Dating My Ex Husband's Billionaire Boss: His Regret

*Trigger warning****Mature content** This story contains steamy romance.

Aria Sinclair's Pov

“Not pregnant, again, oh shit,” I muttered bitterly.

I froze instantly, staring down at the paper in my hands. My heartbeat thudded in my ears as the words sank in.

It was always negative. This was the seventh time we’d tried this year. So many times I had given my body, my soul to Brandon, and every time I had ended up with an empty womb.

I gripped the report tighter, my knuckles whitening. I had thought that if I gave him a child, maybe…..just maybe….he would look at me the way he did two years ago.

Back then, before love had curdled into a cold routine, before our marriage became a quiet battlefield, his smiles once carried warmth.

The nurses outside the room chattered softly, their voices drifting down the sterile corridor.

“…Have you heard. Amelia Hart is back in town. Can you believe it?”

“You mean the fashion designer Mr Brandon Ford is obsessed with? I heard he’s going to propose now that she’s back.”

I stiffened. Amelia Hart. The name he still whispered in his sleep. The name I had tried to bury under years of devotion.

They didn’t see me through the half-open door. To them, I was just another invisible patient clutching another disappointing piece of paper.

My chest tightened. Tears silently fell. I pressed the report against my heart as if it could shield me from what was coming.

The nurses’ voices faded as I walked to the car, each step heavier than the last. My mind replayed every lonely night, every time I reached for him only to feel the chill of his distance, unless he wanted my body. Then he took it, efficiently, without tenderness.

He would never love me, I realized. Even if I stood naked before him, begging, he would still choose her.

The thought lodged like a blade between my ribs.

By the time I reached home, my hand shook so badly I could barely fit the key into the lock. Then I smelled the jasmine perfume, it was heavy in the air. It was the perfume he used to spray in my closet because it reminded him of her.

He never even let me leave the house without spraying it on me.

I snapped back to reality when I heard soft feminine laughter spilling from the living room.

My stomach churned. “ This can’t be real.”

I pushed the door open with shaky hands.

Brandon was on the sofa, Amelia curled against his chest like she belonged there. His arm was draped possessively around her waist, and her head rested on his shoulder. They were laughing softly, eyes only for each other, as if the air itself had rearranged to exclude me.

“What’s going on?” My voice came out small, cracked.

Brandon turned his head slowly. No surprise. No guilt. Just irritation, like I’d interrupted something important.

“What does it look like, Aria?” His tone was flat, edged with cruelty. “My real love is back. The only woman I’ve ever loved.”

The words landed like a fist to the chest. I felt the air leave my lungs silently.

Tears blurred my vision instantly, hot and humiliating. I wanted to scream that I had given him everything…my body, my future, my dignity, but the sound lodged in my throat.

He stood, towering over me. Amelia remained seated, legs crossed elegantly, as she gave me a faint, satisfied smile playing at her lips.

“You forced this on me, Aria,” he said, voice low and venomous. “You knew from the start. Everyone knew Amelia was the one.”

His fingers clamped around my wrists, squeezing until the bones ground together. Pain shot up my arms.

I clutched the crumpled pregnancy report to my chest like a useless shield.

He yanked me closer. His face was inches from mine, breath hot against my skin.

“I want a divorce,” he said. “Stop clinging. It’s pathetic.”

The room tilted. My knees buckled, but he held me upright by the wrists, fingers digging deeper. I thought I was prepared for this, I was dead wrong.

“I… I love you,” I whispered, hating how broken it sounded.

He let out a short disgusted laugh.

Then he released one wrist only to kiss Amelia right in front of me, he kissed her so passionately that I questioned myself how true love's kiss felt like, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck.

When he pulled back, his palm drifted down to rest possessively on her flat stomach, fingers splayed wide in a silent, vicious mockery.

Something inside me snapped.

“I never loved you,” he said. “Sign the papers.” Forcing the papers into my hands.

When I didn’t move, his grip tightened again. He jerked me forward by the hair, scalp burning as strands tore free. I cried out, stumbling.

“Please—” I pleaded shamelessly.

His open palm cracked across my cheek with a sound like splitting wood. My head snapped sideways and I tasted the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth.

Pain exploded across my face.

I know she watched in amusement, I saw her smirk at the corner of my eye.

He didn’t stop. His other hand seized my upper arm, fingers bruising deep into the muscle as he shook me hard enough that my teeth clacked together.

“Sign them!” he roared, spittle hitting my burning cheek.

Another slap…this one with the back of his hand, it hit so hard that it split my lower lip. Blood trickled warm down my chin.

Amelia smirked, making sure Brandon didn't see her enjoy me being humiliated.

I felt my knees give out.The floor seemed to rush up at me.

Then something cold and steady settled in my chest.

I straightened slowly, tasting copper in my mouth, feeling the throb in my scalp and the sting across my face. My voice, when it came, was quiet. Almost calm. Because at this point, I didn't deserve to be treated this way.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll sign.”

He paused, hand still fisted in my hair, suspicion flickering in his eyes.

“But I have one condition.”