DIVORCED BY THE BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND.HE REGRETTED

Chapter 9

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

It was parked in the garage, spotless and shining, because Bruce had washed it himself on Sunday like a servant, on his knees with a bucket. And Fariana, being Fariana, had made him wash it again on Monday just because she could. She stood there with iced coffee watching him.

Dolly hated that car. She hated the way Fariana tossed her keys like she was in a perfume ad. She hated the way Bruce always opened the passenger door for her, even when they were in the middle of a divorce war.

Tonight was Friday. Movie night. Part of the deal. Bruce was supposed to drive Fariana to the movies. Front row. Popcorn. The whole stupid romantic punishment she invented.

And Dolly had a plan.

It wasn’t a big, mastermind plan. It was a small, jealous, whispering plan that had been growing in her head since she saw Bruce wipe Fariana’s tears with a tissue in his bedroom. Since she heard him call her “my cunning wife” like it was a pet name.

She’d called her cousin who knows cars. “If a car’s brakes don’t work, what happens?”

He laughed, “It doesn’t stop, stupid. Why?”

“No reason.”

She didn’t do it herself. She was too scared. She paid the gardener’s son $500. He was 19, dumb, needed money. She took him to the garage and pointed vaguely.

“That white one. Make it so it doesn’t brake properly. Just... make it loose.”

The boy looked scared. “Madam, that’s dangerous.”

“It’s just a prank. To scare her. Do it.”

He nodded and slipped under the car for two minutes. Then he left.

But as Dolly walked back to the house, her heart started beating too fast.

_Bruce is driving tonight._

Wait. Bruce is driving Fariana’s car tonight. If the brakes fail on the highway with both of them inside... what if Bruce gets hurt? What if he dies?

She didn’t want Bruce hurt. Ever. She wanted Fariana humiliated, maybe a small scare, a little crash that would keep her home for a week. Not a funeral.

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

The boy was already on a boda. “I already did it, madam. I can’t come back, I’m far.”

Dolly’s stomach dropped to her feet. She ran back to the garage. There were TWO white Mercedes parked side by side. Fariana’s and hers. Same model, same year, same white paint. She had just said “the white one.” Which one did he touch? She couldn’t even tell anymore, they looked identical in the dim garage.

Should she tell Bruce? Should she warn him? If she told him, he’d know she tried to hurt Fariana. He’d throw her out of the mansion that same night.

So she did what guilty people do. Nothing. She prayed.

At 6:55 PM, Bruce came downstairs in a black shirt and jeans, car keys in his hand. No suit. He looked more like the old Bruce, the college Bruce.

“Where’s Fariana?” he asked.

Dolly swallowed hard. Her throat was dry. “She’s... getting ready.”

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” she said too quickly. “Just... be careful driving tonight, okay? Really careful.”

Bruce frowned. “Okay... weird, but okay.”

Then Fariana came downstairs and he forgot Dolly existed.

She tried to look like she didn’t care. But she was wearing the soft pink dress he always said made her look like sunset. Light makeup, hair down, perfume he bought her two years ago.

“Ready, my servant?” she said, trying to sound cold, but her voice shook a little.

“Ready, my cunning wife,” Bruce said, and smiled.

Dolly watched the white Mercedes reverse out of the garage. Her hands were shaking so bad she had to sit on them.

The drive should have taken 20 minutes. It took 25 because Bruce was driving like an 80-year-old.

“Why are you driving like my grandma?” Fariana complained from the passenger seat, holding her seatbelt.

“Because Dolly told me to be careful,” Bruce said, eyes glued to the road. He didn’t tell Fariana that when he pressed the brake at the main gate, it went down too deep. He had to pump it twice. He thought it was low brake fluid. He’d check it tomorrow. He didn’t want to scare her.

At the cinema, everything was weirdly perfect, like a scene from before everything broke.

They sat in the front row like she demanded. The movie was a stupid romantic comedy. Fariana pretended to be bored, on her phone for ten minutes, rolling her eyes. Then the movie got funny. Then she got sleepy. Being a revenge queen is exhausting work.

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

Right on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce froze. Popcorn bag in his hand, half-eaten. Fariana was asleep. Mouth slightly open. Drooling. A little shiny bubble of drool forming on his expensive black shirt.

Any other woman, any other day, CEO Bruce would have been disgusted and moved away.

But this was Fariana. His Fariana. Who used to drool on him every Sunday morning when they binged Netflix and she fell asleep during the movie.

