Billionaire’s Regret: You Look Like My Ex-Wife

Imogen Warren didn’t come to this masquerade looking for trouble. Yet trouble found her the moment Thalia Perez opened her venomous mouth.

“This is the woman who’s useless in bed, isn’t she?” Thalia sneered, swirling her champagne with fake elegance. “No matter how thick that mask is, I recognize you anywhere, Imogen Warren. Ex-fiancée of Alan Lewis, the pitiful heir to Lewis Group.”

Imogen’s lips curled into a smile — cold, calculated, the kind of smile only a woman with nothing left to lose could wear so effortlessly. Without a single word, she lifted her glass — expensive champagne, poured in celebration of wealth and power — and emptied it in one smooth motion onto Thalia Perez’s couture gown.

The red liquid splashed across silk fabric worth thousands, staining it like blood on snow.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“You bitch!” Thalia shrieked, stepping back as if scalded. “What the hell did you just do to my E.W. dress? This is exclusive! A limited collection! A gift from my mother!”

Imogen’s laugh was soft, elegant… and laced with venom. “Oh? You mean the same mother who threw a tantrum in the E.W. boutique in Milan last year? The one who practically threatened my staff for a discount because she claimed kinship to the Warren name? That mother?”

Thalia’s face flushed crimson beneath her heavy makeup. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but Imogen cut her off, her voice sweet as poisoned honey.

“You’ll regret ever insulting me,” Imogen said smoothly, as if offering polite advice rather than a declaration of war.

Thalia sneered, brushing futilely at the spreading stain on her chest. “You think you can scare me? You forget who I am, Imogen. I’m Alan’s cousin. The Lewis family’s blood runs through me. You think you can embarrass me in front of all these people and get away with it?”

“Oh, Thalia, darling.” Imogen’s laughter cut through the air like the clink of fine crystal — sharp, cold, and merciless. “Still clinging to the glory of the Lewis name? Haven’t you heard? There’s nothing left of it to cling to.”

“You—! Poor Alan, forced to marry someone like you—”

“Poor Alan?” Imogen leaned in slightly, her smile widening. “The bastard who couldn’t even keep his dick in his pants a month after our engagement? You call that misfortune?”

Her words struck like a slap, loud enough for nearby guests to pretend not to hear, yet sharp enough to make their glances linger, their whispers grow.

“Your dear cousin Alan is only pitiful because he thought screwing his secretary was a clever move,” Imogen continued, her tone light, almost amused. “Pitiful because he thought a man’s worth lay between his legs, not in his brain.”

The air between them thickened with hatred, envy, and humiliation. And Imogen stood tall, a glass of venom disguised as champagne still dangling between her fingertips.

Thalia’s face twisted with rage. “Imogen, he said you just lay there like a corpse. Like a useless log in bed!”

“Miss,” a calm, low voice interrupted. A man in a black mask stepped between them, his presence commanding. “You should watch your mouth at such a prestigious event.”

“She threw her drink on me!” Thalia shrieked.

“I saw you start it. Speaking of private matters in public.”

Another man approached, his expression dark with unease. He leaned in, whispering sharply into Thalia’s ear, “You’d best not offend the Warren family any further. Haven’t you heard? They’ve already acquired the Lewis Corporation. Your cousin’s name means nothing now.”

Thalia’s eyes widened in disbelief, fury twisting her painted lips. “Witch!” she hissed at Imogen like a snake striking from the shadows. “You stole everything from Alan! He only cheated — is that worth destroying a man’s entire life? His family’s legacy?”

She clenched her fists, her perfectly manicured nails digging so deep into her palms she nearly broke the skin. “You think you’re better than me now? Just because the Warren family shields you? Just because you have their power behind you? You think that gives you the right to ruin Alan and humiliate me?”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Imogen’s gaze gleamed beneath her elegant mask, her smile razor-sharp. “I simply took back what he never deserved in the first place.”

The man beside Thalia grabbed her arm, pulling her away with a warning glare. “Enough. Don’t make this worse for yourself.”

But Thalia, foolish to the end, wrenched her arm free and hurled one last round of venom over her shoulder.

“Don’t think this is over, Imogen Warren! One day, karma will come for you! Women like you — snakes hiding behind men’s wealth — always get what’s coming!”

Her voice rang through the ballroom, drawing curious glances, whispers behind manicured hands.

“What kind of woman destroys a man for cheating?” Thalia spat, her voice rising as security finally began steering her away. “You think you’re so noble now? You’re nothing but a cursed woman in disguise, hiding behind your father’s name!”

Imogen merely watched, her gaze cool beneath the mask, her smile untouched by Thalia’s pathetic tantrum. Slowly, she turned back to the man who had stepped in for her defense, her lips curling into a sweet, polished smile.

“Thank you for stepping in,” she said, her tone soft but laced with the confidence of a woman who had just won a battle without lifting a finger.

The man shook his head, his expression tinged with something like disappointment. “That woman was in the wrong from the start. Men who cheat deserve punishment.” His lips curled faintly, almost amused. “You’re quite impressive.”

Imogen chuckled lightly. “Not really. I simply took all his shares. My brother and father… well, they didn’t take kindly to my ex-fiancé’s disrespect. They crushed Lewis Group without blinking.” She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Sometimes I wonder if they’re mafia.”

“Wow!” The man gave a low, knowing laugh. “I have a friend like that.” He paused briefly, eyes narrowing as if correcting himself. “Well… we’re not exactly friends.”

“Oh?” Imogen’s gaze drifted from his eyes to his lips — full, masculine, with a slight curve that hinted at mischief even beneath his calm demeanor. His jawline was sharp, clean-shaven, his skin kissed by just enough stubble to make him dangerously manly. Not the polished kind like Alan, but raw, unapologetically male.

Something tightened low in Imogen’s stomach, heat pooling between her thighs. ‘He looks so fucking yummy.’

Her gaze dropped deliberately to his hand. “Are you single?” she teased, noting the bare ring finger with a playful smirk. “At least, I want to show you that I am not so useless in bed.”