The Billionaire’s Regretful Wife

The line went dead. Evelyn stared at her phone like it might explode. _He hung up on me._ Of course he did. In 2023, Damien Blackwood had never heard of Evelyn Carter beyond a name on a business merger document. She was nobody to him. A college senior studying business, working part-time at a café, invisible in the world he owned. But she knew him. Every line on his face when he was angry. Every lie he believed about her. Her hands shook as she set the phone down. The dorm room was quiet, except for the hum of the old AC and her own racing heartbeat. _It’s real. I’m back._ The memory of the hospital room hit her again—the cold, the pain, the moment she realized her baby was gone. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Flat. No bump yet. But in 4 months, if she didn’t change things, it would be there. And it would die. “Not this time,” she whispered. Her phone buzzed. An unknown number. She answered on the second ring. “Evelyn Carter.” “Who are you, and why do you have my number?” His voice. Deeper than she remembered. Colder. The voice that had said _Sign it, Evelyn_ before walking away forever. Evelyn sat up straight. “I told you. I’m your future wife. And if you hang up again, you’ll lose Blackwood Enterprises in 18 months.” Silence. Then a sharp exhale, like she’d actually startled him. “What the hell are you talking about?” “I’m talking about the acquisition deal with Vance Corp that you sign in October. It’s a trap. They’ll drain you dry and leak your father’s old records to the press.” She kept her voice steady, even though her palms were sweating. “I can stop it. But only if you meet me.” “Right. And I’m supposed to believe a random girl who called me out of nowhere knows my business better than I do.” “You’ll believe me when I tell you the password to your private server is _Lilac1910_. Your father’s birthday and your mother’s maiden name.” Another pause. Longer this time. Evelyn could picture him at his desk on the 40th floor of Blackwood Tower, fingers steepled, eyes narrowing. In the past, he’d never looked at her like that. She’d always been the girl he barely noticed. Now he was listening. “Where?” he said finally. “Central Library. 6 PM. Come alone. And Damien?” “What?” “Don’t bring Linda.” The line went dead again. But this time, she smiled. --- At 5:58 PM, Damien walked into the library. He looked exactly like she remembered—tall, broad shoulders in a tailored black suit, expression carved from ice. His eyes swept the room until they landed on her. Evelyn sat at a corner table, wearing a simple white blouse and jeans. No makeup. No jewelry. Nothing like the Evelyn he’d married later. He stopped in front of her. “You.” “Me,” she said, standing. “Sit down, Mr. Blackwood. We have a lot to discuss.” His jaw tightened. “You know my name. I don’t know yours.” “Evelyn Carter. And you will. Because in three years, you marry me, cheat on me, and watch me die.” The words landed like a slap. Damien’s face didn’t change, but his hands curled into fists. “That’s a serious accusation.” “It’s the truth. And I have proof.” She slid a folder across the table. Inside were printed emails, dates, names—things that hadn’t happened yet, but would. He didn’t open it. Not yet. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “What do you want?” Evelyn met his eyes. “I want my life back. And I’m starting with you.”