All Chapters of EX-HUSBAND'S REGRET (It's Too Late To Apologise): Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Victoria Sterling didn't move from the doorway. She just stood there, taking in the scene—Calloway and me, flushed and disheveled, standing too close in the kitchen at 4:30 in the morning. "Well," she said finally, her voice cool and measured. "This is interesting." Calloway straightened, his hand falling away from my face. "Mother, what are you doing here?" "I could ask you both the same question." She closed the door behind her with a soft click, then moved into the penthouse with the grace of someone who owned every room she entered. "Marcus called me about his father's... involvement in certain matters. I was concerned. Wanted to check on you both." "At 4:30 in the morning?" I asked, finding my voice. "I couldn't sleep." Victoria set her designer purse on the hall table, then turned to face us fully. Her sharp eyes missed nothing—our proximity, the half-eaten omelets on the counter, the way Calloway's hand had moved protectively toward me when she'd entered. "And clear

The estate security finally cleared the reporters from the driveway, threatening trespassing charges and police intervention. By the time our SUV pulled through the gate, my hands had stopped shaking, replaced by something harder. Rage. Calloway helped me out of the car, his hand steady on my lower back as we walked toward the massive stone mansion. It was beautiful—sprawling grounds, perfectly manicured gardens, the kind of wealth that whispered rather than shouted. Under different circumstances, I might have been impressed. Right now, I just needed walls between me and those cameras. "Mr. Sterling." A woman in her forties met us at the door, her expression professionally neutral despite the chaos we'd just escaped. "The security team has established a perimeter. No one gets within a half-mile of the property without authorization." "Good. Have—"

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and urgent voices. Calloway carried me through the emergency entrance despite my weak protests that I could walk. Security guards flanked us, keeping back the handful of photographers who'd somehow found us even at 3 AM. "Mrs. Sterling! Is the baby okay?" "Calloway! Statement on the allegations?" "Is this stress-related?" Their voices faded as automatic doors closed behind us. "I need a doctor!" Calloway's voice cut through the quiet ER. "My wife is pregnant—eight months—she's bleeding—" A nurse materialized instantly, wheelchair in hand. "How much bleeding?" "Not much," I managed, my voice shaking. "Just spotting. But the baby stopped moving and I can't—I can't feel her—" "Okay, let's get you into a room. Dr. Morrison's been call

The next morning arrived with pale sunlight filtering through the hospital blinds. I woke to find Calloway already awake, sitting in the chair beside my bed with his laptop balanced on his knees. He'd changed clothes at some point—must have sent someone to fetch things from the estate—and looked almost human despite the dark circles under his eyes. "You stayed all night," I said, my voice rough from sleep. He glanced up, a small smile touching his lips. "Where else would I be?" "Running your company. Doing damage control. Sleeping in an actual bed." "My company can survive a few days without me. And this—" he gestured to the converted couch where blankets were tangled, "—is an actual bed. Technically." "It looks uncomfortable." "It is. But the view's worth it." His eyes held mine, warm and soft in the morning light. My chest tightened. "You can't st

"Absolutely not." I crossed my arms over my belly, glaring at Calloway from my hospital bed. Dr. Morrison had just discharged me with strict orders for continued bed rest, and apparently Calloway had taken that as permission to uproot our entire lives. "Elena—" "I'm not leaving the city. My doctor is here. The hospital is here. Everything we need is here." "Everything we need is safety." Calloway's voice was calm but firm. "Damien broke into the penthouse. He destroyed the nursery. He's still out there—the police haven't found him yet. I'm not taking chances with you or our daughter." "So we just run away?" "We relocate. Temporarily." He sat on the edge of the bed, took my hand. "I have a property upstate. It's secure, private, and far enough from the city that no one will bother us. You can rest. Actua