His Biggest Regret: The Billionaire Bride

Elena sits quietly at a restaurant, her eyes narrowed as she inhales sharply. Warm tears form in her eyes, and she blinks several times to keep them from rolling down her cheeks. It's been five years since her son was born, and six years since her world changed forever. She thinks back to the day her parents died, and her uncle arranged her marriage to Paschal Musk. She remembers the feeling of being trapped, of being forced into a life she didn't choose.

She looks up at a waiter who has just returned from the back of the restaurant with an empty tray. Her voice is barely audible as she makes a request for her favourite drink.

“Bourbon, please.” The waiter nods and strides off to the dispense bar.

A few minutes later, instead of a waiter, she hears a deep, velvety voice.

“Bourbon,” he says, gently placing the drink on her table. Unhurriedly, she looks up and finds herself face-to-face with a tall, dark stranger. Wavy hair, emerald eyes, toned physique, and a scent she immediately recognizes: Boadicea the Victorious – Nebulous. A rare, luxurious cologne only the wealthiest could afford.

Without asking, he takes the seat across from her, his gaze lingering on her; sharp but gentle.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” he says.

“But I couldn’t ignore an angel sitting alone in a world filled with people.”

Elena stares at him for a few seconds, then reaches for the drink and pours it into her glass. Her fingers stroke the glass slowly as she stares at the liquid inside. Finally, she raises it to her lips and takes a sip. She exhales deeply as the taste of the drink lingers on her lips.

“I’m not in need of company,” she says, eyes still fixed on the glass, her voice dry and devoid of emotion. The man remains quiet. So she raises her eyes to look at him. He is still staring, not at her face, but deep into her soul. She opens her mouth to say something, but he speaks first.

“I’m sure you do. I’m not petty. I promise not to disturb you.”

Elena feels the calmness of his voice seep into her bones. It is so soothing that she feels her nerves relax a bit. His voice reminds her of her late father. The pain resurfaces, raw and uninvited. She immediately wishes he were still alive, wishes he hadn’t taken that doomed flight. If he were alive, she wouldn’t have ended up marrying Paschal.

She recalls the early days of her marriage, they had lived together like housemates. It wasn't until later, when Paschal fell ill, that she began to see him in a different light. She had nursed him back to health, and in that time, she discovered a deeper connection with him. They had adored and worshipped each other, overlooking their flaws. But that was years ago.

Now, as she sits in the restaurant, she feels like she's staring into the abyss. Earlier in the day, she had returned from a long business trip and decided to surprise her family with their favourite meals. She even dismissed the cook and asked the maid to assist instead. She wanted to feel like a mother and a wife again. She was humming softly in the kitchen when she heard voices coming from the living room.

“I love her, Daddy,” Timothy had said. She had smiled to herself, thinking the ‘her’ was her. But his next words had frozen her heart.

“The three of us look more like a family than with Mummy.”

She paused, waiting, hoping for Paschal to defend her. To explain that she worked so hard to make life easy for them. That she sacrificed being present to ensure their comfort. But instead, his words cut deeper. “I know, right? Don’t worry. I’ll make her your new mummy.” Something broke inside her in that moment. She had walked out without confrontation and found her way to her favorite eatery, a hidden gem in the city that held memories of her father.

A quiet, ambient space lined with burgundy velvet chairs, golden pendant lights, and an air of calm that always comforted her. This was where she first tasted bourbon, at twenty-one, after failing her first international exams. Her father had offered her her first alcohol, the corners of his eyes squinting as he smiled and said,

“This is a strong drink for a strong girl.”

Now, here she was, face-to-face with another man who looked like he belonged in a billionaire's magazine spread. A man whose sudden presence stirred her guarded heart. She couldn’t let herself fall again, not for another charmer who might be just like her husband: spoiled, entitled, and heartless.

She was jolted back by the man’s voice.

“Hey angel, you’re lost in thought. What could be troubling your mind?”

By now, the tears she had been struggling to stifle rolled down her cheeks freely.

The man in front of her dipped his hand into his chest pocket and brought out a neatly folded white kerchief. He offered it to her.

She took it and murmured some thanks, all the while staring at her glass.

“Your mind is troubled. Do you mind venting to a stranger? I promise I’m a good listener,” he said softly.

“My thoughts are none of your business!” she snapped, grabbed her bag, and stood up abruptly.

She didn’t care for anyone’s sympathy. As she stormed out, she couldn’t resist glancing back one last time. Their eyes met. While his were tender, hers were ice.

Outside, the night breeze brushed her cheeks. She drove back home in silence, all the while wondering if this was all a dream. And if it was a dream, she wished to wake up before it got worse.

She turned towards the driveway that led to her mansion. For the first time, she paid attention to how magnificent all the houses were. She was among the first set of people to purchase a property here. Paschal had kicked against the idea at first, saying the property was too secluded and not good for someone of his status. But he had been saying all that without money. He was the type of man who pursued luxury even at the expense of his life savings.

She drove to the front of her mansion, straight into the garage. She stepped out of the car and walked out slowly. She stood for a moment, eyes fixed on the mansion she had bought with her own money. A majestic structure made of stone and glass, with rose gardens flanking either side of the front path. She had purchased it with dreams of laughter-filled hallways, family dinners, and love. She had imagined two or three kids playing around in the garden.

But now, it looked like a beautiful cage.

She took in a deep breath, removed her sunglasses, and walked toward the door. As she reached for the handle, she heard laughter inside; joyous, genuine laughter.

Her husband’s voice.

Her son’s giggles.

Something about the way they laughed without her sent another jab to her chest. Her stomach twisted, and she felt desolate, like a villain in her own house.

She inhaled deeply and adjusted her stance. She reached out to the knob. Slowly, she turned it. The door creaked open, revealing a scene that froze her.

There, in her dining room, where she used to sit, where memories were meant to be made, sat another woman.

Light-skinned, flowing wavy hair, radiant.

She was grinning from ear to ear in a seemingly attractive way. Dining. Seated at her place.

With her husband. With her son.

Elena didn’t speak. She didn’t breathe. Her jaw tightened as she clenched her fists. She thought of striding forward to put the woman in her place. But her legs refused to move.

She just stood there, helplessly, watching her life being lived without her.