All Chapters of Billionaire's Regrets:He Hurt Me But Wants Me Back: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Dwight’s POVThe rhythmic clinking of metal against metal fills the air, a soft cadence that calms the storm behind my ribs. I’ve been here for hours, maybe longer. Time has folded into itself, unraveling only in the form of the golden loop I’m working on—intricate, flawed, human.It’s supposed to be a ring, but it’s more than that. It’s a tether. Something to keep me grounded when everything else feels like it’s slipping.My fingertips are blackened with soot and metal polish. I haven’t eaten. My back aches, and I can feel the stiff pull of a burn on the side of my wrist from where I grazed the torch earlier. Still, I don’t stop. I’m not ready to face the world waiting outside this place.This workshop is tucked far enough away from the main building that I rarely get disturbed. It’s smaller, more private. It smells of cedarwood, oil, and scorched silver. I didn’t even bring Carter here. Only a few know it exists. I needed a space that didn’t scream success or wealth or responsibilit

Ethan's POVThe fire’s gone. Days have passed. But in my head, it still burns. And the memory of the fire crackling and hissing as I'd watched the short clip leaves me in complete satisfaction.I’m in my apartment tonight. Curtains drawn tight. The only light comes from this weak, flickering lamp in the corner. Shadows stretch across the floor like they’re reaching for me.I let them.I like the quiet. The isolation. It gives me room to think — and God, I’ve been thinking.My laptop glows in front of me. News reports. Articles. Whispers on social media. All of them screaming about Glimmr. About the fire. About the damage.No leads. No suspects.The thugs — they’d really been good at their job.They'd truly delivered. Exactly how I wanted it.I run a hand through my hair — it’s a mess — and let a slow smirk tug at my mouth.Two workshops. Reduced to ash. Dwight’s precious little empire gutted overnight. Everything he built — torched.And yet… I still feel empty.Because he’s still brea

Leah's POVThere's a moment of silence between us as Father studies the menu. I stay quiet, knowing that he doesn't like to make small talk when browsing through the options of the meal to order.However, he asks without looking up, "How have you been?"I blink. I must've misheard.That question doesn't come from him. Not first, not ever. Especially not when browsing through the menu."I've been… okay," I reply slowly, still not fully believing this is happening.He nods, glancing at me, his green eyes, very much like mine, assessing me before he returns to the menu.I steel myself for the moment he glances over it and waves it aside to order for both of us. It's how these dinners usually go. He selects, I smile and thank him, and the night continues under his direction.Except this time, he sets the menu in front of me."You should try something you like," he says. "They have an interesting range. Judith said the duck is nice, but I saw burgers too."I raise an eyebrow. "You're not o

Leah's POVI linger by the window longer than necessary, clutching my now lukewarm mug of tea. I find myself shifting back to thoughts of Dwight.He hadn’t called.Carter had picked up when I called the office. Polite but clinical, offering no details other than "He's in a meeting." And after that—nothing. No follow-up. No text. No call. No acknowledgment that I’d reached out at all.The ache in my chest is one I’m becoming familiar with. It’s not loud. It doesn’t scream or demand attention. It’s subtle—like a soft pressing weight against my ribs, constant and steady.He’s avoiding me. I know it now.I leave the window and place the empty mug on the counter. The apartment feels too still now, too quiet despite the city noise spilling in through the glass. I can’t do this. I can’t sit here another minute wondering if he’s okay, if the fire has weighed on him, if he’s drowning in all of it alone.Decision made, I head back to the bedroom.I start getting ready for work.It feels strange

Ethan's POVThe rage hasn't left me.It's still pulsing—white-hot and unrelenting—beneath my skin like magma, ready to erupt. I pace the floor, each step echoing against the marble tiles. My fingers twitch restlessly. Every few seconds, I glance down at my phone. The last message I had sent him stares mockingly back at me.Did she look... happy?I want to know more than anything. Had my absence in her life caused her to sigh out in relief?Was she mourning me—the way she had mourned Dwight? Or was I just a pesky fly she had been dying to get rid of?I scan my phone screen again... waiting... anticipating. But no text bubble shoots up, nothing to indicate that the thug is getting ready to respond.He'd better not be messing with me. If he's holding out, making me wait on purpose, I'll break his damn face the next time I see him.I'm not in the mood.Not when Leah's out there, gallivanting like nothing happened. Like she hadn't just ghosted me, like she hadn't stopped picking my calls,