The Billionaire regret: Reclaiming his contract Bride

Damien POV

CHAPTER 4

I couldn't sleep.

Isabella was in my bed, her hair spread across the pillow, breathing soft and even. She looked peaceful. Beautiful.

So why did I feel so... empty?

I got up quietly, grabbed my phone, and went out to the balcony. The city was still awake below me. New York never slept.

Neither did I, apparently.

I opened my messages. Looked at the Not Delivered text to Sophia.

She'd blocked me. Again.

I should've been relieved. This is what I wanted, right? A clean break. No messy emotions. Just sign the papers and move on.

So why did I keep thinking about her face tonight?

The way she'd looked at me when she saw me with Isabella. Like I'd stabbed her. Like I'd taken something precious and destroyed it.

Good, I told myself. Let her hate me. It makes this easier.

But it didn't feel easier.

It felt... wrong.

"Damien?"

I turned. Isabella stood in the doorway, wrapped in my sheet. She looked like something from a magazine. Perfect.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, walking over to me.

"Just thinking about work."

She wrapped her arms around me from behind. "You work too much. Come back to bed."

"In a minute."

Her hands slid down my chest. "I had fun tonight. We looked good together, didn't we?"

We did. We always looked good together. Isabella knew how to dress, how to smile, how to work a room. She was everything a man like me should want.

So why did I keep thinking about Sophia in that green dress, looking pale and thin and tired?

"She left early," Isabella said casually. "Sophia. Did you see?"

"I saw."

"Probably couldn't handle seeing us together." Isabella laughed softly. "Poor thing. She really thought you loved her, didn't she?"

Something sharp twisted in my chest. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't talk about her like that."

Isabella pulled away. "Are you defending her?"

"I'm just saying there's no need to be cruel."

"Cruel?" Isabella's voice got cold. "I'm not the one who married her for a business deal. I'm not the one who used her for three years and then threw her away."

Her words hit harder than they should have.

Because she was right.

That's exactly what I did.

"I didn't throw her away," I said. "We had a contract. The contract is ending. That's all."

"Is it?" Isabella studied me. "Because you've been weird all night. Ever since she left."

"I haven't been weird."

"You checked your phone fifteen times."

"I was checking work emails..."

"Damien." Isabella crossed her arms. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"About what?"

"About her. About the divorce. About us."

Was I?

No. Of course not. I wanted this. I wanted Isabella. I'd wanted her for five years, ever since she left me.

Now she was finally back. Finally mine.

This was everything I'd been waiting for.

"No second thoughts," I said.

But my voice sounded hollow even to me.

Isabella relaxed. "Good. Because I'm not going through this again. I made a mistake when I left you before. I'm not making another one."

She kissed me. Soft at first, then deeper.

I kissed her back.

But all I could think about was how different it felt from the one time I'd kissed Sophia.

Stop, I told myself. Stop thinking about her.

The next morning...

Isabella left early for a breakfast meeting. I was alone in the penthouse for the first time in weeks.

It felt too quiet.

I made coffee. Checked my emails. Tried to focus on work.

But I kept looking at the other wing. The guest wing where Sophia had lived for three years.

I'd never gone there. Never invaded her space. It was part of our agreement. Separate lives.

But she was gone now. Staying with that friend of hers, Maya something.

She wasn't coming back.

I walked to her wing before I could stop myself.

The door was unlocked. I pushed it open.

Her space was... different from the rest of the penthouse. Warmer. There were books everywhere. Photos on the walls, her mother, friends, places she'd been.

I'd never noticed before how much personality she'd crammed into this small space.

How much life.

Her closet was still full of clothes. The dresses I'd bought her. She'd left all of them.

Only took what was hers from before.

On her nightstand was a book. Dog-eared and worn. I picked it up. Pride and Prejudice.

She'd read it so many times the spine was cracked.

