HIS REGRET MY REVENGE

Three years ago, I signed my divorce papers with a trembling hand.

Today, I watched Julian Thorne choke on his champagne.

The Grand Astor Hotel glittered with chandeliers and hypocrisy. Every billionaire in the city had gathered for the "Philanthropy Gala," but no one here had ever donated a dime without a tax loophole. I stood near the balcony, a flute of sparkling water in my gloved hand, and I let my gaze drift to the man who had destroyed me.

Julian hadn't changed.

He was still tall, broad-shouldered, with that jaw that could cut glass and eyes the color of a winter storm. His charcoal suit probably cost more than my first car. He was laughing at something—no, smirking—at a blonde who clung to his arm like decorative seaweed.

His new fiancée, the whispers said. A supermodel. Much more appropriate for a man of his stature.

I remembered when I was that arm-candy. Elara Vance, the quiet librarian he'd plucked from obscurity, married in a courthouse, hidden in his penthouse, and then… discarded.

"You're boring, Elara. You bring nothing to the table. No name, no connections, no spine. I'm embarrassed to call you my wife."

His words had carved grooves into my soul. And then he'd handed me a check for ten million dollars—hush money for three years of my youth—and slid divorce papers across a mahogany desk.

I hadn't taken the check.

I'd taken the papers, and I'd taken a promise: I will make you regret this, Julian Thorne.

Tonight was the first move.

A hush fell over the crowd. The auctioneer, a man with a waxed mustache, tapped his gavel. "Lot number forty-seven. The final acquisition of the night is a controlling share in Thorne Industries' rival logistics chain—Vantage Freight. Bidding starts at fifty million."

Julian's smirk vanished. He needed Vantage Freight. His entire expansion plan hinged on it. I saw his hand twitch.

"Fifty-five," Julian called, his voice a low rumble.

"Sixty," said a voice from the shadows. My voice.

Every head turned. Including Julian's.

His eyes found mine. For a second, there was no recognition—just confusion. Then his brow furrowed. I had changed. No more cardigans and messy buns. I wore a blood-red gown that hugged every curve I'd earned from three years of self-respect. My hair was a cascade of black silk. My lips were the color of victory.

"Seventy million," Julian said, but his voice cracked.

"One hundred million," I replied, not blinking.

The room gasped. Julian's fiancée whispered something in his ear. He ignored her.

He walked toward me. Seven steps. Each one heavier than the last.

"Elara?" he breathed. "What are you doing here?"

I tilted my head. "Bidding on a company, Julian. What does it look like?"

"You can't afford that." He almost laughed, but it died in his throat. "You were a librarian. You have nothing."

I reached into my clutch and pulled out a black card with a single silver emblem: Kael Corp. The room went silent.

"Actually," I said, loud enough for the press to hear, "I'm the newly appointed COO of Kael Corp. And my first act is to acquire Vantage Freight and dismantle it piece by piece."

Julian went pale. "Kael Corp is… that's Damian Kael's company. He doesn't work with nobodies."

"He works with me."

A hand settled on the small of my back. Warm. Possessive. I didn't flinch.

Damian Kael stepped out of the shadows, all sharp grins and gold cufflinks. He was taller than Julian, younger, and infinitely more dangerous. His eyes flickered to Julian with amusement.

"Thorne," Damian said. "I believe my partner just outbid you. Unless you'd like to raise the stakes?"

Julian looked between us, his jaw clenching. "What is this? You two are—"

"Together," Damian finished, and his thumb traced a small circle on my spine. "And very much looking forward to watching you lose."

The gavel fell. "Sold to Kael Corp for one hundred million."

The crowd erupted in whispers. Julian's face twisted—hurt, rage, and something else. Desperation.

I turned to leave, but his fingers caught my wrist. "Elara. Wait."

I looked down at his hand, then back at his face. Three years ago, I would have melted at his touch. Now, I felt only ice.

"Take your hand off me," I said softly, "before I make you regret that, too."

He didn't let go. "I made a mistake. I was wrong. Just—let's talk."

I smiled. It was not a kind smile.

"Talk?" I leaned in, close enough that he could smell my perfume—something expensive and foreign. "You should have thought about talking before you signed those papers, Julian. Now? I don't want your words. I want your empire."

I pulled my wrist free and walked away, Damian's arm around my waist.

Behind me, I heard Julian's fiancée shriek, "Who is that woman?!"

And Julian's broken whisper: "My wife."