The Ex's Regret: I Became The Billionaire Hockey King's Doctor

Chloe POV:

"I can't make it tonight, Chloe. Vicky was in a car accident on her way to the gala. I have to be with her at the hospital."

Harrison's voice came through the receiver, rushed and heavy with guilt.

I stood in the dim shadows just off the main stage, the heavy silk of my white couture gown pooling around my feet. A few yards away, hundreds of New York's elite waited for the guests of honor to make their grand entrance.

Vicky. Victoria Vance. Our family's fragile, adored adopted daughter. She always found the most innocent ways to take what was mine.

A perfectly timed accident. A victim needing comfort. A real-life drama of a hero saving the damsel.

A quiet laugh escaped my lips, dripping with sarcasm. "Is that so? Is she badly hurt? Should I call the best surgeon in the country?"

"Or is a little scratch enough to keep her in your arms until our engagement party becomes the joke of the city?"

Silence hung on the other end of the line. Then, Victoria's crying grew louder, distinct and pathetic.

Harrison's voice turned stern. "Chloe, don't be so difficult. Vicky is vulnerable right now. She needs me. This is just a party. We can reschedule."

Before I could answer, my eldest brother, Julian, strode into the alcove. He snatched the phone from my hand, his face flushed with fury, and roared into the receiver.

"Harrison! You bastard! I don't care what you're doing with that woman, you get your ass back here now! Do you have any idea how important tonight is for our families' business?"

The call ended, Julian's jaw clenched. He looked at me, calculating only the cost of a ruined business alliance. "He said he's not coming back. He chose Victoria."

My mother, Caroline Beaumont, rushed toward us, her elegant posture stiff with anxiety. She grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging sharply into my bare skin.

"Chloe, you better give me an explanation!" she hissed, her voice a low, furious tremor. "Where is Harrison? You're disgracing the Beaumont name!"

"He's staying with Vicky," Julian muttered, adjusting his cuffs as if the matter was already beneath him.

Caroline's eyes darted between us, her panic morphing instantly into vicious anger. She released my arm only to point a trembling finger directly at my face.

"It's all her fault! If she were half as sensible as Vicky, Harrison would never treat her this way!"

She swayed, grabbing Julian's arm for support. "It's over... It's all over..."

Right on cue, the heavy velvet curtains parted.

The blinding glare of the spotlights hit us, exposing our backstage meltdown to the grand ballroom. Below the stage, the most powerful people in the city watched the spectacle with morbid curiosity.

The whispers swelled into a rising tide, a sea of hushed sounds sweeping through the crowd. Camera flashes erupted in rapid succession, capturing every frame of the jilted bride and her furious family.

My second brother, Adrian, stood near the front row, offering apologetic smiles to the agitated guests, his weak stance making the situation even more pathetic.

My youngest brother, Miles, leaned against a pillar surrounded by a flock of models. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, raising his champagne glass in my direction. "This is so fucking embarrassing."

I was surrounded by my family. They stood around me like a tribunal of judges, casting me as the sole sinner. My mother glared at me with pure resentment, blaming me for a betrayal I was the victim of. My brothers offered nothing but cold calculation and open mockery. The public humiliation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on the stage.

Standing in the center of their accusations and the crowd's piercing stares, I felt a profound, absolute clarity. A cold, steady strength settled deep in my bones.

I smoothed the skirt of my gown. The heavy silk felt like armor against my skin. I straightened my back and lifted my chin, rolling my shoulders into a posture of absolute authority.

I reached out and took my phone back from Julian's hand, meeting his stunned expression with a steady gaze.

Leaving my mother's trembling finger and my brothers' pathetic displays behind, I walked directly to the center of the stage, stepping fully into the blinding glare of the spotlights.

The noise in the ballroom died the moment I moved forward. Hundreds of people held their breath, watching me, waiting for the final verdict.

I picked up the microphone from the lectern. The cold metal was a grounding, solid presence in my hand. I looked out at the sea of faces, my gaze steady, sweeping over the crowd with absolute command.

Caroline gasped behind me, a sound of pure horror, sensing she had lost control of the narrative.

