The Billionaire's Ultimate Regret: Chasing His Runaway Ex Wife

~ Sophia ~ "Smile a little wider, darling. The cameras are on the east side tonight." Damien's mouth barely moved when he said it, his hand settling flat against the small of my back as we crossed the ballroom floor, steering me past a wall of champagne flutes and watching eyes like I was cargo he'd been asked to deliver intact. I smiled the way I'd practiced in the mirror that morning, teeth showing, eyes soft, nothing underneath it at all. "Better," he said, already looking past me toward a cluster of men in dark suits. I felt the exact second his attention left the room we were standing in. His hand stayed on my back, warm through the silk, but his eyes had already crossed the floor to Marcus and the European delegation, and I understood, the way I always understood, that I had about four more seconds before he let go of me entirely. He's always good at that. "Mrs. Laurent." One of the delegation wives caught my elbow, her rings cold against my skin. "Your husband tells us you used to work in hospitals. How charming." "I did," I said, and felt Damien's hand finally slide away from my spine. He didn't look back. He crossed the room in six long strides, shook a hand, laughed at something that wasn't funny, and became, in the space of a breath, a man I had never once seen at breakfast. I stood there holding a champagne flute I hadn't asked for, watching my husband perform a version of warmth he'd never once shown me in three years of marriage, and I made myself keep smiling because Vivian was watching from the dessert table with her chin tilted like a woman inspecting livestock. "You looked good together, just now." Adrian's voice arrived at my shoulder before I saw him, low and easy, the way it always was. "Almost real." "Adrian." I didn't turn my head. "I didn't see you come in." "I'm very good at that." He stepped in front of me, closing the space I'd left open, and took the champagne flute out of my hand before I could stop him, setting it on a passing tray. "You weren't drinking it anyway. You never do." "I need to find Damien." "My brother is busy being important." Adrian's smile didn't change, but something behind it did, a small shift, like a door easing further open. "You could dance with me instead. Nobody would notice the difference." "I would notice." I stepped sideways, putting a waiter's cart between us. "Excuse me." "Sophia." He said my name like he was testing the weight of it. "You always run the second things get interesting." I didn't answer that. I walked toward the terrace doors instead, my heels sinking slightly into the thick carpet, my pulse loud enough that I could feel it in my throat. Outside, the cold hit my bare arms first, then the quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists two floors above a party, and I gripped the stone railing and breathed until my hands stopped feeling like someone else's. The doors opened behind me. I turned, already bracing for Adrian, but it was Damien, his jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened just enough to look deliberate rather than undone. "You disappeared," he said, standing a careful distance away, close enough to be seen from inside, far enough to not actually be close. "I needed air." "The Hendersons asked where you'd gone." He glanced back through the glass at the ballroom, not at me. "It doesn't look good, Sophia, you vanishing mid-conversation." "Adrian was stalking me Damien. Your brother took my drink out of my hand and told me to dance with him instead." That got his eyes off the party. He looked at me properly for the first time all night, and for one second I thought something in his face might actually crack open, might actually ask the question underneath the question. "Adrian's harmless," he said instead, already glancing back toward the light. "He flirts with everyone. It's not personal." "It felt personal. He can flirt with every women, but not with his brother's wife." "You're imagining things that aren't there." He reached out and straightened a loose strand of hair against my cheek, the gesture so gentle and so wrong at the same time that I nearly flinched. "Come back inside. We're supposed to be at the head table in ten minutes." He held the door open for me, his hand hovering near my waist without touching it, guiding me back into the noise and the light without ever quite landing on me at all. I walked past him into the ballroom, and that was when I saw the head table, the two place settings, and the woman already seated in mine. I looked at Celeste, and my chest felt tight. Celeste Armand. She was Damien’s first love, the elegant, perfect woman from his past who always knew exactly how to move in this world. She had left years ago, but now she was back, sitting right where I belonged. Vivian had always wanted her for Damien instead of me, a girl from foster care who worked hospital night shifts. Seeing her here, in my designated seat, made it clear. This was not a simple mistake with place cards. This was a plan to slide her back into his life and push me out completely. "Sophia." Vivian's voice reached me first, delighted, practiced. "You remember Celeste." Celeste Armand turned in her chair, her dark hair catching the chandelier light, her smile aimed somewhere just past my shoulder like I was a piece of the room's decor she hadn't been consulted about. "Of course," Celeste said, rising just enough to press her cheek near mine without touching it. "It's been years. You look… okay." "She's sitting in my seat," I said quietly, to no one in particular. "There was some confusion with the place cards, darling." Vivian waved a gloved hand at the table like it was nothing, like the two women beside her hadn't already turned to watch. "You can sit at the end, near the band. It's much livelier down there." "Sophia, please do not make a scene," Vivian added, her voice dropping into that smooth, low tone she used when she was insulting