His Rejected Wife: The Billionaire’s Regret

Orana’s Point of View

“I want a divorce.”

For a second, I thought I had misheard him. My fingers tightened around the edge of the table, nails digging into the marble countertop. I knew one day this day would come. I always dreaded it, but today it was happening.

“What?”

Across from me, he didn’t sit. He never did when it came to things that mattered or something he considered beneath him.

Callahan stood with his shoulder straight, hands in the pockets of his suit pants in a way that made him feel untouchable—something I once found to be hot, something that I always craved.

His expression was cold, as though he were discussing a business deal and not ruining four years of my life.

“I won’t repeat myself,” he said flatly.

My chest tightened painfully.

A week ago, I had been in a hospital bed, bleeding, breaking, losing what I thought was our child.

And now this.

“You’re divorcing me?” My voice came out softer than I intended, fragile in a way I hated.

His eyes flicked to me briefly, then away, as if even looking at me was a chore.

“Yes.”

“Why?” I asked, the word slipping out before I could stop it. “Why now?”

Something sharp crossed his face. Surprise? Shock? Annoyance, maybe.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Harder.

A laugh threatened to escape me, but it got stuck somewhere between my lungs and my throat. I was never one to make things harder for him. I always made sure, in the years I lived with him, that everything was easy for him.

“We’ve been married for four years,” I whispered. “You can at least tell me why.”

Four years since I turned nineteen. since I stood in my father’s office, nervous and hopeful, and he walked in like a storm that I didn’t know would ruin me.

I had loved him from that very moment. From that moment, he said hi in that smooth, deep voice of his. From when he took my hand and brought it to his lips. Planting a gentle kiss that made my heart race.

From the way his voice dipped when he greeted me. From the way he barely looked at me, I still thought I had a chance.

“I only married you,” he blurted, his voice cutting through my thoughts, “because I felt sorry for you.”

The world stilled. I blinked.

Once. Twice.

The words didn’t make sense at first. My mind rejected them, tried to think if I had misheard him.

“Sorry for me?”

“You were convenient,” he continued, cold. “Pathetic enough to accept anything. Easy to control. It solved a problem then.”

Each word felt like the knife in my chest was twisting. Turn. Turn.

I swallowed hard, forcing my spine to straighten.

“I love you.”

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It slipped out, but I didn’t take it back because the truth was I loved him then, and I love him now, even though he was breaking my heart.

For the first time, his gaze settled fully on me. “I don’t love you.”

There it was. The words that I always knew he wanted to say but never did.

Something inside me cracked, but it didn’t shatter. It was just broken.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat before I looked at him again.

My thoughts were a whirlwind, clashing against memories I had clung to for years. The rare moments he stayed. The nights he didn’t leave immediately. In the quiet moments, I convinced myself he cared. He would stand against my father if he tried to hurt me.

All lies.

Callahan never loved me.

“You’re not someone who can be loved,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “You were never the kind.”

That one hurt differently. I don’t know if he meant to say it, but it really hurt. Because those were the same words my father had said to me several times.

I was never the kind to be loved. By my father and now my husband.

I inhaled slowly, forcing the air into lungs that suddenly didn’t want to work.

‘Don’t cry.’ I reminded myself.

Not in front of him. He hated it when people cried in front of him. He had said it to me once in passing.

So instead of breaking, I lifted my chin, my voice low and calm. “Is she back?”

He stilled.

It was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it. But I had spent four years memorizing the smallest shifts in him. I loved it when I was the only one who noticed that about him.

“Marissa,” I clarified, my voice steadier than I felt.

Callahan’s expression darkened slightly, irritation flashing through his eyes. “That’s none of your business.”

So, she was back.

Of course she was. That’s why my husband thought now was the best time to let go of me.

A bitter sort of clarity settled over me. It all made sense now. The timing, the coldness, and the anger in his eyes for me.

“Sign the documents,” he said again, his tone final and cold. “Don’t drag this out.”

I nodded once.

“I’ll have my lawyer review them,” I replied. “You’ll get them back.”

For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face—surprise, maybe. As if he had expected my tears, begging, desperation to hold on to him.

I had nothing left to give him. I gave him my heart, my body, my time, and my devotion, but all that didn’t matter in the end. I had nothing.

“Good,” he said curtly.

And just like that, he turned. Walking out of the house with his broad shoulders straight and head held high, like he just didn’t break me.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than a slam.

And then I was alone.

My knees nearly gave out, but I caught myself, gripping the table harder, taking deep breaths as tears threatened to fall.

Don’t cry.

I had cried so many times because of him. Crying for him to hold me, to treat me right, but I just couldn’t anymore.

I sniffled back, running fingers through my hair before looking around the house. It was never mine. Everything in it belonged to my husband.

My phone buzzed sharply against the wood, breaking through my thoughts.

I flinched.

For a second, I just stared at it. My doctor’s name flashed at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick it up. I just closed my eyes until it stopped ringing.

It buzzed again, this time with a text message that I wasn’t expecting.

With trembling fingers, I picked it up.

My breath hitched as I read the message. ‘Please come in immediately. I need to discuss something with you.’

My heart began to pound. I had hated the smell of hospitals ever since I was young. And a week ago, they told me I had lost the baby. So, what could be worse than that?