I took a deep breath, my voice carrying clear and calm through the speakers, claiming every corner of the grand hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I began, letting the silence stretch for a perfectly calculated second. A faint, mocking smile touched my lips.

"Thank you all for gathering here tonight to celebrate what was supposed to be the union of two great families. However, it seems the guest of honor will not be joining us." I tilted my head slightly, my tone dripping with polite disdain. "Due to Mr. Harrison Carlisle's sudden, highly specific... personal priorities, I am officially calling off this engagement."

The crowd erupted into a collective gasp, but I didn't flinch. I leaned closer to the microphone, delivering the final blow.

"I'm sure you will all join me in wishing Harrison the absolute best in tending to his... emergencies."

Chloe POV:

The blinding glare of the spotlights felt like an interrogation, but I stood my ground. Caroline rushed toward me, her manicured fingers digging into my arm as she tried to pull me back into the shadows.

Her whisper was a venomous hiss in my ear. "Chloe, get out of the spotlight! Are you insane? Do you want the Beaumonts on the front page of every tabloid tomorrow?"

I sidestepped her, keeping my posture perfectly rigid. "We already are," I murmured, my voice meant only for her.

Caroline's face drained of color. A few feet away, Julian shot me a lethal glare, mouthing the words, Get down.

I locked my focus entirely on the path ahead. To the Beaumonts, I had always been a stain on the family name.

They considered me mediocre, a docile pawn easily manipulated for their grand designs. This marriage was supposed to be my sole contribution. Now, Harrison's public abandonment wasn't a tragedy to them; it was the ultimate proof of my pathetic incompetence.

Under the stunned, hungry gazes of New York's elite, I gathered the heavy silk of my skirt, turned, and walked off the stage.

I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, bypassing my family entirely. I headed directly for the grand doors of the ballroom. Every step resonated with absolute finality.

As I passed the Carlisle family's table, Harrison's mother watched me with a cold, appraising stare, evaluating me like a depreciated asset.

I met her gaze with pure ice, holding her stare until she looked away. From this moment on, our families were severed.

Just as I reached the heavy brass handles of the door, a hand clamped around my wrist.

Harrison.

Julian's furious threat over the phone must have hit its mark. Judging by the short time that had passed since the call, the prospect of losing a billion-dollar merger had clearly outweighed his need to play the hero. He must have dropped Victoria at the ER doors and sped straight back to the hotel.

He looked a mess. His hair was disheveled, his tie crooked, and his chest heaved as if he had sprinted through the lobby. His face was a mask of panic. "Chloe, what are you doing? Are you crazy? You can't just walk out!"

I studied him. The sharp scent of hospital disinfectant clung to his suit, mingling sickeningly with Victoria's sweet perfume. My deduction was spot on.

I pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one. My voice came out perfectly flat. "I am entirely sane, Harrison."

"You can't do this!" He reached for me again. "This is about our families! Our partnership, our future-"

"Our future?" I cut him off, a sharp, hollow laugh escaping my lips. "The moment you chose another woman over me, leaving me to face hundreds of guests alone, our future ceased to exist."

A flash of shame crossed his face, quickly swallowed by selfish justification. "I told you, Vicky got hurt! She needed me! You need to be more understanding!"

"Understanding?" I countered, my tone dropping to a lethal calm. "Who is understanding me? My family is currently blaming me for ruining their business deal. Your little stunt tonight just cemented my place at the absolute bottom of the Beaumont hierarchy."

I gestured toward the crowd behind him. The Beaumonts were surging through the tables, preparing for another round of condemnation.

I watched his expression fracture. He clearly wanted to salvage the alliance, yet his body physically shrank back at the sight of my approaching family. His utter indecision was the final blow.

The last embers of my attachment to him turned to ash. I had thought I loved a man, only to realize I was engaged to a spoiled boy.

"Let go." My voice was absolute zero.

He tightened his grip, opening his mouth to argue.

I was done talking. I raised my free hand and slapped him hard across the face.

The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot, instantly silencing the surrounding chatter.

Harrison clutched his cheek, his blue eyes wide with shock. "You... you hit me?"

"That was for me," I stated coldly. "For the years I wasted on you."

Taking advantage of his shock, I yanked my wrist free.

"From now on, Harrison Carlisle, we owe each other nothing."

