Billionaire's Mistake

News Flash

CHAPTER 4

Three Years Later

JEREMY HERBERT

No way she signed those documents. Impossible. Maya doesn’t walk away. She sulks, she screams, she threatens, but she never leaves. I know her too well.

She’s all I’ve got.

She was supposed to come crawling back after cooling off—especially with that eight-hundred-million-dollar merger looming over her. I gave her purpose, direction. Without me, who even knows her?

But she signed them. Not only did she sign the divorce papers, she vanished—completely. No calls. No trace. Not a single email. Three years. Not even a whisper.

The papers were fake. A ploy. A warning. Uriel and I planned it to scare Maya. Humble her. That was all. The pregnancy news was fake too—Uriel wore the prosthetic belly, faked the tears, made sure Maya saw what we needed her to see. And still… she signed.

I married Maya because she was sharp. Loyal. She never said no. I needed a woman who could read boardroom power plays, not just wear heels and smile. But somewhere along the line, she started thinking the company was hers. She pushed back. Asked too many questions. Then the failed contract—the one Uriel sabotaged—Maya was never the same after that.

I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to shake the dizziness. My head pounded. I hadn’t eaten. Barely slept. The clock on the wall blinked noon. Already?

A soft knock at the door.

“Sir, lunch is ready,” one of the house staff called.

My head snapped up. “Lunch?”

I glanced at the clock again. I’d been asleep all morning. “You i***t!” I shouted, knocking the tray from his hands. The plates shattered against the marble. I didn’t care. “You didn’t wake me! I have a presentation in less than an hour. Get the driver. Now. And find my wife!”

The servant blinked, wide-eyed. “Sir… which wife?”

I froze.

The air in the room turned to ice.

“Get. Out,” I said, my voice low and lethal. He didn’t need a second order. He bolted.

I stared out the floor-to-ceiling window. Los Angeles glittered below, a city I’d shaped. My name still carried weight here. I built half this skyline. But without Maya, it all felt thin. Hollow.

The merger was crumbling.

Investors were pulling out. Rumors had spread. Some board members whispered that Maya’s absence was why the company was faltering. They used to call her the brain of the empire. It irritated me then. Now it felt like a curse.

I needed her back.

Not for love—that was always a blur. I needed her for structure. Strategy. Maya’s mind saw five steps ahead. She made me look sharper than I was.

Uriel, on the other hand, had become a liability. After the fake wedding stunt, I thought I could control her—keep her close, useful. But she’d spiraled. Spending recklessly. Flirting shamelessly. Meddling where she shouldn’t. Last week, she embarrassed me, drunk and ranting in front of shareholders.

I hated myself for what I did to Maya. For pushing her that far.

I poured a drink, ignoring the hour. The presentation could wait. I couldn’t stop thinking about that night—the night I grabbed Uriel by the throat. I didn’t mean to. Something snapped. Rage had been simmering for weeks.

If her mother hadn’t walked in, I might’ve—

A sharp knock broke the silence.

“Mr. Herbert,” my assistant called, breathless. “You need to see this.”

I yanked the door open.

“What?” I snapped.

She handed me a tablet, hands trembling. The screen displayed a tabloid article.

My eyes narrowed at the headline:

*“Maya Grayson Returns: LA’s Elusive Mogul Steps Out in Paris for Secret Business Deal”*

My chest tightened. There she was.

Maya.

Red lips. Dark sunglasses. A sleek black trench coat cinched at her waist. No wedding ring. Hair pulled into a low bun. She looked like money—not flashy, but powerful. In control. She wasn’t hiding. She was commanding the room.

I swiped through the photos. One showed her stepping out of a black car, flanked by security. Beside her stood a man I almost recognized. Tall. Well-groomed. Grey turtleneck and slacks. Holding an umbrella over her head. His face was obscured by the angle, but something about him nagged at me. I let it go.

My stomach twisted.

I turned to the assistant. “When was this?”

“This morning, sir. Paris time.”

I clenched my jaw.

She was working again. Thriving. And she’d taken her maiden name back—Maya Grayson. Not my wife. Not Mrs. Anything. Just her. Back in the headlines like she’d never left.

I scrolled down.

*“Insiders say she’s orchestrating a tech merger that could rival the Herbert Group in under six months.”*

I nearly crushed the tablet.

No. She couldn’t.

She was supposed to fade. Break. Beg to return.

I tossed the tablet onto the couch and stormed to my office. If she wanted a fight, she’d get one. I’d pull every string to kill that deal. Freeze her out of the industry.

She thought she was smart? Fine. I’d remind her who gave her that seat at the table.

My phone buzzed.

I ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.

Finally, I snatched it up.

Unknown number.

I hesitated, then answered.

“Hello?”

Silence.

Then a voice. Calm. Male.

“You’re looking for Maya.”

I stiffened. “Who is this?”

“You sho

uld stop. She doesn’t belong to you anymore.”

“Who the hell are you?”

*Click.*

The line went dead.