Lahat ng Kabanata ng His Regret: I'm with his uncle now : Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

Misty strutted out of the boutique with the personal shopper trailing behind, arms loaded with glossy bags. Her heels clicked against the marble floor like a victory march. At her side, Trent’s best friend carried more bags, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.Misty didn’t care if he looked out of place. That wasn’t the point. The point was the bags. The glances from other shoppers. The way the salesgirl’s smile had stretched just a little tighter when Misty demanded the most expensive dress in the store.Anything to one-up a Silverwood.Her hand slid into her companion’s arm, squeezing just enough to remind herself—and everyone watching—that she wasn’t leaving alone. He laughed at something she didn’t even register, his face lit with the easy, thoughtless joy of someone who’d never had to fight for attention.Misty smiled, sharp and practiced. She tilted her chin higher, her perfume trailing behind her like a flag of conquest.She wasn’t just shopping. She was making a statement

The dress slid from Cassie’s hand and crumpled on the floor. Her face drained of color, eyes locked across the boutique.“Arden,” she hissed, tugging his sleeve.He was mid-conversation with the stylist, nodding along about hem lengths, not noticing her grip tighten. “What—”She pressed a finger to her lips, eyes wide. Then she pointed.Arden followed her gaze. Misty. Moving between racks like she owned the place, flipping through hangers one-handed, phone pressed to her ear with the other.Arden exhaled hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course,” he muttered.Before he could say more, Misty spun sharply on her heel. Cassie yanked Arden down. They crouched behind a row of sequined gowns, hearts hammering like kids caught in a game of hide-and-seek.For a moment, silence held. Then they both glanced at each other, nerves sparking into a laugh they tried too hard to muffle.The sound lingered, warm. Arden’s hand brushed against hers. She didn’t pull away. He leaned closer, lips

Ross was in high spirits. For once, everything was sliding neatly into place. His life—his empire—looked steady. After that scare with Cassie, she and Arden had gone quiet. A month of silence. A month of peace.The case against Trent was dragging, but Ross wasn’t worried. He had the best lawyers in his pocket, pulling strings, pushing the hearings further down the line. He couldn’t risk Trent rotting in a cell just yet. Not with the stipulations in the old man’s will hanging over his head like a goddamn guillotine.If Trent was convicted, the shares wouldn’t default to Ross. No, his father had seen to that. The bastard had built escape clauses into the very fabric of the family fortune. Conviction meant dilution—Trent’s shares scattered, handed to some shiny NGO his grandfather had approved years ago. A charity. A fucking charity.Ross’ jaw ticked as he thought about it. Even in the grave, his father was still fucking him. Still pulling strings, still testing him, still laughing from

Arden sat in the living room, Cassie's head resting on his shoulder. Her warmth should have been grounding, but he couldn’t stop checking his phone, eyes flicking to the screen again and again. Four days. Four damn days, and no word from Ivy.He ran a hand through his hair, chest tightening. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night—since she’d called, frantic, saying there was an emergency. Naked. Vulnerable. Wanting him. But he couldn’t. Not then, not ever. Not when she was his best friend’s sister. Not when she was, in his mind, family.He had trusted the building staff, had people stationed in and around Ivy’s hotel apartment, reporting every move. The Rhett's building was under his control, and the doorman answered directly to him.Yet the reports hadn’t come in.He gripped the arm of the sofa, teeth clenched. “Where the hell have you been, Ivy?” he muttered under his breath.His phone buzzed. A message from one of his watchers: Haven’t seen her in days.Four days. No trace.Arden

Ross’ pulse hammered as he grabbed another phone, his old one still shattered on the floor. He punched in Randall’s number with shaking fingers.“Yeah, boss?” Randall’s voice was calm, too calm.“Are you near a TV?” Ross snapped.A pause. “Why?”Ross’ grip tightened around the phone. His jaw ached from clenching. “Just turn on your fucking TV, Randall. Now. Tell me what you see.”There was rustling on the other end, the sound of movement, a click of buttons. Then silence. Randall stayed on the line, breathing unevenly.Finally, his voice came back. “Jesus… yeah. I see it.”Ross stared at the screen in front of him—the protest, the banners, the chants tearing through the air. His chest rose and fell fast.Randall cursed under his breath. “Alright. Give me a few minutes. I’ll find out who’s behind this. I’ll call you back.”The line went dead.Ross dropped into the chair, rubbing his face hard with both hands. The shouting on the TV didn’t stop. It only seemed louder now, digging under