The Billionaire Who Regretted Losing Me

The divorce papers were placed in front of me like a business contract.

Clean. Cold. Final.

“Sign it.”

Ethan Blackwood didn’t even look at me as he spoke. His attention remained on his phone, long fingers scrolling, as if ending our three-year marriage was nothing more than approving a budget report.

I stared at the papers, my vision blurring. Divorce.

No apology, no explanation, no hesitation.

Just like that.

“Why now?” I asked quietly.

He finally looked up, his sharp eyes impatient. “Because it’s over.” Those three words cut deeper than anything else.

I had been Ethan Blackwood’s wife for three years, not his lover, not his partner, barely even his companion. Just a name on paper, a role I played to perfection while enduring his indifference, his absence, and the whispers that followed me everywhere.

She married him for money, She doesn’t belong in his world.

Maybe they were right.

I swallowed and forced myself to stay composed. “Did I do something wrong?”

His lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “You existed.”

The room went silent. That was it. My crime. My flaw. I lowered my gaze to the documents again, my hands trembling. At the bottom of the page was my name "Serena Blake Blackwood" printed neatly, as if mocking me.

“Sign it today,” Ethan continued. “You’ll receive compensation. A house. Money. Enough to disappear quietly.”

Disappear. My fingers tightened around the pen.

He stood up, already done with the conversation. “I’m busy. Don’t drag this out.”

As he turned to leave, something inside me snapped, not loudly, not dramatically, but completely.

“Ethan.”

He paused at the door.

I opened my mouth… then closed it again.

What was the point?

Telling him I had spent the morning throwing up?

Congratulations. You’re pregnant.

I signed the papers.

The sound of the pen scratching against paper felt louder than my own heartbeat.

Ethan glanced at the signature, nodded once, and walked out without another word. The door closed.

And just like that, my marriage ended. I placed a hand over my stomach, tears finally spilling down my cheeks.

“I won’t beg,” I whispered to the empty room. “And I won’t stay.”

He had thrown me away without regret.

One day…he would learn what it truly meant to lose me.

I left the Blackwood mansion with nothing but a small suitcase and a hollow ache in my chest.

No one stopped me.

The guards at the gate lowered their heads politely, as they always did. The staff avoided my eyes, pretending not to notice the woman who had once been introduced as Mrs. Blackwood now walking out alone, without jewelry, without dignity, without a place to return to.

I supposed this was how I had always existed in this house quietly, temporarily.

The driver opened the car door. “Where to, ma’am?”

For a moment, I didn’t know how to answer.

Home? I no longer had one.

My phone vibrated in my hand. A message from Ethan’s assistant lit up the screen.

The compensation has been transferred. The lawyer will contact you regarding property arrangements.

So efficient. So heartless.

“Just… the hospital,” I said at last.

The driver nodded and pulled away.

As the mansion disappeared behind us, my hand drifted to my stomach again. The doctor’s voice replayed in my mind, gentle and oblivious to the storm it had unleashed in my life.

Early pregnancy. Around five weeks.

Five weeks.

I let out a shaky breath and stared out the window, watching the city blur past. Somewhere between the skyscrapers and the crowded streets, my tears dried. I had cried enough for one lifetime.