Todos los capítulos de I REGRET GETTING MARRIED TO A MOMMY'S BOY CEO: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

The first time I realized I’d made a mistake, I was standing beside my husband at the altar, watching him wait for his mother’s nod before answering the priest. ​“Adrian, do you take Emma Miller to be your wife?” ​The church went dead silent. ​Adrian looked at me first. For a second, I saw the man I’d fallen in love with warm-eyed, a slight smile tugging at his lips. ​Then he looked toward the front row. ​Eleanor Hartwell gave him a microscopic nod. ​Only then did Adrian turn back to the priest. “I do.” ​The words were supposed to ground me. Instead, my stomach dropped. ​I was twenty-four, and I’d spent three years believing Adrian Hartwell, the twenty-six-year-old CEO of Hartwell Group, was someone I could build a real life with. He’d promised our marriage wouldn't look like the fake, transactional relationships we grew up around. He said we’d make our own choices. He said nobody would get between us. ​Yet there I stood in my wedding dress, wondering if he remembere

Chapter 3: The Breaking Point​The next morning, I woke up to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Three missed calls from my manager at work.​I sat up, rubbing my face. Eleanor had really done it. she’d pulled strings to have me put on leave without my consent.​Adrian’s side of the bed was cold again. He was already downstairs, probably sipping coffee while his mother handed him his afternoon schedule.​I got dressed in a gray trousers-and-blouse combo, bypassed the main breakfast table entirely, and walked straight down to the garage.​Eleanor was standing near the entryway, talking to the head housekeeper. She raised an eyebrow as I walked past. “Where are you going? The driver is scheduled to take us to the caterers at eleven.”​“I have things to settle at my office,” I said without stopping.​“Emma, we discussed this.”​“You discussed it,” I corrected her, turning at the glass doors. “I didn't.”​She looked genuinely shocked that I was walking out, but I didn't care anymore. I t

By Friday morning, I’d almost convinced myself that staying away from the Hartwell mansion was exactly what I needed.Almost.I woke up before my alarm and lay staring at the ceiling of my apartment. The place was supposed to feel like a haven, but every corner held a trace of him: the second coffee mug, the spare key on the hook, the framed photo from our first vacation together on the bookshelf.My phone lit up with a single text from Adrian: *Good morning. Can we talk today?*I locked the screen without replying. I wasn't ready yet.Getting dressed for work without consulting a calendar or worrying if my outfit met Eleanor’s standards felt oddly liberating. At the office, Sarah picked up on it the moment I walked in.“You look less miserable today,” she noted, leaning against my desk.“Good morning to you too.”“I’m serious. You actually look like Emma again. For the last few days, you were walking around like someone had stolen your favorite dog.”“I don't have a dog.”“Exactly.”

For three days, I allowed myself to believe that the lock on the Hartwell mansion’s oak doors had finally clicked shut behind us for good.The apartment smelled like fresh paint and cheap roast coffee. Adrian had spent Saturday morning moving his remaining suits out of the estate. He had come home with dust on his jaw, looking exhausted but fiercely relieved. When he wrapped his arms around my waist in our small kitchen that evening, resting his chin on my shoulder while I stirred pasta sauce, the tight coil in my chest had finally loosened.He was changing. He was actually standing up to her.By Tuesday afternoon, the quiet stability felt almost comfortable. Sitting at my desk at the office, I was finally catching up on two weeks of backlogged financial statements. My manager had stopped looking at me like I was a flight risk, and Sarah had ceased her daily wellness checks.At 4:15 p.m., my phone chimed on the desk pad.It was Adrian.*Are you still at your desk? I’m picking you up a

My thumb hovered over the screen, cold sweat slicking my skin as I scrolled down to page twelve of the digital document.At the very bottom, beneath the heavy legal boilerplate, sat the tiny font of the drafting metadata.*Document Author: R. Hartwell / Legal Counsel.*Richard.My breath hit a wall. His quiet, paper-reading father. The man who had sat at the end of the breakfast table softly telling me not to let Eleanor get to me, pretending to be the gentle, henpecked husband shaking his head in the corner. He hadn't just known about the trap; he had drawn up the blueprint. The entire family was a closed circuit, and every exit led right back into their hands.A quiet ping cut through the silence of my office.*Unknown Number: He isn't the victim, Emma. Neither is his father. Look at who benefits when you finally break.*My mind raced, pieces colliding in a sickening blur. The subtle pushes, the perfectly timed texts right before every major blow, the intimate access to internal boa