He didn’t move. He didn’t wake her. He slowly, carefully, shifted so her head fit better into his neck. He put his arm around the back of her chair so she wouldn’t fall.

And he watched her sleep more than he watched the movie. On screen, the couple was kissing in the rain. In the theater, Bruce was looking at his wife snoring softly, drool on his shirt, and he felt something he hadn’t felt in months. Peace.

Meanwhile, across town, Dolly’s phone rang and shattered her soul.

It was Misha. Her younger sister. Screaming, crying so loud people in the hospital hallway turned.

“THE BRAKES! DOLLY, THE BRAKES DIDN’T WORK! I PRESSED AND IT DIDN’T STOP!”

Dolly’s heart stopped. “What? What car?!”

“YOUR CAR! You said I could borrow your white car for the store! I took the Mercedes! I pressed the brake at the roundabout and nothing happened! I hit the pole! I’m bleeding, Dolly!”

Dolly collapsed onto the kitchen tiles.

Misha had come over that afternoon while Dolly was in the garage plotting. She saw white Mercedes keys on the kitchen counter. There were two sets — Fariana’s and Dolly’s. Same white Mercedes. Misha thought Dolly meant she could take it, like usual. She took Dolly’s car, not Fariana’s.

The boy had tampered with DOLLY’S car. Not Fariana’s. Dolly had pointed at “the white one” and he picked the wrong white one.

Her sister was in an accident because of her.

At the hospital, Misha had a broken leg, a deep cut on her forehead, bruises everywhere. She needed surgery. She’d live, but she’d be in a cast for months.

Dolly sat in the waiting room, hands stained with her sister’s blood from hugging her, shaking, crying without sound.

Her phone buzzed. A photo from Bruce. Fariana asleep on his shoulder in the dark theater, mouth open, drooling.

Caption: `Your cunning wife is drooling on my shirt. I think she’s trying to mark me.`

If he knew...

If he knew what she’d done...

At 10:12 PM, Bruce and Fariana came home. Fariana was still half-asleep, leaning heavily on Bruce, yawning, hair messy, a little dried drool still on her chin that she didn’t know about. She looked soft, young, innocent.

Dolly was standing in the middle of the living room waiting. Face pale white. Eyes red and swollen. White blouse stained with blood.

Fariana woke up instantly when she saw her.

“Oh my God, Dolly! What happened to you? Who got hurt? Is that blood?” she asked, scared. She thought it was Maria or one of the maids.

Dolly stared at Fariana. Alive. Perfect. Not a single scratch. Standing there in her pink dress, being held by Bruce. The man Dolly wanted.

Fariana was fine. Bruce was fine.

Her sister was in the hospital because of her own jealousy.

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

Bruce frowned. “Brakes failed? That car was serviced last month. I paid for it myself.”

Then Dolly broke. She fell to her knees on the marble floor, ugly crying, loud, snotty, real. Not the pretty fake tears she used for Bruce.

“It was my fault! It was my fault!” she sobbed, hitting the floor with her fists. “I paid someone to make the brakes loose! I thought it was HER car! I wanted to scare her! I wanted her to stay home so she wouldn’t go to the movies with you! I didn’t want to kill anyone! I swear on my life I didn’t want to hurt you, Bruce!”

The whole house went silent. Even the clock stopped ticking it felt like.

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

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

“I didn’t cut! I just said make it loose! I didn’t know there were two white cars! I pointed at the wrong one!”

“You could have killed her!” Bruce shouted. He NEVER shouted. The veins in his neck popped. “You could have killed Fariana! You could have killed ME! We were in that garage today! We drove!”

Fariana started shaking violently. She grabbed Bruce’s arm hard.

“We were in the car, Bruce... we were in the car and I was... I was sleeping on your shoulder drooling like an i***t while you were driving a car that...”

She couldn’t finish. Bruce pulled her close, protectively, tightly. His shirt still had her drool on it, and now her tears too.

Dolly was on the floor, sobbing into her 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 in front of everyone, who tried to make her crash.

For the first time since this whole revenge game started, Fariana didn’t feel powerful. She felt pity. And cold, cold fear.

“Call the doctor for Misha,” Fariana whispered to Bruce, voice shaking. “Call the best surgeon. And then... then call the police.”

Dolly’s head shot up, eyes huge. “Police? No! No please! My sister is already in surgery! Don’t call police! Please, Bruce!”

“You tried to kill my wife,” Bruce said coldly. “While she was dozing on my shoulder drooling. You tried to kill her, Dolly.”