The Billionaire's Regret: Chasing His Discarded Bride

I was still trying Aaron's number over and over when I felt the warm wetness soaking through my nightgown and pooling on the marble floor.Then the pain hit again, like a vise tightening around my entire abdomen, squeezing until I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and could only grip the edge of the dresser and pray."Mrs. Styles!" Mrs. Rivera called, running toward me, her voice sharp with panic. "Your water—oh God, we need to get you to the hospital. Now."Everything after that was fragments. The car ride, every bump in the road sending fresh waves of agony through me. The bright lights of the emergency room. Voices shouting medical terms I couldn't process. Hands lifting me, moving me, and through it all, the blood—so much blood that even through my pain, I felt the cold grip of fear."She's hemorrhaging—""BP dropping—""Get Dr. Morrison, now!""My baby," I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. "Please, save my baby."Someone squeezed my hand. Mrs. Rivera's face swam above me, tears

|| Isabella's POV ||Divorce.The word stared up at me from the papers scattered across my hospital blanket, black ink on white paper, clinical and final. I couldn't stop looking at them, couldn't stop my hands from trembling as I held our daughter—his daughter—closer to my chest.He wanted a divorce.I'd thought about it, of course. In the dark hours of this marriage, when his coldness felt like it would freeze me from the inside out, I'd imagined what freedom might look like. I imagined a life where I wasn't constantly bracing for his contempt, his suspicion, and his indifference.But I never thought he'd be the one to demand it. And certainly not like this—hours after I'd nearly died bringing his child into the world, with that woman standing at his side like she already owned the space I was being erased from.The cruelty of it took my breath away.Three weeks passed. Twenty-one days of silence.Aaron didn't come to the hospital again. Didn't call. Didn't ask about his daughter, a

|| Aaron’s POV ||Why did she agree so quickly?The question gnawed at me as I stood in the hallway outside my mother’s study, my briefcase in hand—the excuse I’d given myself for coming back, though I wasn’t entirely sure why I’d needed an excuse in the first place.Isabella had agreed to the divorce. Just like that.She didn’t cry like she always did or displayed her desperate dramatic theatrics. Just a quiet, hollow “yes” that should have felt like victory but instead left me… unsettled.Shouldn’t she have fought harder? Shouldn’t she have tried to negotiate, to use the marriage as leverage the way gold-diggers always did?That’s what women like her did, wasn’t it?They clung to the money, the status, the security of the Styles name with both hands and refused to let go.But she’d just… agreed.I loosened my tie, trying to shake off the strange feeling coiling in my chest. It didn’t matter. She’d signed away her claim to me, to my life, and soon this nightmare would be over. I coul