I opened it. On the first page, in neat handwriting: To my Sophia, may you find a love as true as Lizzie and Darcy. Love, Mom.

Something twisted in my chest again.

I set the book down and left her room quickly.

This was stupid. I didn't care about her books or her photos or her stupid romantic notions.

I'd done the right thing. We were never supposed to be real. It was always just business.

My phone rang. My grandfather.

I answered. "Richard."

"Damien." His voice was cold. Disappointed. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About your appalling behavior last night."

I sighed. "Grandfather..."

"That girl has done nothing but be kind and gracious for three years. She played her part perfectly. And you humiliated her by parading your mistress in front of her at a public event."

"Isabella isn't my mistress..."

"Isn't she? You've been sleeping with her for months while still married to Sophia."

How did he,

"I know everything, Damien. I always do." Richard's voice was sharp. "And I'm ashamed of you."

Those words hit harder than anything else.

Richard was never ashamed of me. Disappointed sometimes. Frustrated often. But never ashamed.

"The marriage was fake," I said. "Sophia knew that. She agreed to it."

"She agreed to be treated with basic respect and dignity. Not to watch her husband fall in love with someone else."

"I'm not in love with Isabella—"

The words came out automatically. Then I stopped.

Why did I say that?

"Aren't you?" Richard asked quietly. "Then why are you divorcing a perfectly good wife for her?"

"Because Sophia and I were never real. Because she deserves to find someone who actually wants her. Because I'm doing her a favor..."

"You're doing yourself a favor. And you're a coward for pretending otherwise."

He hung up.

I stared at my phone.

Coward.

Was that what I was?

Later that day...

I went to the office. Tried to work. Couldn't focus.

Jennifer came in with papers. "The final draft of the divorce settlement. Your lawyer needs your signature."

I took the papers. Looked at them.

Dissolution of Marriage: Damien Alexander Cross and Sophia Maria Martinez.

It felt wrong seeing her name like that. Cold. Legal.

"Mr. Cross?" Jennifer prompted.

"She refused the additional settlement?" I asked, scanning the papers.

"Yes, sir. She only wanted what was in the original contract."

"That's stupid. The penthouse alone is worth ten million..."

"She said, and I quote, 'I don't want his guilt money.'"

I set the papers down.

Guilt money.

Is that what it was?

Maybe.

"She also requested that all her personal belongings be shipped to a storage unit. She doesn't want to return to the penthouse."

"What storage unit?"

"She didn't say, sir."

Because she didn't want me to know.

Because she was already planning to disappear.

"Sir, do you want to sign these?"

I picked up my pen.

This was it. Once I signed, it was real. Once I signed, Sophia and I were done.

This was what I wanted.

Was it?

I signed my name. Fast, before I could think about it too much.

"File these with the court," I told Jennifer.

"Yes, sir."

She left.

I sat at my desk, staring at the skyline.

Six months. In six months, Sophia Martinez would be free of me.

She'd take her money and disappear and build a life somewhere far away.

And I'd be here with Isabella. Living the life I'd always wanted.

So why did I feel like I was making the biggest mistake of my life?

That night...

Isabella wanted to go out. Some new restaurant. Some celebrity chef.

I said yes because I didn't know what else to do.

The restaurant was loud. Crowded. Isabella was talking about redecorating the penthouse. "Now that Sophia's gone, we can finally make it ours. Get rid of all that boring beige..."

"I like the beige."

Isabella blinked. "What?"

"The beige. It's... calm. Sophisticated."

"It's boring." She sipped her wine. "We need color. Drama. Life."

The penthouse had plenty of life when Sophia lived there.

Stop it, I told myself. Stop thinking about her.

"And we should throw a party," Isabella continued. "Once the divorce is final. Announce us properly. Make it official."

"A party."

"Yes! A big one. Everyone who's anyone. Show the world that we're together."

She reached across the table, took my hand. "I'm so happy, Damien. Aren't you happy?"

