The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife Novels & Stories

Just pure, icy indifference. A heavy, leaden unease settled deep into my joints. My toes curled inside my boat shoes, tapping anxiously against the floor. I spun the pen in my hand, twisting and rolling it, trying to channel the frantic energy vibrating through my body. Mr. Tega was a forty-year-old billionaire who literally had the world at his feet, yet he didn't give a single damn that his stunning, passionate wife had been waiting in his office for nearly half an hour. Right then, I understood exactly why she was searching for affection elsewhere. A wave of bitter regret washed over me for missing my chance earlier. She had touched me. Her hand lingering on mine had meant something.

It felt like a stage. "So," I whispered to the empty, sunlit air. "My husband isn't a mechanic." I tossed the heavy envelope onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a satisfying thud. "He's the missing CEO of Cross Industries. He's dodging a multi-billion dollar tech acquisition. And he's in deep trouble with his terrifying grandmother." A slow, wicked smile spread across my face. I had married a ghost. A phantom billionaire who was running from his own empire, just like I was running from mine.

“I told myself you were under pressure. I told myself that once the next deal was finished, once the next meeting was over, once things became less complicated, you would have time for me.” “I should have made time.” “Yes. You should have.” She pressed her lips together. “And I should not have had to beg my husband to notice that I existed.” The words cut through him. He wanted to tell her that he saw her now, that he wished he could go back and change every evening he had left her alone. But those words would not give her back the years. “I am sorry,” he said. “I believe that you regret it.” He looked up. “But regret isn't the same as love,” she continued. “And it isn't proof that you can g

"I have to marry his best friends grandson, Paul Sinclair.” I almost dropped my cup. Why were my broke ears hearing billionaire names. The Sinclairs were the richest family in Texas who owned nearly half of everything. I remember seeing Paul Sinclair in magazines. He was tall, blond and unbelievably handsome. For years women across Texas had voted him the state's hottest billionaire CEO. “My grandfather and Paul’s were good friends," Ivy continued, "so they decided each of their eldest grandkids would get married. But six months ago Paul had a terrible accident." She looked away. "He hasn't been the same since."

At least, I expected chivalry from them for a woman. “Sorry?” Then I realized that he got it on his ego that I do not know who is he? Well, I do not have time to read those magazines featuring the big wigs if he is one of them. Without wasting my time on that idiosyncratic person, I just came from there. I really did not want to pay heed on his nuisance. “Here is my id.” The billionaire – my husband said and I looked into the intense eyes for his view but he looked reluctant.

After I freshen up, I would sort for something to eat. [BREAKING NEWS: The Hideous Crippled Billionaire's Wife is rumored to be barren and unable to provide an heir. Mr. James Wellson is in search of a good wife material in both kitchen and bed…] “What?” I held the handrail and stopped in my tracks, my jaw dropped in shock as I gradually turned to the television. Barren?! Have we had sex before? Why did he publish such news? Wait, what's going on? Another marriage? I rambled with words as I rushed up to where I had kept my bag and brought out my phone.

He paused, extending his arm for his soon-to-be wife, his lips curling into a smile that Vlada knew was as beguiling as it was insincere. As the couple, freshly bonded by engagement, made their entrance, a wave of applause washed over them. Her heart pounded in her chest, her years of evading his presence suddenly collapsing under the weight of this moment. Her knuckles whitened as she tightened her hold on the glass-cleaning cloth, her gaze tracking their progress through the sea of well-wishers. “He’s Lazare Ibañez, the son of Lionel Ibañez, the late race car driver. He’s a one lucky useless spoiled brat, living off his parents’ money and the things they owned. All this jerk has to do is k

He hated this feeling like he had lost his prey while being subjective. The housekeeper took the name of a friend of Violet to call Violet's acquaintances and inquire about her, but none of them knew where Violet was. Because Violet is no longer just a lady but also a billionaire's wife, the news that she ran away from home is not allowed to spread and must not be sniffed by journalists. If the hounds found out about his wife's departure, it would cause a lot of trouble for him and his company.

Maria's heart sank, her eyes scanning the papers as if searching for an escape clause. "I don't want to come back and meet you here," Alejandro instructed, his voice firm, before turning and walking away, leaving Maria alone with her shattered dreams and the crushing reality of their failed marriage. "I guess I was stupid," Maria muttered to herself, her voice laced with regret and disappointment. "How could I forget this was a contract from the beginning? How could I be so foolish?" She felt a wave of shame wash over her, realizing she had let her emotions cloud her judgment. She had allowed herself to believe in a fairy tale, a love story that was never meant to be.

Every time I woke up in bed alone, I reached for someone who was never coming back. I was drowning in regret. Drowning in the crushing weight of what I had lost. The world saw Chester Blackwood, the ruthless billionaire. But behind closed doors, I was just a broken man, haunted by the ghost of the woman I once called my wife. And the worst part? I had no one to blame but myself. I had to remain in Manhattan. The shame of relocating back to Washington, to parents especially my mom, mocking smile is going to be unbearable. So let off some staffs back home, especially Mrs Williams.