THE BILLIONAIRE WHO REGRETTED LOSING ME

CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2: The Ghost of the Past

The silence in the boardroom was heavy, suffocating, and absolute.

On the floor, the dark pool of spilled coffee slowly expanded, soaking into the pristine edges of the ivory rug. Neither of us looked down at it. Our eyes were locked in a silent, brutal battle that had been five years in the making.

Ethan King stood frozen, his hand still shaped as if he were holding the cup he had just dropped.

The powerful, untouchable CEO of King Enterprises looked as if he had just seen a ghost rise from the grave. His breathing was shallow, his broad chest rising and falling beneath his perfectly tailored charcoal suit. The arrogant, cold composure he usually wore like armor had completely cracked, revealing a raw, pale shock beneath.

"Amelia?" he whispered again.

The name left his lips like a ragged breath, carrying a weight that made my chest tighten. For a split second, a flicker of something ancient and painful stirred in the depths of his dark eyes. It looked almost like relief. It looked like agony.

But I didn't care.

I forced my lips to maintain that cold, flawless smile I had spent five long years practicing in front of Parisian mirrors. I adjusted the cuffs of my crisp white blazer, the diamonds on my watch catching the harsh morning light. I wanted him to see every single piece of my success. I wanted him to see exactly what he had thrown away.

"I believe I told you to call me Ms. Morgan, Mr. King," I said, my voice smooth, steady, and entirely devoid of emotion. "And I believe I asked you to leave my office."

Ethan took a sudden step forward, his polished shoes crunching against a piece of the shattered porcelain on the floor. He didn't seem to notice. His eyes scanned my face frantically, taking in my styled hair, my sharp makeup, and the expensive designer clothes that defined my new identity.

He was looking for the broken girl he had abandoned in the rain. He was looking for the timid charity case who used to skip meals just to ensure his early corporate investors were well-fed.

But that girl was dead. I had buried her myself.

"They told me you went to Europe," Ethan stammered, his usually commanding voice rough and uneven. "I sent people to find you. I searched for months after you left, Amelia. You completely vanished. No bank accounts, no social media, nothing. It was like you never existed."

A sharp, humorless laugh escaped my lips.

"You searched for me?" I asked, stepping closer to the massive mahogany conference table, leaning my hands on the polished wood. "How touching. Was that before or after you signed your marriage certificate with my sister? Was that before or after you branded me a gold-digging homewrecker to the entire New York media?"

Ethan flinched. The color didn't return to his face; instead, his jaw clenched tightly, a familiar muscle ticking in his cheek.

"Amelia, about what happened five years ago... you don't understand," he began, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. He reached a hand across the table, his fingers trembling slightly as if he wanted to reach out and touch me, to prove to himself that I was actually real. "Sophia was pregnant. She had medical documents. Your parents were threatening to ruin King Enterprises before it even launched if I didn't make things right. I had to protect the company we built."

"The company we built?"I interrupted, my voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper that cut through his excuses like a knife.

"Do not dare use that word with me, Ethan. You didn't protect the company we built. You protected your own pride. You chose the shiny, perfect heiress because she fit your new billionaire status, and you discarded me like yesterday's trash the second things got difficult."

"That's not true!" Ethan barked, his possessive, stubborn nature suddenly flaring through his shock. He slammed a fist lightly onto the table, his dark eyes burning with a sudden, desperate intensity. "I never wanted Sophia! I have never loved her, Amelia! Not for a single second. I did what I thought I had to do for the child."

"And look how beautifully that turned out for you," I said, my tone dripping with pure sarcasm. "A high-society wedding, a beautiful wife, and a perfect life. So, why are you standing in my boardroom dropping coffee cups, Mr. King? You got exactly what you deserved."

Ethan stared at me, his chest heaving. The guilt radiating from him was almost tangible, a heavy shroud that seemed to age him right before my eyes.

"I made a mistake," he whispered, the admission sounding as if it had been ripped directly from his throat. "Every day for the last five years, I have regretted the way I let them treat you. The way I treated you. When you disappeared, a part of me went with you."

Hearing those words from the mouth of the man who had destroyed my life should have given me satisfaction. It should have felt like a victory. But instead, it just felt hollow. The years of crying myself to sleep, the terrifying nights of morning sickness in a foreign country where I didn't speak the language, the agony of giving birth alone in a cold hospital room none of that could be erased by a belated, pathetic apology.

I pulled out a leather chair and sat down slowly, crossing my legs with elegant precision. I picked up the dossier Clara had given me and opened it, completely ignoring his emotional display.

"We are here to discuss business, Mr. King," I said, looking up at him with cold, professional eyes. "Your personal regrets are of no interest to me. My company, Maison de l'Ombre, requires a secure, high-capacity logistics partner for our North American expansion. Your board apparently submitted an aggressive bid that my directors accepted while I was in flight."

