The Billionaire's Regret

The chicken hissed like it was laughing at my life. I sat on the barstool, my chin resting on the back of my hand, staring at the frying pan as if it held the solution to my three–year marriage that was inching toward a cliff.

The smell of hot oil drifted up, wrapping our too-expensive penthouse kitchen in a haze far too dramatic for a simple fried chicken dinner.

“God, you’re going to burn in a second,” I muttered to a chicken that clearly didn’t care.

I lowered the heat. Then sank right back into my thoughts, which felt like an empty fridge: cold, bright, and reflecting everything I didn’t want to deal with.

The afternoon tea party was still floating in my mind like a poorly chosen scented candle.  It should’ve been sweet, elegant, full of pastel–clad women pretending to like each other.

But Sebastian… he’d vanished into the circle of his male friends like I was catering staff, not his wife.

He laughed. With his eyes narrowing just a little. With that smile. The smile that once made me feel protected, not ignored, while I stood on the side of the room holding a cup of cold tea, realizing this marriage might be running out of oxygen.

I clicked my tongue. “Wow, Jas. You’re a desperate wife complaining to fried chicken. This is peak career performance.”

The oil crackled louder, confirming just how pitiful I was.

Back when we were dating, Sebastian was a storm carrying electricity. Wild, intense, and way too good at making me forget how to breathe. Our first year of marriage? Don’t even ask. He wouldn’t even let me cook because he said my body was too ‘important’ for the oil.

Now? I’m convinced he doesn’t even know I’m aware of how the stove works.

I covered my face with both hands. “Am I too boring?” I asked myself. “Or is he out of space to store his attention?”

Greasy hands, messy thoughts. A lovely combination.

Sebastian had changed. Or maybe… he’d simply returned to his original form. A Romano man. Old Italian money. Charming, handsome, cold, with ambition tucked into the corner of his smile. A man who could silence a room just by turning his head. A man who once made me feel chosen, and now… forgotten.

And me....Jasmine Belsky. Eldest daughter of a rigid, dangerous Russian family. I was raised to be elegant, strategic, sharp. But when it came to my husband, I was more like a marshmallow held too close to the fire: melting, fragile, and making a mess of the stick.

I straightened up.

“I have to do something,” I murmured, not sure what.

Hire a therapist? Our families would combust at the word. Invite Sebastian to a romantic dinner? He’d cancel for a meeting or poker night. Write a letter? Too dramatic.

Or… stop chasing?

And right then, my chest pinched a little. A small, stinging truth: I missed him. The version of him who looked at me like I was the one thing that could ruin him.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a fork to flip the chicken. “Think, Jas. What would make a man like Sebastian Romano realize his wife isn’t a fancy piece of furniture collecting dust in a corner?”

No answer. Just the hiss of oil and the image of Sebastian flashing in my mind: a perfectly tailored black suit, those dark assessing eyes, that jaw that tightened whenever he held something back. A man who could make me feel bare even in a fully covered Paris dress.

A man who used to love me… or at least convinced me he did.

I smacked that thought before it grew legs. “Focus on the chicken, Jas. Your life’s a mess, but dinner doesn’t need to collapse with it.”

The chicken was done. The dining table was set, the white wine opened, and I stood staring at two plates like they were invitations to a party no one intended to attend.

“Fantastic. MasterChef: Lonely Wife Edition,” I muttered, pushing my hair behind my ear.

I wasn’t hungry.. or maybe I was hungry for something else. Attention. Sebastian’s low voice that once made me feel like his favorite secret. Now… I can’t even remember the last time he came home before eleven.

My eyes slid toward the hallway leading to his office. The walnut door sat quietly, almost intimidating. I hadn’t walked in there for a long time. Not because it was forbidden. We used to be… open. Free. Until at some point, “free” turned into “irrelevant.”

I walked over, my footsteps whispering against the marble. “Just looking,” I told myself. “Maybe I’ll find some inspiration for saving this marriage before I start calming myself with alcohol.”

His expensive cologne lingered faintly in the air. A scent that once unraveled all my logic. Now it just tightened something in my chest.

His computer sat on the desk, screen dark. I touched the mouse. It lit up. He hadn’t logged out.

I squinted. “Oh great. This isn’t my fault. This is an open invitation from the universe,” I babbled, pulling out the chair.

W******p Web popped open.

My chat used to sit pinned at the top. With that stupid little heart emoji Sebastian added when he was drunk on love in year one. Now… I wasn’t there.

What sat there instead: one pinned chat.

Beauty

My eyebrow arched. “Beauty…? Who—”

Click.

The world stopped.

Seriously, it stopped.

Like someone yanked the power cord out of my life.

The messages… they were tiny knives slicing through the veins of my breath one by one.

“I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

“You’re insane for doing that to me in the elevator.”

“When can we meet again? The usual hotel?”

Photos. Bare skin. A woman’s hand taking pictures of herself in a hotel bathroom mirror. Her skin. Pale blonde hair. A teasing smile.

