DIVORCED BY THE BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND.HE REGRETTED

Chapter 8

Dolly had been staring at Fariana’s white Mercedes for twenty minutes.

It was clean, shining — because Bruce had washed it himself on Sunday like a servant, and Fariana had made him wash it again Monday just because she could.

Dolly hated that car. Tonight was Friday. Movie night. The deal. Bruce was supposed to drive Fariana to the movies, front row, popcorn, the whole romantic punishment.

And Dolly had a plan. A small, evil plan that had been growing since she saw Bruce wipe Fariana’s tears.

She didn’t do it herself. She paid the gardener’s son $500 and pointed at the garage. “Make the white one not brake properly. Just loosen something.”

The boy looked scared but took the money.

But on her way back to the house, it hit her.

_Bruce is driving tonight._

What if the brakes failed with Bruce inside? She didn’t want Bruce hurt. Never Bruce. She wanted Fariana scared, maybe a small bump. Not dead.

She panicked and called the boy. “Fix it back!”

“I already did it, madam. I left,” he said.

Dolly’s stomach dropped. She stood in the garage looking at TWO white Mercedes parked side by side — Fariana’s and hers, same model, same color. She had just said “the white one.” Which one did he touch?

Should she tell Bruce? If she told him, he’d know she tried to hurt Fariana. He’d throw her out.

So she did nothing. She prayed.

At 6:55 PM, Bruce came downstairs in a black shirt, keys in hand. “Where’s Fariana?”

Dolly swallowed. “Getting ready.”

“You okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine. Just... be careful driving. Okay?”

Bruce frowned, but then Fariana came down. Pink dress, hair down, light makeup. The one he said made her look like a sunset.

“Ready, my servant?” she said coldly.

“Ready, my cunning wife,” he smiled.

Dolly watched the white Mercedes reverse out. Her hands were shaking.

The drive should have taken 20 minutes. Bruce drove it in 25, slow as an old man.

“Why are you driving like my grandma?” Fariana complained.

“Because Dolly told me to be careful,” Bruce said, eyes on the road. He didn’t tell Fariana that when he pressed the brake at the gate, it went down too far. He pumped it and it worked. He thought it was brake fluid. He’d check it tomorrow.

At the cinema, it was weirdly perfect.

Front row, just like she demanded. Stupid romantic comedy. Fariana pretended to be on her phone for ten minutes, then got sleepy. Being a revenge queen is exhausting.

Halfway through, her head tilted. Then tilted more. Then it landed.

Right on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce froze, popcorn in hand. Fariana was asleep. Mouth open. Drooling. A little bubble of drool right on his expensive shirt.

Dolly would have called her gross. But this was Fariana. His Fariana. Who used to drool on him every Sunday morning during Netflix.

He didn’t move. He shifted so her head fit better. Put his arm behind her chair so she wouldn’t fall. And he watched her sleep more than the movie.

On screen, the couple was kissing. In real life, Bruce was smiling at his wife snoring softly on his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Dolly’s phone rang. LOUD.

It was Misha. Her sister. Screaming.

“THE BRAKES! THE BRAKES DIDN’T WORK! I CRASHED!”

Dolly’s heart stopped. “What car?!”

“YOUR CAR! You said I could borrow it! I took the white Mercedes! I pressed the brake and it didn’t stop! I hit a pole! I’m bleeding!”

Dolly collapsed onto the kitchen floor.

Misha had come over that afternoon while Dolly was in the garage. She saw white Mercedes keys on the counter. Dolly had TWO white Mercedes in the garage — hers and Fariana’s. Misha took Dolly’s, not Fariana’s.

And Dolly realized — the boy had tampered with HER car. Not Fariana’s. She’d pointed at “the white one” and he picked the wrong one.

Her sister crashed because of her own jealousy.

At the hospital, Misha had a broken leg, a cut on her forehead. She needed surgery but she’d live. Dolly sat in the waiting room, hands stained with her sister’s blood, shaking.

Her phone buzzed. A photo from Bruce: Fariana asleep on his shoulder, drooling, mouth open.

Caption: `Your cunning wife is marking territory on my shirt.`

If he knew what she’d done...

At 10 PM, Bruce and Fariana came home. Fariana was half-asleep, leaning on Bruce, yawning, hair messy, a little dried drool still on her chin.

Dolly was standing in the living room. Pale. Eyes red. Blouse bloody.

Fariana woke up instantly.

“What happened? Who got hurt? Is that blood?” she asked, scared. She thought it was Maria or one of the maids.

Dolly stared at Fariana. Alive. No scratch. Standing in her pink dress, being held by Bruce.

Fariana was fine. Bruce was fine.

“My... my sister,” Dolly whispered. “Misha. She took my car. The brakes... failed.”

Bruce frowned. “Brakes failed? That car was serviced last month.”

Then Dolly broke. She fell to her knees, ugly crying. Real crying, not the fake tears she used for Bruce.

“It was my fault! I told someone to loosen the brakes! I thought it was HER car! I wanted to scare her! I didn’t want to kill anyone! I swear I didn’t want to hurt you, Bruce!”

Silence.

Fariana’s hand flew to her mouth. She looked at Bruce, then at the garage.

“You CUT the brakes?” Bruce’s voice was low and dangerous. So dangerous Maria ran away from the kitchen door.

“I didn’t cut! I just said loosen! I didn’t know which car he touched! I have two white cars!”

“You could have killed her!” Bruce shouted. He NEVER shouted. “You could have killed Fariana! You could have killed ME! We were in that car today!”

Fariana started shaking. She grabbed Bruce’s arm.

“We were in the car, Bruce... we were in the car and I was sleeping... I was drooling on you while the brakes...”

Bruce pulled her close protectively. His shirt still had her drool on it.

Dolly was on the floor, sobbing into bloody hands.

“I didn’t mean for Misha... I didn’t mean...”

Fariana looked down at Dolly — the woman who stole her husband, who called her a cheater, who tried to make her crash.

For the first time, she didn’t feel revenge. She felt pity and terror.

“Call an ambulance for Misha,” Fariana said quietly to Bruce, voice shaking. “And then call the police.”

Dolly’s head shot up. “Police? No! Please! My sister is already—”

“You tried to kill me,” Fariana said, tears finally falling. “While I was dozing on my husband’s shoulder drooling like an i***t, you tried to kill me, Dolly.”

The clock ticked. Dolly sobbed on the floor. Bruce held Fariana so tight she could hear his heart beating fast.

And upstairs, Fariana’s makeup bag was still open from yesterday, with Bruce’s terrible eyeliner inside.

No one cared about makeup anymore.

That's all.