Mr Billionaire’s Regret

Chapter 1: THE ASHES OF OUR LOVE

He stood beside Elara, his hand possessively tucked into the crook of her arm. Her laughter, artificial and snorting, annoyed him. Their public appearances, a strategic plan to secure a large merger, had become a persistent act. Every practiced smile, every lingering touch for the camera, was a lie told to the world.

He glanced at his watch, a diamond-encrusted testament to his success and also to the minutes ticking away from a heart he was already destroying.

Across the room, a flash of emerald green caught his eye. Aria. She moved with subtle grace that always managed to steal the air from his lungs. Her artistic capabilities shone even in the simple cut of her gown, a visible contrast to Elara's pretentious display.

Aria, upon seeing him, offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes. He felt a familiar surge of irritation. Why couldn't she understand? This was business. This was necessary.

Her artistic dreams and a desire for a home filled with warmth, stories, and laughter felt like distractions from the great task of solidifying his power. He was mid-conversation with a German industrialist, a potential investor whose wandering gaze seemed to burn into Julian's very soul, when he felt a firm grip on his arm. Not Elara's, but James Silver's, his discreet personal assistant.

"Mr. Vance," James murmured, his voice hardly audible, "Mrs. Vance is asking to speak with you. Urgently."

Julian frowned. "Later, James. I'm engaged."

"She insists, sir. And... she looks quite upset."

With a sigh, Julian excused himself from the industrialist, a tight smile plastered on his face. Elara's eyes narrowed in slits at his retreating figure, but he simply squeezed her hand dismissively and followed James.

He found Aria in a secluded passageway, under the soft glow of the Venetian chandelier. The emerald dress shimmered, but it couldn't hide her shaky hands, which clutched a small leather-bound portfolio. Her usually vibrant face was drawn, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Julian," she began, her voice low and trembling, "we need to talk."

"Aria, not now. You know how important this evening is." He said, lines of irritation etched on his forehead. He hated these scenes of unplanned emotional outbursts that disrupted his carefully planned life.

"Important?" Her voice rose, tears stinging down her throat, her voice laced with raw hurt that finally managed to penetrate his carefully built facade. "More important than our marriage? More important than us?"

Julian ran a hand through his perfectly curled hair. "Don't be dramatic. You know we can discuss this at home."

"There won't be a home, Julian," she whispered, and for the first time, a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement, she opened the portfolio. Inside lay neatly arranged photographs. Pictures of him and Elara, intimate and close. Laughing too closely at a charity event. Her hand on his back as they left a private dinner. And then a series of undeniable, grainy pictures taken from a video, some blurry. Elara's head tilted back in laughter, Julian's arm around her waist, their faces inches apart, almost kissing, at a discreet restaurant, far from the prying eyes of the gala.

"What is this?" He demanded, though he knew perfectly well, as blood drained from his face. He knew these moments, though he thought they were carefully concealed as a secret.

"This," Aria said, her voice dropping dangerously low, "is the truth you have been so desperate to hide. The truth you dismissed every time I tried to talk to you. The truth that has been tearing me apart."

He felt a flicker of defensive anger. "These are out of context. You know Elara is a business partner. This is a publicity stunt for the merger."

"A publicity stunt that involves you betraying your wife?" Her eyes flashed, and he saw a flicker of the vigor that had first drawn him to her. "I've seen the looks, Julian. The way she touches you. The way you look at her when you think no one is watching. Do you honestly expect me to believe this is just business?"

"I chose you, Aria!" He snapped, the lie tasting like sour grapes in his mouth. "I married you!"

"You should get a medal then... discarding me like a piece of unwanted furniture," she retorted, tears finally welling up in her eyes. "You built your empire on the ashes of our love. You chose your ambition, your transactional relationships, over the woman who loved you unconditionally. Do you know how many nights I've cried myself to sleep in that empty penthouse, while you are out charming your 'business partners'?"

His jaw tightened. He hated the feeling of being cornered and hated the vulnerability that came with it. "This is childish, Aria. Get a grip. We are in public."

Aria chuckled, the sound harsh and bitter. "Childish? You call this childish? I gave up my career, my dreams for you, Julian! I decorated that soulless penthouse, trying to make it a home, only for you to fill it with your lies!"

She paused, her breath catching. "And these, Julian," she said, her voice dropping further into a chilling whisper, "are just the highlights. I have the videos. The full, scandalous videos. Do you want the world to see them? To see Hiranthon Corporation's esteemed CEO, the man of integrity, caught in a scheming affair with his 'fiancée'?"

He stared at her, stunned. The audacity she had to gather this evidence. He had underestimated her and had taken her quiet love for granted. He had believed her gentle nature equated to weakness.

"You wouldn't even dare," he growled, but there was a slight shakiness in his own voice. The thought of those videos, exposed to the predatory Vancouver media watching his every step with keen eyes, sent a cold shiver down his spine. His empire, his carefully built image, could crumble in an instant.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" She challenged, her voice gaining strength, coldness replacing the softness and vulnerability. "You pushed me to this, Julian. You broke me. But I am not broken anymore. I am just... done."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, then straightened her shoulders. "I have spoken to a lawyer. The papers will be served tomorrow morning."

His mind spiralled into endless thinking. Divorce. The word echoed in the elegant hallways, deafening him. He had always assumed that she would endure, that she would eventually forgive him. He had believed her love was endless and an ever-running well he could draw from at his will.

"You cannot be serious, woman," he managed to say, his voice turned hoarse. "This is madness. We can work through this. It's not too late."

A ghost of a smile, devoid of humour, touched her lips. "No, Julian. We can't. There is nothing left to work through. You made your choice a long time ago. Now, I am making mine."

She turned around, her back to him, and her emerald dress swirled around her, and walked away. Not rushed, not defeated, but with a newfound dignity, leaving him standing amidst the glittering mess of his own making.

He watched her go, a strange, hollow feeling growing in his chest. He still believed he could win her back. He had to. He could not imagine a life without her, even if he had treated her like she was utterly unimportant. This was just a minor temporary setback. A tantrum. She loved him. She always would.

He dismissed the sinking feeling in his gut, convincing himself that it was the shock of her outburst. "I am Julian Vance, after all. I conquered the corporate world and signed deals deemed nearly impossible; I would certainly conquer my wife's fleeting anger." Shrugging his broad shoulders, he walked back into the room where so many tight and fake smiles stood waiting for him.

The lavish gala continued around him, oblivious to the chaos outside. Elara walked up to him, hooking her arm in his and leading him towards a dignitary waiting for him.

Meanwhile, sirens blared outside the venue. A young girl in panic had called the paediatric team; she knelt down holding the fragile pale woman in her arms as she awaited the medical team.

"Hold on... the medical team are on their way." Aliya was scared. She didn't mean to hit her; she swerved beside her on time, but the woman in shock slumped and fainted, her leather portfolio hurled to the side. In a few minutes, the paediatric team arrived, dishing out first aid. Immediately, they got her pulse; she was hurled into the van on a stretcher. Her emerald green silk dress was dusty and crumpled. As the van's engine was reignited, Julian shook hands with a potential investor and clicked glasses, celebrating his win.