Too Late to Regret: The Billionaire’s Unwanted Ex

Chapter 2

Lucian Thorne stared out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his 80th-floor office, a glass of amber scotch resting untouched on his desk. Outside, the New York skyline was a jagged crown of lights, but he felt none of the triumph that usually came with ruling it.

"Lucian, did you hear me?"

He didn't turn. He didn't need to. Serena’s voice had become a permanent, grating fixture in his life over the last five years.

"The board is panicked," Serena continued, clicking her heels across the marble floor. "This anonymous firm, L'Essence, has bought up twelve percent of our shares in forty-eight hours. They’re calling for an emergency meeting at 2:00 PM today. We don’t even know who we're fighting."

Lucian finally turned, his eyes darker and more sunken than they had been five years ago. "I heard you, Serena. Prepare the boardroom. I want our legal team on standby."

"I've already handled it," she said, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched away subtly, a move that made her eyes flash with hidden resentment. "After the meeting, maybe we could finally have that dinner at Le Bernardin? It's been so long since—"

"Not today," Lucian cut her off.

He didn't know why, but for the last few days, a suffocating sense of unease had been clawing at his throat. It was the same feeling he’d had the night Elara vanished. He had spent months trying to find her—not because he missed her, he told himself, but because he wanted to "finish" the legal proceedings. But she had disappeared like a ghost, leaving behind only a signed decree and a wedding ring that seemed to mock him from his safe every night.

The Boardroom, 2:00 PM

The air in the Thorne Industries boardroom was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and anxiety. The board members whispered in hushed tones as Lucian sat at the head of the table, his face a mask of granite.

"They’re late," one board member grumbled. "Who does this 'Ella V' think she is? Thorne Industries is a century-old institution."

Suddenly, the heavy double doors swung open.

A pair of six-inch Louboutin heels clicked rhythmically against the floor—a sound like a countdown. Two assistants in sharp black suits entered first, standing aside to flank the entrance.

Then, she walked in.

Lucian’s heart didn't just beat; it stuttered.

The woman was draped in a cream-colored power suit that hugged a figure far more curvaceous and confident than the one he remembered. Her hair was a waterfall of honey-gold silk, and her face—once pale and hidden behind glasses—was now sculpted by expert makeup, her lips painted a defiant, blood-red.

"My apologies for the delay," she said, her voice a low, melodic purr that sent a shiver down Lucian's spine. "The traffic in Manhattan is just as chaotic as I remembered."

"Elara?" Serena’s voice rose to a shrill, hysterical pitch. She stood up so quickly her chair screeched against the floor. "You? That’s impossible. You were a thief! You were nothing!"

The woman didn't flinch. She turned her gaze toward Serena, eyes as cold as the North Sea.

"It’s 'Ms. Vance' to you, Serena. Or, if you prefer the title on the contract in front of you: Your new Majority Shareholder."

Elara—no, Ella—walked to the opposite end of the table, directly facing Lucian. She didn't look at him with love, or longing, or even hate. She looked at him as if he were a piece of furniture she was considering replacing.

"You..." Lucian’s voice was a gravelly shadow of itself. He stood up, his hands trembling slightly as they gripped the edge of the table. "Where have you been for five years?"

Ella pulled out a chair and sat gracefully, crossing her legs. She gestured to her assistant, who placed a sleek tablet in front of her.

"Building an empire, Lucian. I found that when I wasn't busy folding your laundry and being accused of crimes I didn't commit, I had quite a lot of free time."

"You leaked my formulas," Lucian growled, his shock turning into a defensive anger. "You left with a signed confession by default when you ran away!"

Ella laughed. It was a beautiful, haunting sound. "Is that what Serena told you? We'll get to the 'confession' in due time, and the lawsuits that follow. But today, I’m not here as your ex-wife. I’m here as the CEO of L'Essence. And my first order of business..."

She leaned forward, the scent of her perfume—a complex, intoxicating blend of sandalwood and night-blooming jasmine—filling the room. It was a scent Lucian had never smelled before. It was the scent of power.

"...is to review the performance of the Senior Consultant." She looked directly at Serena. "Serena Blaire, you’re fired. Clear your desk by five, or security will do it for you."

"Lucian!" Serena shrieked, grabbing his arm. "Tell her she can't do this! You're the CEO!"

Lucian didn't even look at Serena. His eyes were locked on Ella. He was searching for a flicker of the girl who used to wait up for him with warm tea. He found nothing but a polished diamond, hard and unbreakable.

"She has the shares, Serena," Lucian whispered, his voice hollow.

Ella stood up, the meeting barely five minutes old. "I have a gala to attend tonight. Lucian, we will discuss the merger tomorrow morning. My office. 7:00 AM sharp. Don't be late. I find I have very little patience for men who don't value my time."

She turned to leave, her heels clicking toward the door.

"Elara, wait!" Lucian called out, moving around the table.

She stopped, but didn't turn around.

"The children," he blurted out. He didn't know why he said it. He had no reason to suspect. But something about the way she held herself—the way she had matured—made his protective instincts roar. "Is there... is there something you aren't telling me?"

Ella turned her head just enough for him to see the cruel curve of her smile.

"There are many things I’m not telling you, Lucian. But don't worry. You’ll find out everything... eventually."

She stepped out, the doors closing behind her.

Lucian stood in the center of the room, the ghost of her perfume mocking him. He looked down at the table and saw a small, laminated card she had "accidentally" left behind.

It was a photo ID for a prestigious New York preschool.

On it, a small boy with Lucian’s exact brow and stormy gray eyes stared back at him. Underneath the photo, the name read: Leo Vance.

Lucian’s world went black at the edges.

The divorce papers. The rain. The five years of silence.

He didn't just lose a wife. He had lost a son.