The Billionaire’s Regret

ELARA’S POV

“So, when are you going to tell your husband?” Dr. Rivers asks, her tone laced with concern, but not without the familiarity of someone who knows me well enough to press for answers.

“I’ll tell him soon,” I reply with a soft laugh, even though she can’t see the forced smile stretching across my face.

Four days ago, I found out I was six weeks pregnant, and it still feels surreal. Nate and I have been trying for almost a year. After every negative test, I tried not to lose hope, but disappointment clung to me like a shadow. When my period was late this time, I didn’t let myself get excited. I went to the clinic for confirmation, too afraid to believe the two faint lines on the home test.

And then Dr. Rivers confirmed it.

I’m pregnant.

A little flutter stirs in my chest just thinking about it. I’ve imagined this moment so many times, telling Nate, seeing his face light up, the overwhelming joy of knowing we finally made it. But my joy comes with an undercurrent of worry.

“There’s something else,” Dr. Rivers had said at the clinic, her tone soft yet serious. “Your uterine lining is very thin. There’s a high chance of complications, Elara.”

She explained that I’d need regular monitoring, possibly bed rest. If we want to protect this pregnancy, Nate and I will need to attend her clinic together. He’ll have to sign some documents before we move forward with any treatment plans.

“You can’t put this off for long,” Dr. Rivers urges again now, her voice gently prodding. “I need to start you on medication at your next appointment. It’s really important.”

“I know,” I say quickly, my voice tight with guilt. “I will tell him. I promise.”

“Elara…” Her tone carries that familiar warning, like she knows I might not follow through.

“I swear, I’ll tell him tonight.” I inhale deeply, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “It’s our anniversary. I’ll give him the big news over dinner. I want it to be special.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and then she softens. “Well, happy anniversary! I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

“Thank you—”

“Elara Lilith!” my mother’s voice bellows from the kitchen, pulling me back to reality.

“I’ve got to go, Rivers,” I say quickly. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t forget, no excuses this time.”

“I won’t,” I promise and hang up before she can say anything else.

I hurry toward the kitchen, heart pounding in my chest.

“If you dragged me here for anything other than that casserole, I’m going to be very annoyed,” my mother says the moment I step into the room. She sits on the kitchen island, legs crossed, holding a glass of wine as if she’s a queen surveying her domain.

“Mom!” I gasp, rushing to the stove just in time to save the potatoes from burning. “You couldn’t turn off the burner? What if they burned?”

She shrugs without a trace of guilt. “Well, you weren’t too worried about them while you were off whispering God knows what to who ever it was you were on the phone with.”

Heat floods my cheeks. I haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy yet not even my mom. I wanted Nate to be the first to know.

“I only agreed to help with the casserole because it’s for your anniversary,” she grumbles, swirling her wine. “I can’t believe you’re making me cook for a man.”

“Mom!” I laugh, giving the potatoes a final stir.

“You know my rule, men do not deserve my culinary genius,” she adds, sipping from her glass like she’s reciting gospel.

I shake my head, amused. “Nate isn’t just any man though, he’s your son-in-law.”

“Only because you married him,” she says with a huff, though there’s a twinkle of affection in her eye.

Despite her complaints, she spent the entire afternoon perfecting the casserole. My mom isn’t just any cook she’s a five-star chef with four Michelin stars to her name, and she takes every opportunity to remind people of that.

“Well, if Nate gets an exception, maybe other men will, too,” I tease.

“Say something like that again, and I’ll leave you to finish the casserole alone,” she threatens, though her grin gives her away.

She places her empty wine glass on the counter and i stare the nearly finished meal. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out tonight? I could always pull some strings at the restaurant for you.”

“No, thanks,” I say, arranging the plates on the dinning table. “This year, I wanted something a little more intimate just the two of us. No distractions, no waiters.”

My mom arches a brow. “Sometimes I think you were switched at birth. There’s no way someone with my DNA prefers home cooked meals over a five star dining experience.”

I laugh, nudging her playfully. “I guess you’ll just have to accept that I’m a hopeless romantic.”

Her phone buzzes on the counter, and she glances at the screen with a sigh. “I need to take this.”

She steps into the living room, leaving me to finish setting the table. After a few minutes, she reappears, purse slung over her shoulder. “I have to run, sweetheart. Something came up at the restaurant Alejandro’s messing things up again.”

I try to hide my disappointment. “Already? Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“Sorry, honey. Duty calls.” She grabs my car keys from the hook by the door. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” she says, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.

“Thanks—” The door shuts behind her before I can finish.

I stand there for a moment, letting out a small sigh. I was hoping she’d stay longer, but I knew better than to expect it. At least she helped with the casserole.

With everything ready, I head upstairs to get dressed. Nate will be home soon. I pull out a short red dress, his favorite and carefully apply some makeup. After brushing my hair, I glance at myself in the mirror and smile. Tonight is going to be perfect.

On the dresser sits a small brown envelope: the one with the test results inside. I pick it up, my heart thumping with anticipation. In just a few minutes , Nate will know.

The sound of the front door opening makes my heart leap. I rush out of the room, clutching the envelope tightly in my hands. At the top of the stairs, I spot him Nate, standing in the entryway, still in his black suit. His brown hair is slightly tousled, and the weariness in his eyes tells me it’s been a long day.

“Nate!” I call out, practically flying down the stairs to greet him. I wrap my arms around him, inhaling the familiar scent of his woody cologne.

“Happy anni—”

“I want a divorce,” he says, cutting me off before I can finish.