Too Late For Regret: The Genius Ex-Wife

Camera flashes exploded like strobe lights along the red carpet outside Rockefeller Center. Reporters screamed over the howling wind, thrusting microphones against the velvet ropes. A black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a stop. A valet in a heavy coat rushed forward and pulled the door open. Laelia Winters stepped out. She wore a backless silver couture gown that defied the freezing temperature. Her red-soled heels clicked against the pavement. She smiled, a perfect, practiced expression. Alistair stepped out behind her. His black tuxedo fit flawlessly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and cold, aristocratic features. He extended his right arm. Laelia instantly wrapped her hands around his bicep, pressing her chest against him. They walked down the carpet together. The flashes captured the perfect image of the billionaire and his returning first love, broadcasting it to every screen in New York. Inside the massive ballroom, the heat was stifling. High-society elites swarmed them, offering fake smiles and exaggerated welcomes to Laelia. Laelia handled them with effortless grace. She leaned her head against Alistair's shoulder. "Thank you for tonight," she whispered, her breath brushing his neck. Alistair gave a tight nod. His eyes drifted over the crowd. They locked onto a white grand piano sitting empty in the corner of the room. A sudden, vivid image flashed in his mind. Seraphina, sitting on a similar bench, her head tilted, her fingers moving softly over the keys. His chest tightened. A sharp, irritating itch crawled up his throat. He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and swallowed half of it in one gulp. Laelia noticed the shift in his posture. Her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, but her smile never faltered. "Did your little stand-in finally take the money and leave?" Laelia asked, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. Alistair stared at the piano. "She signed the papers. She'll be gone by morning." Laelia smiled in satisfaction. She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his cheek. Across the room, a photographer snapped the intimate moment. Within seconds, it was uploaded to social media. Julian materialized beside Alistair. He leaned in close. "Sir. I have the papers. She signed." Alistair frowned. He expected her to refuse, to cry, to demand to see him. Her sudden surrender felt wrong. It felt like a loss of control. "Process the settlement," Alistair ordered, his voice harsh. "And I want her out of the penthouse by morning. No exceptions." Laelia sipped her champagne, hiding her smirk behind the crystal rim. The charity auction began. Alistair sat in the front row. When a rare pink diamond necklace was presented, he raised his paddle. He won it for ten million dollars. He stood up, took the necklace from the presenter, and fastened it around Laelia's neck in front of five hundred people. The crowd erupted in applause. Laelia turned and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest, claiming him in front of the world. Alistair wrapped his arms around her waist. But his eyes looked past her hair, staring out the massive windows at the falling snow. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened his messages with Seraphina. The screen was blank. No missed calls. No desperate texts. Just silence. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, anger flaring in his gut. He forced himself to look down at Laelia. She pulled him toward the dance floor. The orchestra played a slow waltz. They moved together under the chandeliers. But beneath the expensive fabric of his suit, Alistair felt a cold, hollow draft blowing through his chest, a void he couldn't explain. The image of her jagged, blood-smeared signature haunted him. He abruptly stopped dancing, pulling away from Laelia's embrace. "I have to go," he muttered, his voice tight. He ignored her shocked, indignant expression and strode straight off the dance floor. He needed to see her broken submission with his own eyes. He needed to know she wasn't playing another game.