With that, I stepped past him, tuning out my mother's shriek and my brother's furious roar. I pushed open the heavy ballroom doors and walked out into the corridor.

Chloe POV:

I leaned against the cold marble wall, exhaling a long breath. The air in the opulent hallway hung thick with the scent of fake perfume and hypocrisy.

As the initial adrenaline of the confrontation faded, a profound sense of annoyance and sheer exhaustion settled into my bones. The entire evening had been a colossal waste of my time.

My phone vibrated in my clutch. I pulled it out to find a text from Victoria.

The message was brief, dripping with a victor's gloat. "Sister, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault. Harrison insisted on staying with me, I couldn't convince him otherwise. You're not mad at me, are you?" A crying emoji punctuated the pathetic performance.

I stared at the screen, a sharp, sarcastic smile curving my lips. This was her official declaration of war.

I blocked her number and deleted the thread, permanently revoking her access to my peace of mind.

I needed to leave. The heavy couture gown had served its purpose, and now it was just a cumbersome annoyance.

I strode toward the elevators, the sharp click of my heels echoing with authority in the empty corridor.

The polished mirror inside the elevator cabin reflected my image. My makeup remained flawless, and my eyes held the cold, hard glint of absolute clarity. I was completely done with this circus.

I pressed the button for the ground floor. I planned to call a car, return to the Beaumont estate, and pack my essentials. My time in that toxic household had officially expired.

Stepping out through the hotel's side exit, the crisp New York night air hit my bare shoulders. The chill acted as a welcome stimulant, sharpening my senses and washing away the stifling atmosphere of the ballroom.

I bypassed the swarm of reporters camped at the main entrance, opting for the quiet, shadowed alleyway to secure a ride in peace.

I stood by the curb, ordering a premium car on my phone. The app indicated a three-minute wait.

Tires screeched against the asphalt as an unlicensed black van abruptly halted inches from my feet.

The side door rattled open, and two burly men in dark hoodies vaulted out, flanking me with practiced precision. Their eyes gleamed with obvious malice.

My combat instincts flared to life instantly. I took a calculated step back, my hand slipping discreetly into my evening clutch.

A wave of pure, dark amusement washed over me. These idiots saw a delicate heiress in a white gown. They had absolutely no idea they were cornering an elite, highly trained self-defense expert.

"Miss Beaumont. Come with us," the larger man grunted, his voice raspy.

I met his gaze with icy condescension. "Who sent you?"

They remained silent, lunging forward to grab me.

I was perfectly prepared. The moment the man on the left clamped his hand around my arm, I yielded to his momentum. I stepped smoothly into his space, driving my elbow into his ribs at a sharp, bone-bruising angle.

He grunted, his grip instantly slackening. I seized the opening, twisting my body with fluid agility and ducking under his heavy arm.

Simultaneously, my fingers closed around the object in my clutch-a sharp, titanium tactical pen disguised as a lipstick. I drove the metal point ruthlessly into the back of the second man's reaching hand.

He shrieked, snatching his bleeding hand back to his chest.

The shock on their faces was almost comical. They had expected a screaming victim, not a lethal weapon.

Furious and humiliated, the first man lunged at me again. I pivoted sharply out of his path, bringing the steel-reinforced heel of my stiletto down with crushing force onto his instep.

He let out a guttural howl, collapsing to one knee.

I immediately moved to create distance, taking two swift steps toward the street. The second man recovered faster than anticipated, wrapping his thick arms around my waist from behind.

He hoisted me off the pavement. The stench of his sweat and cheap cologne assaulted my senses, fueling my irritation.

I maintained absolute focus. Channeling my core strength, I snapped my head backward, driving the hard base of my skull directly into the center of his face.

A sickening crunch of cartilage echoed in the alley. The man screamed, releasing his hold instantly. I landed gracefully on the balls of my feet, instantly regaining my balanced fighting stance.

I stared down at the two "professionals" writhing on the concrete, my expression devoid of pity. These were hired muscle, executing a targeted hit.

I stepped toward the man clutching his ruined nose, planting the pointed toe of my heel firmly onto his uninjured hand. I applied a calculated amount of pressure. "I will ask you one last time. Who sent you?"