The Regretful CEO's Comeback

Chapter 3

The bad feeling spread through Elodie on her way back. By the time she pushed open the front door, it had coiled tight in her stomach.

The villa blazed with light. She spotted him immediately. There he sat on the living room sofa, the cold, aristocratic line of his back wrapped in a tailored suit.

'How long has it been since Damian last came here? Five months? Eight? A year? I can't even remember.'

Apart from their wedding night, she could hardly recall him setting foot in this house over the three years of their marriage. Every visit had been about one thing—physical satisfaction, nothing more. And every time, stupidly, she had let herself believe he might feel something for her after all—only for Seraphina's next subtle provocation to grind that tiny spark of hope back into dust.

The walk home had wrung her out, body and soul. Elodie said nothing. She pulled a pair of slippers from the shoe cabinet, changed into them, and headed straight for the staircase leading up to the master bedroom on the second floor.

"You don't see your husband waiting for you?" The man's voice rolled in from the living room behind her, low and cold. "You didn't notice someone's here?"

She couldn't be bothered to respond. She kept walking toward the stairs.

That only sharpened his displeasure. "Stop."

She weighed her options. If she kept ignoring him, she would likely bruise his pride, and bruised pride in a man like Damian led to bigger problems. So she halted. She just didn't turn around.

His voice came again, cool and carrying a trace of something even he probably didn't recognize as jealousy. "You always come home this late?"

She genuinely believed he had just asked her a pointless, irrelevant question. She couldn't even muster the energy to give him a single word in return.

Damian frowned. "Answer my question."

"Is it late?" Elodie's patience had worn thinner than his. Sarcasm edged her every syllable. "For someone like you, the night's barely begun. Besides, what time I come home has nothing to do with you, Mr. Waverly. Instead of worrying about my schedule, shouldn't you be with Ms. Valez? She did suffer such a terrible shock today."

"Does it physically pain you to go five minutes without a sharp remark?"

"That depends entirely on your attitude."

What she meant was simple. He would get exactly what he gave. Every time before this, she had been the one swallowing her pride and clinging to him. Damian had never been on the receiving end of her acid tongue. 'When did she turn into this? When did she start picking fights over everything?'

His handsome face darkened. A hostile chill bled outward from him.

But then he steadied himself. 'I never expected us to get along peacefully anyway.' The anger slowly ebbed. 'She isn't worth the frustration.'

He spoke, his tone brooking no argument. "Come here."

Elodie didn't want to move. She wanted even less to be anywhere near him. "If you have something to say, just say it. I can hear you."

Even the way she said it scraped against his ears.

Damian's voice dropped lower. "I don't like repeating myself."

If she had been facing him, the irritation and impatience written all over her face would have set him off long ago. He would never have kept his temper in check long enough to give her another chance.

Elodie drew a deep breath and forced the emotions back down.

She sat on the sofa across from him. She didn't look at him. Her eyes settled on the coffee cup sitting on the table between them, a thin wisp of steam still curling above it. She found it strange that he had never come here yet somehow knew exactly where the coffee was.

Damian studied her with narrowed eyes. She was travel-worn, her hair disheveled, looking halfway to defeated. "Did you walk home?"

'He drove right past me. How could he not have seen me? I'm not exactly invisible.'

The surprise almost made her roll her eyes. She managed something between a smile and a grimace. "I thought you did that on purpose."

"Did what on purpose?"

"Nothing."

She wasn't about to waste words explaining everything she had endured while his car sped past her. A suspicion even crept in. 'Was that payback? For what happened at the hospital?'

Elodie offered no explanation, and Damian had no interest in digging further. Most things about her held no interest for him at all.

He leaned back into the sofa with an air of unhurried ease, lifting his coffee cup for an elegant sip. "Seems like you're short on money lately."

It was phrased as a question, but he was clearly stating something he already knew.

"You left a beautiful woman alone tonight and came all the way here just to ask me a pointless question?" Elodie kept her eyes down, face blank. "If that's what this is, you've seen for yourself. I'm sure you're satisfied."

A cold, short laugh escaped him. "You were so full of righteous indignation at the hospital today. So determined to compensate Seraphina. And now, only a few hours later, you can't even afford a taxi?"

Elodie's brow creased. Genuine confusion flickered in her bright eyes. "Does mocking me, watching me struggle, give you some kind of sense of accomplishment?"

He threw her own words right back at her. "That depends entirely on your attitude."

'Damian holds a grudge. Do not poke the bear.'

Her lashes lowered. She stared at the pristine floor as if she could see her own ridiculous reflection in it. "Honestly, I regretted it. Afterward, I mean."

If Seraphina didn't want compensation, she should have been sensible and quietly accepted the out. She should have swallowed every bitter feeling and let it pass. Why had she needed to win that argument so badly? Why couldn't she just let it go?

After a moment, she lifted her gaze back to him and smiled. "So, is it too late to take those words back now?"

The smile on her face was bright and unguarded, as clean and simple as a spring breeze. For a disorienting second, Damian saw through that clarity to another version of her, the timid girl who used to tug at the hem of his clothes.

A strange tightness settled in his chest. It unsettled him. The rich, mellow aftertaste of the coffee on his tongue suddenly turned bitter and hard to swallow.

Damian's brow furrowed—the movement nearly imperceptible. He had lost his taste for the moment and set the cup aside. "Next time, drop the attitude."

'As changeable as ever.'

"You've been privileged and comfortable for so long you've forgotten how the rest of the world lives."

Elodie just kept smiling. Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap, her nails digging into her own flesh. The back of her pale hand bore the deep red imprints she had carved into it herself.

She looked as if she felt no pain at all. That red-lipped, white-toothed smile stayed fixed in place. "Pride doesn't put food on the table. It doesn't save lives. It doesn't give me anything I actually need. In the situation I'm in right now, I can't afford to talk about dignity."

"You make it sound as if I've mistreated you." The corner of Damian's mouth curved upward. "You're still my legal spouse. You need money—why not ask your husband for it? Hmm?"

She caught the first half of his sentence and thought, 'His family never mistreated me. That doesn't mean he didn't.'

But the second half of his words landed in her ears, crisp and unmistakable, and she went still, as if she had misheard.

"You... you're offering me money?"

"Of course." Damian unhurriedly pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slid one free, and lit it. The smoke blurred his features as he exhaled. "That's exactly why I'm here. To give you money."