THE BILLIONAIRE'S REGRET

The last person Avah Morne expected to see at the Aurelia Grand was the man who had taught her how to survive being unwanted.

Unfortunately, Calder Ives had never been a man who entered a room quietly.

He stood beneath the crystal chandeliers, dressed in a black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, with a glass of champagne in one hand and the attention of nearly everyone around him. His dark hair was neatly styled, his expression unreadable, and his presence as commanding as the empire he had built.

Avah’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

“Please tell me you’re looking at the dessert table,” Clove whispered beside her.

“I am.”

“The dessert table is behind you.”

Avah turned her head.

Clove sighed. “Wonderful. You’ve learned how to lie with a straight face. That’s progress.”

Despite herself, Avah laughed.

She wore a midnight-blue gown that followed her figure without making her feel trapped inside it. Her dark hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder, and a pair of silver earrings caught the light whenever she moved.

She had chosen the dress because she liked it.

Not because Calder preferred blue. Not because it would make her look elegant beside him. Not because someone might photograph her and tell him he had a beautiful wife.

That last thought nearly stole her smile.

She was no longer his wife.

“Stop looking at him,” Clove murmured.

“I’m not looking at him.”

“Then your eyes have developed an independent relationship with his face.”

Avah took a sip of champagne. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Immensely. I’ve waited for the day you could attend an event without worrying whether your ex-husband approved of your lipstick.”

“He never cared about my lipstick.”

“Exactly.”

The words landed more heavily than Clove intended.

Avah looked down at her glass, then forced herself to lift her chin.

Tonight was important. Morne Studio had received an invitation to the Aurelia Design Foundation’s annual gala, and she intended to leave with more than photographs of expensive decorations.

Her studio was finally attracting the right attention. Clients were calling. Projects were growing. People who once looked past her were beginning to remember her name.

She had worked too hard to let one man ruin the evening.

“Mrs. Ellery is over there,” Clove said, discreetly pointing toward an elegant woman in an emerald dress. “She owns three properties and has been searching for someone to redesign her coastal residence.”

Avah straightened. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Because you were busy conducting a silent investigation into Calder’s tuxedo.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Go earn us some money.”

Avah crossed the ballroom.

She introduced herself to Mrs. Ellery, spoke about her studio, and listened carefully as the older woman described her vision for a home that felt warm rather than impressive.

Avah understood the distinction immediately.

“Luxury should make you comfortable,” she explained. “It shouldn’t make you afraid to touch anything.”

Mrs. Ellery laughed. “At last. Someone who understands.”

They spoke about natural materials, open spaces, and the possibility of transforming the residence into a home that reflected its owner rather than a catalogue.

When their conversation ended, Mrs. Ellery slipped Avah’s business card into her evening bag.

“I’ll have my assistant contact you.”

“Thank you. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Avah walked away with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

One potential client. One meaningful conversation. One more step toward the life she was building.

Then she felt it.

That unmistakable awareness of being watched.

She turned.

Calder was looking directly at her.

For a moment, the ballroom seemed to lose its noise. Avah remembered another room, another evening, and a man who had looked at her without truly seeing her.

She remembered the divorce papers on his desk.

She remembered his calm voice.

I think it’s best that we end this marriage.

No shouting. No tears from him. No explanation that made the pain easier to understand.

Just a signature and the end of everything she had once believed they might become.

Avah inhaled slowly.

She would not give that memory another piece of her evening.

She turned away.

“Avah.”

His voice reached her before she could take another step.

She stopped because ignoring him would have attracted more attention than answering him.

“Calder.”

He approached with the same controlled confidence she remembered. Up close, he looked almost exactly as he had in her memories: handsome, composed, and entirely too accustomed to getting what he wanted.

His gaze moved over her face, pausing briefly on her dress.

“You look different.”

Avah offered a polite smile. “People tend to change.”

“I can see that.”

“Can you?”

Something shifted in his expression.

Perhaps he had expected her to blush, or ask how he had been, or give him the kind of smile she used to offer whenever he returned home after midnight.

She did none of those things.

“You look well,” he said.

“So do you.”

“I heard you started your own design studio.”

“Morne Studio.”

“I know.”

“Then you already know what I do.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “I was trying to make conversation.”

“And I’m answering you.”

For a brief moment, neither spoke.

Avah could almost see the questions gathering behind his eyes. When had she become so comfortable speaking to him without searching his face for approval? When had she stopped treating his attention like a gift?

