
Too Late For Regret: The Genius Ex-Wife
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I placed the positive pregnancy test on the black marble island, expecting at least a flicker of emotion from my billionaire husband.
Instead, his assistant dropped a thick divorce agreement right on top of it.
"Laelia is back in New York," Alistair said, his eyes completely dead. "This two-year game is over. Get rid of it."
He ordered his private security to book an abortion clinic for that very night.
To protect my unborn child, I fled through a freezing maintenance shaft and threw myself off a snowy cliff into a rocky ravine.
When I woke up battered and bruised in the hospital, I faked a miscarriage, hoping he would finally let me go.
Instead of an ounce of pity, he choked me, called me a vile creature, and had his guards throw me out into a deadly Manhattan blizzard in nothing but a thin hospital gown.
As the hypothermia set in, I remembered my father jumping off a Wall Street high-rise, driven to bankruptcy by the very man who just left me and his own blood to freeze to death.
For two years, I had played the submissive stand-in wife, mapping out every vulnerability in his empire, but I never expected him to be this ruthless.
Just as I was about to lose consciousness in the snow, a black Maybach skidded to a halt in front of me.
Inside sat Silas Rhodes, Alistair's biggest corporate rival.
I dragged my battered body up and offered him the ultimate weapon to burn my ex-husband's empire to the ground.
Too Late For Regret: The Genius Ex-Wife Chapter 1
Seraphina pressed her bare palms flat against the floor-to-ceiling glass. The freezing temperature of the Manhattan blizzard seeped through the thick pane, biting into her skin. She kept her hands there, trying to warm the ice with her own body heat.
She looked down at her flat stomach. A strange, heavy warmth bloomed inside her chest, spreading down to her fingertips. It was a fierce, sudden need to protect.
She turned away from the storm and walked toward the massive black marble kitchen island. Her fingers reached into the pocket of her silk robe. She pulled out the white plastic stick. Two solid red lines stared back at her. She traced the lines with her thumbnail, her pulse thumping against her throat.
The heavy oak front door clicked open. The sound echoed through the silent penthouse. Seraphina's stomach muscles tightened.
She shoved the pregnancy test deep into her pocket and walked quickly toward the foyer.
Alistair stepped inside. A gust of freezing air followed him, carrying the scent of snow and expensive cologne. He shrugged off his custom-tailored wool overcoat, the shoulders dusted with white flakes, and tossed it blindly toward the waiting butler.
Seraphina forced the corners of her mouth up. She reached out, offering to take the leather briefcase from his hand.
Alistair shifted his weight. He stepped to the side, completely avoiding her touch. He walked past her, his heavy footsteps heading straight for the liquor cabinet in the living room.
Seraphina's hand hung in the empty air. The back of her neck burned. She lowered her arm, swallowed the dry lump in her throat, and followed him.
Alistair grabbed a crystal decanter. He poured a generous amount of whiskey over a single large ice cube. The glass clinked sharply. The sound grated against Seraphina's eardrums.
She stopped on the opposite side of the marble island. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs until they ached. She slipped her hand into her pocket.
She pulled out the plastic stick and placed it on the black marble. She pushed it across the smooth surface until it stopped directly in his line of sight.
"I'm pregnant," she said.
She stared at his face, watching for the slightest twitch of his jaw, the smallest shift in his eyes.
Alistair's hand froze halfway to his mouth. His gaze dropped to the two red lines.
He slowly lowered the glass. The ice clinked again. There was no light in his eyes. A thick, terrifying layer of frost settled over his features.
He lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were completely dead. He looked at her as if she were a stranger who had just tracked mud onto his expensive rug.
Seraphina's smile cracked. The air in the room vanished. Her lungs struggled to pull in oxygen.
Alistair turned his head slightly. He looked at his executive assistant, Julian, who stood silently in the shadows near the hallway. Alistair gave a single, sharp nod.
Julian stepped forward. He unzipped his briefcase and pulled out a thick manila envelope.
Julian kept his eyes glued to the floor. He walked to the island and placed the heavy envelope directly on top of the pregnancy test, hiding it from view.
Seraphina's fingers trembled. She reached out and pulled the thick stack of papers from the envelope. The bold black letters at the top of the first page blurred, then sharpened. Divorce Agreement.
Her head snapped up. Her eyes burned. "Why are you doing this?"
Alistair lifted his glass and swallowed the whiskey in one smooth motion. He placed the empty glass down.
"Laelia is back in New York," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of any human emotion.
The name hit Seraphina physically. Her knees gave out for a fraction of a second. She stumbled backward, her hip bumping hard against the barstool.
Alistair walked around the island. He stopped inches from her, forcing her to look up at him. "This two-year game is over, Seraphina. You knew what this was."
Seraphina gripped the edges of the divorce papers. Her knuckles turned stark white. She forced herself to breathe through her nose, fighting the violent shaking in her chest.
She raised a trembling finger and pointed at the envelope hiding the test. "There is a child in there. Your blood."
Alistair let out a short, hollow laugh. "Get rid of it."
A physical blow to her chest would have hurt less. Seraphina's vision tunneled. The cold, brutal reality of the man standing in front of her finally shattered every illusion she had left.
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Too Late For Regret: The Genius Ex-Wife of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels

7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.

7.5
To save my family's dying company, I was forced to marry a billionaire I hadn't seen in fourteen years.
But right outside the City Clerk's office, he tossed our marriage certificate at me like a cheap receipt and shoved a four-year-old boy into my arms.
"Your new life has begun. You're on babysitting duty now."
He sneered and left me stranded on the sidewalk. I realized with absolute horror that my new husband was Ellsworth Marshall, the sickly boy I had relentlessly bullied in middle school.
He didn't spend five billion dollars to save the Bradford family. He bought me to execute a slow, suffocating revenge.
He used his orphaned nephew as a pawn, explicitly threatening my father that if I failed to play the perfect, compliant nanny, he would instantly destroy our family's legacy.
He even had his guards lock me out of his Long Island estate on my first night, forcing me to stand in the cold dark just to prove he owned me.
I was trapped in a gilded cage, suffocated by the guilt of my past and the terror of my present.
Why did he involve an innocent child in his twisted vendetta? How much humiliation was enough to pay for my childhood cruelty?
Looking at the terrified little boy clinging to my skirt, I tightened my grip on my suitcase.
If he wanted to destroy my will piece by piece, I had to find a way to survive the monster I created.

9.2
She loved him until she lost herself.
Now, behind locked doors and shattered glass, she must learn to breathe again.
When she first met Lloyd, he was magnetic and intoxicating. The kind of man who turned every head when he entered a room, who spoke in promises sweet enough to taste. With him, she felt chosen, cherished, and safe.
But safety was an illusion, and love became a weapon.
And slowly, piece by piece, he dismantled her until nothing of the woman she once was remained.
Now institutionalized after a breakdown, she begins to piece together the brutal truth of what really happened in the shadows of their love story. Memories sting like open wounds: the manipulation disguised as tenderness, the apologies that blurred into threats, the desperate hope that tomorrow he'd be the man she fell for again.
Yet beneath the grief and the shame, a quiet rebellion stirs, a vow to reclaim her voice, her freedom, and her life. Because this is not just a story of how she fell apart. It is a story of how she rises.
Haunting, raw, and achingly intimate, Boys like him peels back the glittering mask of a toxic love affair to reveal the kind of darkness that hides in plain sight, and the unbreakable strength it takes to escape it.

9.1
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times.
Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her.
I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her.
Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online.
That was when I stopped feeling anything.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London.
He thinks I’m coming back in a week.
He has no idea I’m gone for good.
Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean.

8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.

7.6
I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.











