Semua Bab BILLIONAIRE’s REGRET : I MARRIED EX- HUSBAND ENEMY: Bab 11 - Bab 20

-CASSIAN HALE-Power isn’t about who walks into the room first.It’s about who makes the other man feel like he arrived late.I make sure of that.The conference room sits high above the city — glass walls stretching from floor to ceiling, black marble table reflecting every polished shoe, every cufflink, every calculated gesture. Outside, the skyline glitters like currency, like everything in this world can be bought or stolen. Inside, everything bends back toward me. Controlled. Perfect. My armor.I don’t dress for business today; I dress for war. Charcoal suit, fitted precisely. No tie. Watch immaculate to the second. Everything about me says dominance, precision, command. Every inch calculated, every muscle primed. I pace briefly, touching the papers in front of me, not because I need them — I know them by heart — but because movement slows the fire under my ribs.The door opens.I expect a team, an entourage, security detail, the ritual pomp. Instead, it’s just him.Tristan Halen

-LIANA-⸻Silence can be louder than any scream.Especially when it comes from Tristan.That night, his silence spoke volumes—cold, commanding, and frighteningly controlled. I still remember the way he pulled me away after the slap, his grip firm around my wrist as though he could anchor me in the middle of chaos. Cameras flashed like lightning, but he was a storm of his own—silent, dangerous, and protective in a way that made my heart twist.He didn’t say a word. Didn’t spare Cassian a glance. He simply stepped between us, his tall frame cutting me off from the crowd’s hungry eyes and the thousand gasps that echoed through the ballroom. I could still feel the tremor in my palm, the sting of what I’d done, and the burn of Cassian’s shocked face etched into my mind.The drive home is wordless. Not a single question, not a single glance. Just the sound of the engine purring and my own pulse in my ears. I can still feel Cassian’s hand on my wrist — the iron grip, the scent of his cologne

-CASSIAN HALE-I’ve always believed in endings designed by my hands.When something stops serving me — a product line, a partner, a person — I erase it. Clean. Neat. Irrevocable. That’s how empires are built; that’s how they stay standing. You remove rot before it spreads.Except some rot isn’t visible until it’s already eaten the core.Liana’s slap did more than bruise skin. It opened a fissure in everything I built. The fissure widened with every headline, every sympathetic panel that questioned my character instead of hers. And with each sympathetic voice, my hands felt less like instruments of creation and more like claws.So you do what you must.I start at the edges — small, surgical moves, the kind I convinced myself were necessary and therefore not immoral. Hire a whisper. Plant a doubt. Find a flicker of contradiction and blow it into a bonfire. The goal isn’t just revenge; it’s to reframe the story. Make them question her. Make them doubt Tristan. Make the world tilt back to

-CASSIAN- The city was still half-asleep when the first headline hit. “Liana Halenti’s son turns five. A mirror of his mother… and someone else.” The photo they used was cruel. Elias laughing, sunlight pouring through his curls, caught mid-laughter in a world far too golden for the mess that made him. My phone froze on his face, the coffee in my hand cooling before I remembered to breathe. He had my smile. My goddamn smile. By eight, I was sitting in the boardroom with a team of people pretending not to watch me unravel. PR chatter blurred together — “mitigation,” “optics,” “counter-statement.” None of it mattered. I dismissed them all with a single word. “Out.” The only person I wanted to see was Nate. He arrived ten minutes later — crisp suit, calm eyes, the kind of man who understood silence better than most understood loyalty. He shut the door behind him, no folder in his hands. Just bad news. “Say it,” I ordered. He didn’t hesitate. “The blogs are linking the timelines a

-TRISTAN- It had been a week since I filed the injunction against Cassian Hale.A week since the world learned that I’d done the one thing everyone had been waiting for — drawn a line in the sand.And a week since my wife stopped speaking to me properly.The media turned it into a circus. Every morning, new headlines—“Cassian Hale Demands Paternity Test for Liana Halenti’s Son.”“The Halenti-Hale War: Billionaires and Bloodlines.”They called it a scandal.For me, it was damage control.For Liana, it was betrayal.I understood that.But understanding her anger didn’t make it easier to live with.She’d barely looked at me since the morning it broke. Every time she did, I saw the question she hadn’t stopped asking: Why didn’t you tell me?Because if I had, she would’ve stopped me.And for once, I couldn’t afford her mercy.⸻The courthouse was already surrounded when we arrived. Reporters screamed our names from behind barriers, cameras flashing like lightning.“Mr. Halenti! Mrs. Hale