Ethan looked stunned by my sudden shift. He blinked, clearly struggling to reconcile the business mogul sitting in front of him with the woman who used to hold him tightly in the dark, promising to love him even if they stayed poor forever.

"Amelia... you're the founder of Maison de l'Ombre?" he asked, the realization finally clicking in his brilliant, analytical mind. "The luxury brand that conquered Paris in three years? The one the media calls the 'Sovereign of Silk'?"

"I am," I replied smoothly. "And as the founder, I have a set of strict, non-negotiable conditions before this contract is finalized. First, all operational communications will go through our respective legal teams. Second, you will not attend our supply chain meetings. Third, any attempt to contact me outside of official corporate channels will result in the immediate termination of this partnership, regardless of the penalty fees."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. The submissive, guilty man vanished, replaced instantly by the dominant, possessive alpha billionaire who was used to ruling the entire corporate world. He stepped around the puddle of coffee, walking slowly toward the head of the table where I sat.

"No," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dark, authoritative purr.

I raised an eyebrow. "No?"

"I am the CEO of King Enterprises, Ms. Morgan," he said, deliberately using my new title, though his eyes burned with a dangerous, familiar hunger. "We do not delegate top-tier international accounts to lower-level executives. If *Maison de l'Ombre* wants our shipping lines, our warehouses, and our customs clearances, you will deal with me. Personally. Every single week."

"Are you threatening me, Ethan?"

"I am setting the terms of my partnership," he corrected, leaning down slightly, placing both hands on the arms of my chair, effectively trapping me within his space. The scent of his expensive woodsmoke cologne drifted into my senses, a sudden, violent trigger that threatened to unleash a flood of old memories.

"You don't get to run away from me again," he growled softly, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. "You're back in my city now, Amelia. And I am not letting you slip through my fingers a second time."

My heart hammered frantically against my ribs, a wild animal trying to escape its cage, but I refused to let my face betray a single ounce of fear. I leaned forward, bringing my face inches from his, letting him feel the absolute ice radiating from my soul.

"I am not running, Ethan. Five years ago, I walked away because I had nothing. Today, I am entirely untouchable. If you think you can force your way into my life, you are gravely mistaken."

Before Ethan could reply, the heavy glass door of the boardroom swung open.

"Mommy! Look what I drew for the new house!"

A bright, high-pitched voice shattered the tense atmosphere of the room.

My heart stopped completely. The blood drained from my face, and a wave of absolute, paralyzing terror washed over me.

Jacob.

My five-year-old son bounded into the room, entirely oblivious to the adult war zone he had just entered. He was clutching a piece of drawing paper, his little sneakers squeaking against the polished hardwood. He had broken away from the nanny, his thick, dark curls bouncing with every step.

Ethan instantly froze, straightening up and turning his head toward the sound of the child's voice.

I moved on pure instinct. I threw myself out of the chair, stepping directly between Ethan and my son, shielding Jacob’s small body from his father’s view. My hands were shaking violently as I reached down, grabbing Jacob by his shoulders.

"Jacob," I gasped, my voice thin, desperate, and cracking with fear. "Sweetheart, Mommy is in a very important meeting right now. You need to go back to Clara outside. Right now."

"But Mommy, look!" Jacob protested, holding up the paper with a stubborn, defiant pout. He tilted his head around my hip, his large, piercing dark eyes staring directly past me.

Ethan looked down.

His eyes landed on the little boy.

I watched the exact moment Ethan’s entire world shifted. I watched his eyes scan Jacob’s face taking in the thick dark curls, the shape of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, and finally, those identical, dark, soul-piercing eyes that matched Ethan's perfectly.

The room fell into an eerie, terrifying silence. Ethan’s mouth parted slightly, his gaze moving from the boy, to me, and then back to the boy. The sheer, shocking math of the situation was playing out in his mind. Five years. A five-year-old boy who looked exactly like a miniature version of himself.

"Amelia..." Ethan whispered, his voice trembling so hard it was barely audible. He took a slow, hesitant step toward us, his hand reaching out blindly toward the child. "Who... who is this?"

Jacob stared back at the strange man, his little chin lifting with an innate, stubborn pride that he had inherited directly from the billionaire standing in front of him.

"I'm Jacob," the little boy announced confidently, completely ignoring my frantic attempts to push him toward the door. "Who are you?"

Ethan’s breath hitched in his throat. A tear, hot and entirely uncharacteristic of the ruthless CEO, welled up in the corner of his eye as he looked at the son he never knew existed.

"Jacob..." Ethan breathed, his knees looking as if they were about to buckle.

I knew that if I didn't act right now, the secret I had spent five years protecting with my life would be completely exposed. I grabbed Jacob, pulling him tightly against my chest, and turned my icy, desperate gaze back to the man who had abandoned us.

"He is my son, Mr. King," I said, my

voice cutting through the room like a death sentence. "And his father is a man who died to us a very long time ago."