I looked at her. Really looked at her.

She was beautiful. Successful. Everything I thought I wanted.

But when she smiled at me, I felt... nothing.

Not the way I'd felt five years ago when I was young and stupid and thought she was the love of my life.

Now she just felt like... a person.

A person I didn't actually know anymore.

"Damien?" Her smile faltered. "You are happy, right?"

"Yeah," I lied. "I'm happy."

Her smile came back. "Good. Because I'm not losing you again."

She kept talking. About parties and decorating and plans for the future.

And all I could think about was Sophia.

The way she used to wait up for me even though I told her not to.

The way she'd leave little notes in my briefcase with reminders to eat.

The way she'd smile at me even when I was cold to her.

Like she saw something in me worth smiling at.

Isabella had never looked at me like that.

Isabella looked at me like I was a prize she'd won.

Sophia had looked at me like I was... human.

Past tense, I reminded myself. She looked at you like that. Not anymore.

Now she looked at me like I'd broken something inside her.

Because I had.

Late that night...

Isabella fell asleep in my bed again.

I went to the balcony again.

Pulled up Sophia's number. Still blocked.

I could call from a different number. I could email. I could show up at Maya's apartment.

But what would I say?

Sorry I made you fall in love with me and then crushed you?

Sorry I asked for a divorce and then paraded my girlfriend in front of you?

Sorry I'm a selfish asshole who doesn't deserve you?

All of it was true.

None of it would matter.

She was done with me. I could see it in her eyes last night.

She'd finally given up.

I'd won.

So why did it feel like I'd lost everything?

The next morning...

I woke up early. Isabella was still sleeping.

I got dressed. Went to the office.

Sat at my desk and pulled up Sophia's file. The one Richard had given me three years ago.

Sophia Maria Martinez. Age 23. Employed at Garcia's Diner and Winston Retail. Mother: Elena Martinez, stage 4 cancer. Father: deceased. No siblings. College dropout due to financial hardship.

I'd read this file three years ago and felt nothing.

She was just a solution to a problem. A warm body to stand next to me and play pretend.

I'd never asked about her life. Her dreams. What she wanted.

I'd never cared.

But she'd cared about me.

I don't know when it started. But somewhere in three years, Sophia had stopped playing pretend.

She'd actually fallen in love with me.

And I'd been too blind and too selfish to see it.

Or maybe I had seen it. Maybe that's why I kept my distance. Why I never let her in.

Because if I let her in, I might actually feel something.

And feelings were dangerous.

Feelings could hurt you the way Isabella hurt me when she left.

So I kept Sophia at arm's length. Kept her in her little guest wing. Kept her as a contract and nothing more.

It was safer that way.

For me.

Not for her.

Never for her.

My phone buzzed. A text from Isabella.

Isabella: Good morning handsome. Let's have lunch today? I'm meeting with a wedding planner at 2.

I stared at the message.

Wedding planner.

We'd been back together for six months. I wasn't even divorced yet.

And she was already planning a wedding.

I didn't respond.

Instead, I opened my laptop and typed into the search bar: Sophia Martinez Seattle.

Nothing came up.

Sophia Martinez Boston.

Nothing.

She'd been thorough. Wiped herself from social media. Left no digital trail.

She was really going to disappear.

And I was really going to let her.

Because that's what she wanted.

That's what she deserved.

A life without me in it.

I closed my laptop.

Signed into my emails.

Tried to work.

But all I could think about was green eyes and sad smiles and a woman who'd loved me when I didn't deserve it.

A woman I'd thrown away without a second thought.

And now it was too late to get her back.

Six months from now, she'd be gone.

And I'd be here with Isabella, living the life I thought I wanted.

And maybe eventually I'd stop thinking about Sophia Martinez.

Maybe eventually I'd forget the way she looked at me that last night.

Maybe eventually this hollow feeling in my chest would go away.

Maybe.

But I didn't think so.