I knew that hair.

I was the one who picked the stylist for it. Sebastian’s new secretary. The orphaned girl with a rough past I’d helped move out of her filthy apartment. The one I gave my first shopping card to so she could buy proper work clothes. Her name was Kelsey…

The world didn’t just stop. The world laughed at me.

My palms went cold. My back tightened so sharply it felt like my bones might crack. The ticking of the clock in that room sounded like a bomb, each second detonating inside my ears.

I scrolled up.

The dates… the nights he claimed he was working late. The nights I waited with a glass of wine. The nights he kissed my forehead before leaving, and I thought he was just tired.

My body started shaking. Like something was trying to claw its way out of my stomach but was trapped inside. Anger? Shock? Disgust? All of it mixing into one dark sludge.

My eyes landed on one more photo: the blonde on a hotel bed. Lifting the sheets a little. Inviting. And I recognized the bracelet on her wrist.

The bracelet I bought for Sebastian.

I clapped a hand over my mouth. My breath broke out of me like forced air.

+++

I lay on the bed, my hair half wet, the ends clinging to the pillow like traces of exhaustion. My skin burned from crying in the shower for two hours. Two hours of scalding water hitting my face, flushing the emotions out of me like poison.

Now, I stared at my phone with swollen eyes, typing into our tiny group chat: the Belsky Coven, the ridiculous name Rhea came up with when the three of us were drunk on prosecco two years ago.

Rhea: [Jas, where are you? I swear on Prada, if you tell me you’re still okay, I’m coming over to smack you.]

Hazel: [I already told Liam. He can prep the documents anytime. Just say the word.]

Me: [I’m not okay. But I don’t need a slap. At least not from you two. Maybe from my husband who’s too busy massaging… his secretary.]

A few seconds later, the screen exploded with digital profanity.

Rhea: [I’M ABOUT TO THROW UP. THAT SECRETARY? The one you helped? The one you bought the Armani blazer for? The one you took to the salon? I… I want to burn the entire city down.]

Hazel: [Send the photos. I want to file her under “people I’ll sue after death.”]

I swallowed hard. My fingers trembled as I opened my gallery.

Thank God I’d taken pictures of all the chats earlier… even the disgusting photos. Not to hurt myself again, but for evidence. Evidence for when I’d have to face Sebastian Romano… who seemed to think life was a chess game and I was the easiest pawn to move.

I sent several screenshots.

Notifications blew up instantly.

Rhea: [Good grief. I… I need alcohol. Or a knife. Or both.]

Hazel: [Jasmine… I mean it. Tomorrow morning we’re booking a meeting with Liam. You are not facing this alone.]

I inhaled slowly, my chest tight but strangely light. Light the way someone feels after dropping a ton of weight that was actually balanced on foolish hope.

Me: [Thank you. Really. You two are angels. Barbaric angels, but still angels.]

Rhea: [Just say you’re ready to divorce, and we’ll start the war.]

Hazel: [And you already have evidence. Your screenshots are like bullets. Good job, babe.]

I smiled for the first time today. A small smile, bitter but real.

Then… the sound of the door creaked.

I froze.

The bedroom door opened, and Sebastian walked in.

His steps were heavy, casual, carrying that usual “I own the room” aura. The difference was, this time I didn’t move to greet him. I usually got up and smiled. Pretended to be the grateful wife whose husband had come home.

I stayed lying down, phone in hand, blanket pulled to my waist. I heard Sebastian stop a few steps from the bed. I could feel his gaze. I could guess the thin line forming between his brows.

He was confused. Maybe annoyed that his wife wasn’t coming over like a loyal little dog. But I was probably giving him too much credit thinking he’d even feel that.

“Jasmine.”

I kept typing, pretending I was busy. God, it felt good. He wasn’t used to being ignored. Men like him thought attention was a birthright.

“Jasmine,” he repeated, louder.

I finally turned my head calmly, even though I was restraining myself from throwing the nightstand at his skull. “What?”

He stared at me for a long moment, like he was calculating what was off. His eyes were dark, sharp, carrying that hint of hawk energy that used to weaken me. Now it was just a shadow.

“Where were you today?” A sentence he hadn’t said in over a year. Since when did he care?

I tilted my head with a small smile. “Shower. A long one. To calm down.”

He frowned. “You usually greet me.”

“Hmm.” I shrugged. “Yeah. Usually.”

Sebastian’s jaw flexed. That was his annoyed tick. I used to panic when I saw it. I used to fear losing his good mood. Now? I just felt tired.

“Jas,” he said again, his tone dropping a note. “What’s going on?”

A good question. Fifteen months too late.

I let out a soft laugh. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m just… learning not to welcome someone who doesn’t come home for me.”

Sebastian’s eyes shifted. Subtle. Barely there. But I’d known him too long not to notice it.

He didn’t understand.

I turned my face away and looked back at my phone.

And inside me, a door gently closed. No sound, no spectacle.

Just like that.