The Billionaire Husband's Crushing Regret

Chapter 1

The Husband Who Stopped Coming Home

The other half of the mattress was cold.

Again.

She stared into the darkness for several seconds, listening to the silence of the penthouse. The city glowed beyond the bedroom windows, thousands of lights scattered beneath the glass like stars that had fallen too low.

Freddie should have been home.

He had said he would be.

That was the part Lucy could not stop thinking about.

Not the hour.

Not even the empty side of the bed.

The promise.

"I'll be home before midnight."

He had kissed her forehead when he said it.

Three nights ago.

Lucy rolled onto her side and reached for her phone.

No new messages.

She opened their conversation anyway.

Freddie: Leaving the office now.

Lucy: Don't work too late.

Freddie: I won't. I promise.

She had answered with a heart.

She hated that little red symbol now.

Lucy locked the phone and set it facedown.

For years, Freddie Holloway had been predictable in the ways that mattered.

He worked too much. He traveled too often. He could spend twelve hours negotiating a merger and still remember that Lucy hated the tomatoes in the restaurant salad.

He knew she liked the bedroom window cracked open at night.

He knew she took her coffee with a little cream and no sugar.

He knew that when she was upset, she became very quiet.

Most importantly, he had always come home.

Even when business kept him across the country, he called.

Even when he returned after midnight, he would slip into bed and wrap an arm around her waist.

Lately, that man seemed to be disappearing by degrees.

First came the late nights.

Then the canceled dinners.

Then the phone.

Always the phone.

Lucy sat up.

The room felt too warm.

She pushed the covers aside and walked barefoot toward the windows. Her reflection followed her in the dark glass. Silk pajamas. Loose hair. Bare face.

A wife waiting for a husband who had stopped acting like a husband.

She folded her arms.

Maybe she was being unfair.

Freddie had never been an easy man to live with. His company had grown from a small investment firm into one of the most powerful private holdings in the country. His name appeared in financial magazines. People waited weeks for meetings with him.

He carried pressure differently from most people.

He became quieter.

More focused.

More distant.

Lucy had accepted that.

What she could not accept was the feeling that his distance had become personal.

The elevator chimed somewhere beyond the bedroom.

Lucy froze.

A moment later, she heard the front door open.

She glanced at the clock.

2:31.

Footsteps crossed the marble floor.

Then Freddie appeared in the bedroom doorway.

His tie was gone. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and he smelled faintly of expensive cologne and rain.

He looked tired.

Beautiful.

Familiar.

And somehow like a stranger.

His eyes softened when he saw her awake.

"You should be asleep."

Lucy looked at the clock.

"You said you'd be home before midnight."

Freddie glanced at his watch.

"I know."

"You were four hours late."

"The meeting ran long."

"What meeting?"

His gaze shifted toward the window.

"An investor dinner."

"At two in the morning?"

"It wasn't just dinner."

Lucy studied him.

There it was again.

That slight pause.

That fraction of a second when Freddie decided what version of the truth she was allowed to hear.

She got out of bed.

"Was it important?"

"Yes."

"Important enough that you couldn't call?"

"I should have."

He said it quickly.

Too quickly.

Lucy walked toward him.

"You used to call."

Freddie's jaw tightened.

"I've been busy, Lucy."

"I know."

She stopped in front of him.

"I've noticed."

Something flickered across his face.

Guilt.

Or irritation.

She could not tell anymore.

He reached for her waist.

Lucy instinctively stepped back.

His hand remained suspended for a moment before falling to his side.

The tiny movement landed harder than an argument.

Freddie noticed.

"Lucy."

"I'm tired."

"So am I."

"No. I mean I'm tired of wondering."

His expression changed.

"Wondering what?"

She almost laughed.

He was going to make her say it.

"Whether something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong."

"Our marriage feels different."

"You're imagining things."

The words were gentle.

That made them worse.

Lucy stared at him.

She had spent years trusting Freddie's certainty. When he said something was handled, she believed him. When he said they were fine, she believed him.

Now she heard the same confidence and felt something inside her recoil.

"Am I?"

"Yes."

He moved closer.

Lucy could feel the warmth of his body, could see the faint shadow beneath his eyes.

He looked like the man she had married.

That was the problem.

Her heart remembered him even when her instincts did not.

Freddie lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek.

"I love you."

The words should have comforted her.

Instead, they made her chest tighten.

She searched his eyes.

"When was the last time you said that without me asking if everything was okay?"

His hand dropped.

Silence stretched between them.

Then his phone vibrated.

Freddie glanced at it.

It was barely a second.

But Lucy saw the change.

