As she climbed the stairs, she heard voices from the parlor. "Is she gone yet?" It was Victoria again. "God, imagine having to co-parent with that frump." Cressie didn't stop. She went to her room-the guest room-and pulled out her suitcase. She didn't pack clothes. She packed her diploma. She packed the framed photo of her valedictorian speech. She packed the hard drive containing her old research. She went to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She stripped off the expensive, ill-fitting dress Ellsworth had bought her. She stood there, naked, tracing the curve of her belly. "We're leaving, baby," she whispered. "But first, we are going to burn their house down from the inside." She put on noise-canceling headphones. She opened her laptop. She typed into the search bar: Forensic Audit Tools: Banks Capital. Downstairs, Ellsworth was on the phone. "Yes, Jolie. It's done. She signed... No, she didn't cry. It was... weird." Cressie couldn't hear him. She was already gone. ---