The Billionaire’s Regret; His Crippled Ex- Wife

Chapter One

The rain outside was falling hard against the tall windows of our bedroom, but inside, the sound that terrified me most was the sharp click of metal. I sat at the edge of the king-sized bed, my fingers tightly clutching the fabric of my long, thick sweatpants. Across the room, my husband, Julian, was holding a screwdriver. He had just finished reattaching the sharp steel handles to the bedside drawers.

"Julian, please," I whispered. My voice was raspy, trembling slightly despite my best efforts to hold it steady. "You removed those handles three years ago so I wouldn't cut myself when I had panic attacks. Why are you putting them back now?"

Julian didn't look at me right away. He calmly tightened the last screw, wiped his hands on a clean white towel, and finally turned around. He looked as handsome and composed as always, dressed in a sharp navy suit. But his eyes, which used to look at me with warm worry, were cool and detached.

"Chloe explained it to me last night, Eleanor," Julian said, his tone flat and logical. "Dr. Chloe Vance is a trained psychologist. She told me that by removing every sharp edge in this house, I’m not protecting you. I’m enabling your fear. You’re thirty years old, Eleanor. You can’t live in a padded room forever just because of a limp and a few old scars."

The name Chloe felt like a bucket of ice water poured down my spine.

Chloe was Julian’s ex-girlfriend. She was the woman he had been crying over four years ago when he drove his sports car off a dark mountain road in a drunk rage. I was the foolish girl who saw the crash, pulled his heavy, unconscious body from the burning wreckage, and paid the price for it. A falling piece of metal crushed my left leg, leaving me with a permanent limp, deep jagged scars from my hip to my knee, and a mind shattered by anxiety and insomnia.

Back then, Julian felt so guilty that he married me. He swore to take care of me forever. For three years, he carried me upstairs, massaged my aching leg every night until I fell asleep, and shielded me from the cold world. I thought that was love. I truly did.

Then, two months ago, Chloe returned from abroad with a fresh degree in psychology and a sudden, deep concern for Julian’s tied-down life.

"Chloe doesn't know what happens to me when the room gets dark, Julian," I said, my voice barely above a breath. "She doesn't know how my chest tightens until I can't breathe. I saved your life. Is this how you help me?"

Julian sighed, walking over to stand in front of me. He leaned down and placed his warm hands on my shoulders, but the gesture felt like a scripted routine rather than comfort.

"Eleanor, don't talk like that," Julian said softly, though his words were firm. "You are my responsibility. You are a debt I will repay for the rest of my life. I will never leave you, and I will never let you leave me. But Chloe is right. You rely on me too much. You need to grow up and face the world again. Starting today, no more hiding behind long pants, and no more soft edges in this house."

A debt. That was all I was to him. A heavy, painful debt he had to carry on his back.

I looked up into his handsome face, searching for a trace of the man who used to look at me with deep tenderness. There was nothing. Just duty. Just obligation. And a desperate, hidden desire to prove to Chloe that he was doing the 'right thing' as a responsible husband.

Something inside me quieted down instantly. The burning ache in my heart didn't scream anymore; it simply turned into cold ash.

"Okay," I said quietly.

Julian looked slightly surprised by how easily I surrendered. "Okay?"

"Yes, Julian. You're right. I should stop hiding."

He smiled, looking relieved, as if he had just successfully checked off a difficult task on his daily business agenda. He kissed my forehead gently—a dry, meaningless touch—and pulled out his phone as it began to ring.

I saw the caller ID on his screen before he could turn it away: Chloe.

"I have to take this," Julian said quickly, already stepping toward the bedroom door. "It's about a charity foundation Chloe is setting up. Wear something nice tonight, Eleanor. We're having dinner at the Grand Hotel with some old colleagues."

He left the room without waiting for my answer.

As soon as the door clicked shut, I stood up slowly. Pain shot through my left knee, a familiar, throbbing ache that reminded me of the night my life changed. I walked over to the desk, pulled out my private laptop, and opened a locked folder.

Inside was an email sent to me two days ago by Professor Harrison, my former mentor at the Architectural Institute. Before the accident, I was an award-winning young architect. Everyone said I had a brilliant future. After the accident, I gave it all up because I felt broken and hideous.

The email read: 'Eleanor, the Swiss Architecture Academy has approved your research fellowship. Your flight to Zurich is booked for thirty days from now. We are ready when you are.'

I looked at the digital calendar on my screen. Exactly 30 days.

Julian believed I couldn't survive a single day without his care. He believed I was a helpless cripple who would cling to his clothes forever out of fear and weakness. He thought I was his lifelong burden.

He had no idea that I was already counting down the days until I disappeared from his life forever.

I didn't need his pity, and I certainly didn't need Chloe's fake psychological advice. If Julian wanted to pay off his debt, he could keep his money and his fake kindness. I was going to buy back my freedom.

I closed the laptop, took a deep, steady breath, and walked over to the closet. For three years, I had hidden my legs inside baggy trousers. Today, I picked out a simple, elegant dark green dress that fell just below my knees, exposing the pale, jagged scar running down my leg.