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.

Chapters

Chapter 7

She took an Uber to the Banks Capital tower in Midtown.

The receptionist, a girl named Stacy who usually ignored her, looked up. "Mrs. Banks? I didn't know you were coming in."

"I won't be long," Cressie said, breezing past security.

She took the elevator down to the basement. To the Archives.

It was a windowless room that smelled of dust and toner. This was where they had put her. The Chief of Staff, demoted to "Archivist."

Hillary Farley was sitting on Cressie's desk, filing her nails. Hillary was twenty-four, ambitious, and cruel. She was Ellsworth's favorite "yes-girl."

"Well, well," Hillary smirked. "Look who decided to show up. We have three boxes of tax returns from 2018 to sort. Get to it."

Cressie didn't move toward the boxes. She reached into her bag and pulled out a white envelope.

She slapped it onto the desk.

"What's this?" Hillary asked, blowing on her nails.

"My resignation," Cressie said.

Hillary laughed. It was a high, grating sound. "Resignation? Honey, you can't resign. You're the boss's wife. This is your playpen."

"I'm an employee. I have a contract. And I'm terminating it."

Hillary picked up her coffee cup-a venti latte-and "accidentally" tipped it over.

Brown liquid flooded the desk, soaking the white envelope.

"Oops," Hillary grinned. "Clumsy me. Looks like you'll have to type it up again. If you remember how to use a computer."

The other girls in the office giggled. They weren't laughing because it was funny; they were laughing because they were afraid of Hillary, and by extension, Ellsworth.

Cressie looked at the brown stain spreading across the paper. She didn't get angry. She got cold.

She pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen, turning it around to face Hillary. The voice memo app was open, the waveform pulsing red.

"I've been recording since I walked in," Cressie said calmly. "Workplace harassment. Hostile environment. Destruction of personal property. It's all there."

Hillary's smile faltered. "What?"

"And since this is synced to my cloud instantly," Cressie added, "smashing the phone won't help you."

Hillary stood up, her face paling. "You can't do that."

"I just did. And unless you want this sent to HR-and to the Labor Board-you will sign my exit paperwork. Now."

"What is going on here?"

The voice boomed from the doorway. Ellsworth.

He was flanked by three board members. He was giving a tour. He looked at the spilled coffee, the wet letter, and Cressie holding her phone.

"Cressie?" He frowned. "Are you causing a scene?"

Hillary immediately dissolved into fake tears. "Mr. Banks! I tried to help her with the filing, and she got upset and started recording me!"

Ellsworth looked at Cressie. His eyes were disappointed. "Cressie. Put the phone away. In my office. Now."

Cressie looked at Hillary. She saw the triumph in the girl's eyes.

She looked at Ellsworth. She saw the assumption of guilt.

"Fine," Cressie said.

She walked past Hillary, leaning in close. "You better pray he fires me," she whispered. "Because if I stay, I'll audit you."

Hillary stopped crying instantly.

Cressie followed Ellsworth to the elevator. The ride up to the penthouse was silent.

"Why?" Ellsworth asked, staring at the numbers changing. "Why do you have to embarrass me?"

"I'm resigning," Cressie said. "I'm done being your archivist."

"You're quitting?" Ellsworth looked at her. "To do what? Stay home?"

"Sure," Cressie lied. "To stay home."

Ellsworth let out a breath. He actually looked relieved. "Good. It's better this way. You belong at home with the baby."

Cressie gripped her purse strap. You have no idea, she thought. I don't belong in your home. I belong in your boardroom. And one day, I'll buy it.

---

Continue to next part

After three years of devoted marriage, Chloe is shattered to discover her husband, Eric, has been maintaining a secret affair. The betrayal leaves her world in ruins, forcing her to confront the painful reality of their relationship. Determined to reclaim her dignity, she chooses to walk away from the billionaire lifestyle they shared. As she navigates the fallout of a high-profile divorce, Chloe must find the strength to start over and heal her broken heart.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.3

Escaping The Billionaire's Golden Cage

8.3

For three years, my billionaire husband Bronson treated me like a fragile glass doll. The media said he worshipped me, but his love felt more like a suffocating collar as we struggled with infertility. The day I finally got a positive pregnancy test, I wanted to surprise him. Instead, I opened his hidden safe and found a commercial surrogacy contract. He had secretly bought another woman to carry his child, and she was already seven weeks pregnant. When I confronted him and threw my wedding ring on his desk, his perfect husband mask shattered. He claimed he did it to "protect" my weak body. When I demanded a divorce and walked out, he systematically cut off my air supply. He froze my credit cards, drained my personal trust fund, and blacklisted me across the entire entertainment industry. "She'll last forty-eight hours before she's crying on her knees." Standing penniless in the freezing rain, I pressed a hand to my flat stomach. If he found out about the baby inside me, he would use it as an unbreakable chain to lock me in his cage forever. I couldn't let him win. With nowhere left to run, I called an old co-star who had mysteriously vanished from Hollywood years ago. Gardner Whitfield wasn't an actor anymore; he was a ruthless corporate predator. He slid a contract across his desk, offering to forge me steel wings to tear Bronson apart. "Sign this, and you become my exclusive property for five years." Without hesitating, I picked up the pen.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.7