His shoulders stiffened.

His expression sharpened.

He reached into his pocket and turned the phone over.

Lucy looked at him.

"Who is it?"

"No one."

She felt the answer before she understood it.

"No one?"

"Work."

"At two thirty in the morning?"

"It's an issue with the company."

He walked past her toward the bathroom.

Lucy turned.

"Freddie."

He stopped.

"Please don't shut me out."

For a moment, neither moved.

Then he looked back at her.

"I won't."

It sounded like another promise.

And somehow, she knew it was another lie.

The next morning, Lucy woke alone.

She found Freddie's side of the closet empty of the suit he had worn the previous evening.

His watch was gone.

His cuff links were gone.

But his phone charger remained beside the bed.

She stared at it.

Then she noticed something else.

A hotel receipt lay partly beneath the chair near the window.

Lucy bent down and picked it up.

Hawthorne Grand.

One room.

Executive Suite.

Last night.

Her fingers tightened around the paper.

For several seconds, she could not breathe.

Maybe there was an explanation.

There had to be.

Freddie traveled constantly. Investors stayed in hotels. Business dinners became business meetings.

But the date was yesterday.

The same night he had told her he was at an investor dinner.

Lucy turned the receipt over.

Nothing.

She walked into the bathroom and placed it on the marble counter.

Then she saw a small dark mark on the white fabric of Freddie's shirt hanging over a chair.

Lipstick.

Not hers.

Lucy touched it with one finger.

Her stomach dropped.

The world did not shatter.

There was no dramatic sound.

Just a terrible stillness.

Her mind began assembling pieces she had refused to see.

The late nights.

The hidden phone.

The sudden showering after work.

The perfume she had once noticed on his jacket.

The anniversary dinner he had canceled last month because of an emergency meeting.

Lucy closed her eyes.

"No."

The word came out quietly.

She opened the bedroom drawer where Freddie kept spare business cards and old receipts.

She did not know what she was looking for.

Proof.

Something she could hold.

Something that would tell her she was wrong.

Instead, she found a folded card.

It was tucked behind a stack of documents.

Lucy's heart began beating faster.

She opened it.

The handwriting wasn't Freddie's.

Thank you for last night.

I wish we didn't have to pretend when we're together.

M.

Lucy read it twice.

Then a third time.

Her hands went cold.

M.

Mollie?

The name surfaced immediately.

Mollie Knowles.

Lucy had met her twice.

A polished woman with dark hair, a controlled smile, and a position close enough to Freddie's inner circle that she always seemed to know where he would be.

Lucy remembered one particular evening.

Mollie had touched Freddie's arm while speaking to him.

It had lasted barely a second.

Lucy had thought nothing of it.

Now she remembered the way Freddie had looked at Mollie.

Not long.

Not obviously.

Just enough.

Lucy placed the card on the counter.

Her breathing became shallow.

She picked up her phone.

She could call Freddie.

She could demand an explanation.

She could call Mollie.

She could throw the card across the room and pretend none of this had happened.

Instead, Lucy opened her contacts.

Her thumb hovered over Freddie's name.

Then she stopped.

If she called him now, he would know what she had found.

He would have time to prepare.

Time to lie.

Lucy set the phone down.

For the first time since she had married Freddie, she decided not to confront him immediately.

She would watch.

She would listen.

And she would stop giving him opportunities to tell her only what he wanted her to know.

That afternoon, Freddie came home unexpectedly.

Lucy was sitting in the living room with a book open in her lap.

He walked in carrying flowers.

White roses.

Her favorite.

He smiled.

"I thought we could have dinner tonight."

Lucy looked at the flowers.

Then at him.

"Why?"

His smile faltered.

"Because I miss you."

Something inside her twisted.

The cruelest part was that she still wanted to believe him.

She still wanted to cross the room, take the flowers, and let him hold her.

Instead, she closed the book.

"Who is Mollie Knowles?"

Freddie went completely still.

The flowers remained in his hand.

For one long second, Lucy saw the truth before he said a word.

Not in his confession.

Not in his expression.

In the fear.

Then his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

Mollie.

Lucy saw the name.

Freddie saw her see it.

The phone continued ringing between them.

Neither moved.

Finally, Freddie answered.

"Mollie, this isn't a good time."

Lucy watched his face change as he listened.

Then Mollie's voice came faintly through the speaker.

"Freddie, we have a problem. Someone sent the photographs to the press."

Lucy stopped breathing.

Freddie's eyes closed.

And in that instant, the marriage Lucy thought was in trouble became something much worse.

It was already a scandal.

And she was the last person to know.