Perhaps the better question was why he had never noticed how carefully she used to do it.

“You seem happy,” he said at last.

“I am.”

The answer came easily.

That appeared to unsettle him more than an accusation would have.

“I'm glad.”

Avah studied him for a moment. She wondered whether he meant it, whether some small part of the man she had loved could genuinely be happy for her.

Then she remembered that she no longer needed to solve every mystery inside Calder Ives.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I have people to meet.”

“Avah.”

She paused.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed to inform you of my invitations.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then perhaps you should say what you mean.”

His lips parted, but no answer came.

For the first time that evening, Avah saw something unfamiliar in his expression.

Uncertainty.

It should have pleased her.

Instead, she felt only a quiet sadness for the woman she had once been—the woman who would have treasured that uncertainty as proof that she still mattered.

Avah gave him a courteous nod and walked away.

She did not look back.

Across the room, Clove intercepted her with two fresh glasses of sparkling water.

“Was that civil?”

“Painfully.”

“Did you insult his shoes?”

“No.”

“Waste of an opportunity.”

Avah laughed, and this time the sound came without effort.

They were discussing the next steps for Morne Studio when a man in a charcoal suit approached them.

“Ms. Morne? Reid Calloway.”

Avah recognized the name. Calloway Properties had been involved in several ambitious restoration projects around Aurelia City.

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“I've heard good things about your work. Particularly the renovation you completed on Bellamy Street.”

“Thank you. That project was a challenge.”

“Good design usually is.” Reid smiled. “I'd like to discuss a property I'm restoring. Nothing formal tonight, but perhaps we could arrange a meeting.”

“I'd be happy to hear more about it.”

“Excellent. I'll have my office contact yours.”

Their conversation was brief, professional, and refreshingly uncomplicated.

Reid didn't ask about her marriage. He didn't look at her as if her value depended on who had once stood beside her. He spoke to her as a designer whose work interested him.

Avah found that she liked it.

When Reid moved away, Clove leaned closer.

“Handsome.”

“Professional.”

“Handsome and professional.”

“Clove.”

“I'm only observing the available evidence.”

Avah shook her head, smiling.

Across the ballroom, Calder watched them.

He told himself he was observing the room. It was an event filled with investors, architects, and influential clients. Watching people was part of his job.

Yet his attention kept returning to Avah.

She was laughing with her friend now. Her shoulders were relaxed, and her smile reached her eyes. She looked comfortable in a room where she once used to stand beside him, waiting for him to introduce her to people who never bothered to remember her name.

He had assumed she would struggle after their divorce.

The thought embarrassed him now.

He had not considered that she might flourish without him. He had barely considered what she wanted at all.

A sharp chime sounded through the ballroom, drawing everyone's attention toward the stage.

The foundation's director stepped behind the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. Tonight, we're delighted to announce the shortlisted design studios for Meridian House, one of Aurelia City's most anticipated developments.”

Calder turned toward the stage.

Meridian House was a major project for Ives Holdings, a development intended to combine residential spaces, private gardens, and public cultural areas. Its design would shape the company's reputation for years.

He had personally reviewed the shortlist.

The director began reading the names.

Several familiar firms appeared on the enormous screen behind her.

Then a new name emerged.

MORNE STUDIO

Beneath it, in smaller lettering:

FOUNDER: AVAH MORNE

Calder went still.

Across the ballroom, Avah looked up at the screen.

For a second, surprise flickered across her face. Then her expression softened into a smile—not the careful smile she used to wear beside him, but one filled with pride.

Clove seized her arm and whispered something that made Avah laugh.

Applause filled the room.

Calder barely heard it.

He remembered the woman who had once sat across from him at their dining table, showing him sketches for a project she hoped to pursue. He had glanced at the pages while answering an urgent call, promising to look at them properly later.

He never had.

Now her name stood on a screen above a room filled with people whose respect he had spent years earning.

And she had earned their attention without borrowing his.

Calder looked at her again.

As if sensing his gaze, Avah turned.

Their eyes met across the ballroom.

She did not smile at him.

She did not look away, either.

She simply held his gaze for a heartbeat, then turned back toward the stage as the applause continued.

Calder had built his life around the certainty that everything important could be secured with money, influence, and careful decisions.

Yet the woman he had let go was becoming someone he could no longer pretend to understand.

And Meridian House had just placed her directly in his path.

This time, Avah Morne wasn't standing there as his wife.