Ex-Wife Rising: The CEO's Regret

9.7

My Chanel suit was ruined, stained with road dirt and torn at the sleeve, while the hospital bodyguards stood like stone walls to keep me away from my husband’s room. Inside that room, Ashely Berger was being treated for "multiple fractures" after allegedly lunging into the path of my car—a car I know she threw herself into on purpose. The press swarmed me, flashing cameras in my face and hurling accusations of attempted murder, while my husband, Corbin, marched past me without a single glance, his eyes filled with nothing but cold, lethal disgust. He didn't ask if I was hurt; he didn't care about the truth. He only cared about the woman behind the door, whispering gentle promises to her while treating me like a piece of filth that had somehow contaminated his life. I stood there, hollowed out, as he demanded a divorce and threatened to strip me of everything, branding me a monster in front of the entire world to protect his precious reputation and his mistress. The injustice burned, but as he turned his back on me to comfort her, I realized the game had changed. I wasn't going to let him ruin me for a crime I didn't commit, and I certainly wouldn't let her steal my life without a fight. I walked into the room, locked the door, and looked at the woman playing the victim. She wanted to play the role of the tragic, broken angel? Fine. I was ready to show her exactly how a real Mcgowan fights back.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.1

Forsaken Bride: Deceived Into Love's Second Chance

7.1

To marry his first love, Deanna's husband of three years faked his death. Hiding behind his twin brother's identity, he and his family ran a cruel con. Her sobbing didn't move him. To impress that woman, he even had Deanna punished. As agony lit every nerve, she chose to walk away. With a sharp flick, she sent the ring into his face and wed a comatose tycoon, brushing off her ex's belated begging. A bleak future seemed certain-until the "coma" turned out to be an act. Under cover of night, her new husband pinned her down and murmured against her ear, "Baby, why don't we go another round?"

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.5

No Escape: The Billionaire Won't Sign

9.5

I returned to New York with two scuffed suitcases and a broken heart, ready to end my three-year exile as a ghost wife. All I wanted was to sign the divorce papers, move my dying mother to hospice, and vanish from the billionaire Spears family forever. But the moment I stepped into the penthouse, I saw a pair of expensive red-bottomed heels by the door that weren't mine. Carlyle, the husband who hadn't spoken to me in years, was already moving his mistress into our home before the ink on our separation agreement was even dry. The humiliation was only the beginning. Carlyle treated me like an intruder in my own house, yet he forced me to attend high-society galas as his "perfect" wife to protect his reputation. When I tried to leave, he froze my bank accounts, leaving me unable to pay for my mother’s life-saving treatment. He watched my desperation with cold, predatory eyes, flaunting his new romance in the tabloids while keeping me trapped in his freezing home. My mother’s doctors warned me she was running out of time, but Carlyle only used her illness as a leash to keep me from running. I didn't understand why he was doing this to me. I had clearly signed away the money and the name, so why wouldn't he let me go? Why did he have me watched for years if he hated me so much? Why was he flaunting another woman while refusing to sign the papers that would set us both free? What did he want from a woman he claimed to despise? When I finally cornered him with the final decree, Carlyle didn't pick up the pen. He snatched the folder, a flicker of cold triumph in his icy eyes. "The terms are wrong, Beatrix. I'm adding an employment clause. You’re going to work for me, in my office, where I can keep you under my thumb 24/7." He didn't just refuse to sign the papers; he had just turned my divorce into a permanent prison sentence.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.0

Pretend to Be Mine

8.0

Elena Ramirez has spent years cleaning up other people's messes-balancing a demanding analyst job by day and side hustles at night to pay off a mountain of family debt. Love was never on her agenda. Then Adrian Harrington, the city's most feared billionaire, makes an offer she can't ignore: pose as his girlfriend to steady his company during a vicious boardroom power struggle. Six months. One contract. No feelings. It should be easy. But each public appearance, each staged kiss, pulls them closer than either planned. The arrangement ignites a firestorm-Adrian's jealous ex fakes a pregnancy, a hacker leaks private photos, a friend betrays them, and even his own family schemes against them. The gossip columns call her a gold digger; rivals call for Adrian's head. Somewhere between whispered confessions and desperate damage control, the line between pretend and real disappears. Now Adrian must choose between the empire he built and the woman he never meant to love, while Elena risks everything-career, reputation, and heart-for a man who was supposed to be temporary. Falling in Pretend delivers a high-stakes contemporary romance bursting with slow-burn chemistry, ruthless betrayals, and twists that will leave readers breathless.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Husband

Chapter 7

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