someone. "It is just a chair. The Hendersons are looking, and the French minister is right behind you. Sit near the music. You love music, don't you?" "The band is loud, mother," I said, keeping my voice very quiet. "And this is the head table. My name was on the seating chart this morning." Celeste smoothed down the front of her dark silk dress, her diamond rings catching the heavy light from the chandelier. She looked up at me with wide, fake eyes. "Oh, Sophia, I am so sorry. The coordinator told me this was my spot. If I had known you would mind so much, I would have asked. Damien, should I move? I really do not want to cause trouble for your family." Damien did not look at me. He kept his hand on the back of Celeste’s chair, his fingers steady, his face totally blank. "Stay seated, Celeste. It is fine. The table is already set." "Damien," I said, the word small and tight in my throat. "Sophia, sit at the lower table," Damien said, his voice flat and hard. "We are starting the main toasts in five minutes. We do not have time to move plates and cards now. Go down to the end table with my sister. Elise. It is fine." "It is not fine," I whispered, but the noise of the ballroom swallowed my words. Vivian smiled, a quick, sharp line on her face, and turned her shoulder to me. She began talking to the woman next to her about a gallery opening in the city, acting like I had already walked away. I stood there for three long seconds. My hands were freezing, and the heavy smell of the lilies on the table made me feel sick. I turned around and walked away from the head table, my heels sinking into the carpet. Every step felt like walking through mud. I did not go to the end table near the band. I could see Elise sitting there, looking down at her lap, too scared of Vivian to even look up or wave me over. Instead, I walked straight toward the side doors that led out to the long hallway. "Sophia." I stopped. Adrian was leaning against a marble pillar near the bar, holding a fresh glass of scotch. He had been watching the whole thing. He stepped out, blocking my path with an easy, slow smile. "Rough night at the top?" Adrian asked, his voice low and smooth. "I told you that you should have danced with me. At least I do not let other women sit in your chair." "Let me pass, Adrian, I'm not in the mood." I said, looking at his tie, refusing to look into his eyes. "I am just saying, you do not deserve to be treated like a guest at your own wedding anniversary party," Adrian said. He stepped a little closer, his shoulder nearly touching mine, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Damien does not see what he has. He never did. If you were mine, Sophia, everyone in this room would know exactly who the queen is." "Stop it," I said, my heart beating fast against my ribs. "Do not speak to me like that." "Why not? Because it is true?" He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of my silk shawl. "Look at him over there. He is already laughing at Celeste’s jokes. He forgot you were even in the room the second she smiled. You are playing a game you cannot win, little nurse." I pulled back, my back hitting the cold marble wall. "I am his wife." "For now," Adrian murmured, his eyes dark and fixed on my face. "But mother is already planning the next chapter, and Damien always does what is good for the company in the end. You know that. You are smart. You solved his logistical problems at the firm, didn't you? Surely you can solve this math." "Leave me alone," I said, my voice shaking now. I pushed past him, my arm scraping against his jacket, and ran out the double doors into the quiet corridor. The silence of the hallway hit me like cold water. I walked fast, almost running, until I reached the small ladies' lounge near the back entrance. I pushed the door open, locked it behind me, and leaned my weight against the wood, gasping for air. The mirror showed a woman with perfect hair and dead eyes. Three years. I had given Damien three years of my life, staying quiet, learning which forks to use, enduring Vivian’s cruel words, and trying so hard to be what he needed. And in less than two minutes, they had wiped me out of the picture like I was nothing but an extra in their family play. A soft knock came at the door. "Sophia?" It was Marcus’s voice from the hallway. "Sophia, are you in there? I saw you leave the main room." I took a deep breath, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and unlocked the door. Marcus Hale stood there, his hands in his pockets, his face full of worry. He was Damien’s lawyer, but he was the only person in this entire circle who ever looked at me like I was a real person. "I am here, Marcus," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Are you okay?" Marcus asked, looking past me into the empty lounge. "I saw what Vivian did with the place cards. It was low, even for her. Damien should have stopped it." "Damien told me to sit by the band," I said, a bitter laugh popping out of my mouth before I could stop it. "He told me it was fine." Marcus sighed, shaking his head. "He is focused on the European contract tonight, Sophia. He is not thinking clearly about anything else. He has that corporate wall up." "He always has that wall up," I said, looking down at my shoes. "He never takes it down for me. Not even when we are alone in the house." "Do you want me to call a car for you?" Marcus asked gently. "You do not have to go back in there and watch them. I can tell Damien you felt sick and left." "No," I said, lifting my chin. The fear was starting to turn into something else, something cold and heavy. "If I leave like a thief in the night, Vivian wins. She wants me to run away and hide so she can tell everyone I am unstable." "Then what are you going to do?" "I am going back out there," I said, smoothing down my dress. "I am going to sit at the end table. I am going to stay until the very last toast is finished. And then, I am going to ask my husband why I am still here."