Chloe, My Only Regret

Our marriage was a five-year war, a slow burn of mutual revenge.

I thought he hated me for trapping him, especially after I hid that letter from his college sweetheart, Sarah Jenkins.

He retaliated by bringing other women home, making them use my mug, sit in my chair, their perfume a constant torment he inflicted just to see the pain on my face.

After years of fighting for even a sliver of his attention, I woke up from a nightmare so vivid, so terrifyingly real, it felt like a premonition: a future where he'd force me to sacrifice everything for Sarah, leaving me ruined and discarded.

The terror of that vision compelled me to act; I demanded a divorce, expecting a fight, only for him to agree to my outrageous demand of 50% of his company shares.

Just as I believed I was finally free, I walked into a bar and saw him, playing the devoted hero to Sarah, shielding her from two thugs.

He accused me of orchestrating the whole thing, his fury blinding him to my innocence, confirming his deep-seated belief that I was nothing but a manipulative monster.

Then, just as I was about to walk out on him for good, he ambushed me, dragging me into a private room, his rage-filled kiss a violation, yet confusingly, it stirred something within me I swore was long dead.

The nightmare, however, brought me back to reality, and I pushed him away, screaming for him to go to Sarah, desperate to escape the dangerous flicker of hope his touch ignited.

When I presented a revised divorce agreement, offering to take less, he simply shredded it, then later, I watched, horrified, as he chauffeured Sarah around in my Porsche.

His phone call came late, a vulnerable whisper, claiming a car accident, drawing me to him despite everything, only for me to find him drunk, unhurt, and suddenly, bewilderingly, in tears, confessing his enduring love and tearing up yet another document – this time, a full transfer of his company shares to me.

I placed Sarah's letter, the one I had hidden, beside him, ready to finally reveal the truth, only for him to casually dismiss it, claiming he never loved her, and admitted to hiring actresses for five years to make me jealous.

Only then did I confess my own deception, and the realization of our shared, foolish misunderstanding brought us crashing together, five years of wasted pride melting away as he pulled me into his arms, finally understanding the depth of our love.

Our marriage was a long, slow-burning war. If I scratched his face, he'd break my leg. That' s how Liam Miller and I had spent the last five years. We were locked in a cycle of mutual revenge, each trying to hurt the other more.

He was a master of psychological warfare. His weapon of choice was other women. He never slept with them, not in the beginning, but he brought them home. He' d have them sit in my chair at the dining table, use my favorite mug for coffee, and leave a trace of their perfume on his collar. He did it all just to see the pain on my face, to force me to be the one to finally give up and walk away from the mess I had created.

I was the one who started it, after all. Five years ago, his college sweetheart, Sarah Jenkins, was about to come back for him. She had written him a long, heartfelt letter, pouring out her soul, ready to leave her new husband. I found that letter. I hid it. I watched as Liam' s hope turned to despair, and when Sarah never showed up, he got drunk. Blind drunk. I took my chance. I got him to the courthouse, and when he sobered up, he had a ring on his finger and a wife he despised. He thought Sarah had abandoned him for good, and he blamed me for trapping him in his grief. So, he decided to make my life a living hell.

And now, it seemed his motivation had returned. Sarah Jenkins was back in town, divorced and broke. Liam had been spending all his time with her, helping her, comforting her. I knew what was coming.

He sat across from me at the dinner table, the air thick with five years of unspoken hatred. He pushed a file across the table. The words on the cover were stark and clear: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

"Let's get a divorce," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion.

I looked at the papers, then back at his cold, handsome face. He expected me to beg, to cry, to fight. I had fought for him for so long, enduring his public humiliations and private cruelties. He thought I was still that desperate girl who loved him more than her own dignity.

"Okay," I said.

The sound was so small in the cavernous dining room, but it hit him like a physical blow. He froze, his hand halfway to lighting a cigarette. He looked up at me, his dark eyes narrowing with suspicion. He couldn' t believe it. After everything I had done to trap him, to keep him, I was letting go this easily.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"I said okay," I repeated, a little louder this time. I picked up the agreement and started flipping through it. "Let's get a divorce."

He stared at me, searching my face for some sign of a trick, some hidden agenda. He didn' t find one. All he saw was calm acceptance. It unnerved him. He finally lit his cigarette, the smoke curling around his head, obscuring his expression. But I knew him. He was furious that I wasn't fighting back. He was losing control of the narrative he had built for us.

My heart was hammering against my ribs. I loved this man. I loved him so much it felt like a sickness, a poison that had been slowly killing me for years. But he would never know that. He would only ever see the cold, calculating woman who had manipulated him into a loveless marriage.

I skimmed the document. He was offering me a generous settlement, a few properties, some cash. But it wasn't enough. Not for five years of my life.

"This isn't enough," I said, my voice as cool as his. "You're offering me 20% of your company's shares. I want 50%."

Liam let out a short, harsh laugh. "You're dreaming, Chloe."

"Am I?" I met his gaze without flinching. "Your company, 'Miller Tech,' was built with my family' s seed money. It was my marketing expertise that put you on the map. Without me, you' d still be working out of your garage. I' m not just your wife, Liam. I was your business partner. I want what I' m owed."

He studied me for a long moment, the cigarette smoke a gray curtain between us. I thought he would argue, that he would fight me on this. It would be another battle in our endless war.

But then, to my complete shock, he nodded. "Fine," he said, his voice crisp and decisive. "50%. My lawyer will draft a new agreement tomorrow."

He agreed so quickly, so easily. It was as if he couldn't wait to be rid of me, as if half his billion-dollar company was a small price to pay to finally bring Sarah back into his life. The thought hurt, a familiar ache in my chest. I felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. "Good. I'll expect the papers on my desk."

I turned to leave, to walk out of that room and out of his life.

"Chloe," his voice stopped me at the door. It sounded different. Muffled, with a strange note I couldn't place.

I glanced back over my shoulder. "What?"

"Why?" he asked, his voice pulling tight at the end. "Why did you agree so easily? You fought so hard to marry me. Why give up now?"

I gave him a smile, a bright, brittle thing that didn't reach my eyes. I gave him the answer he expected, the one that would fit his story of the heartless gold-digger he married.

"I'm bored, Liam," I said, my voice light and dismissive. "I'm tired of playing this game. And honestly? I just don't like you anymore."

With that, I walked out, leaving him alone with the ghost of his past and the ashes of our future, my own dashing figure a shield against the truth.

The second I closed the front door behind me, the mask of indifference shattered. I leaned against the cold wood, my legs shaking. The exhaustion of the last five years crashed down on me all at once. I felt my face, the muscles tight from holding a false smile. In the reflection of the hallway mirror, I saw a woman I barely recognized-pale, tired, with dark circles under her eyes.

I could still hear his question echoing in my mind. Why did you agree so easily?

I let out a shaky breath, a bitter smile touching my lips. He would never know the real reason. He would go to his grave believing I was a heartless monster who got tired of her toy. He would never know that I was running for my life.

Because I had seen the future.

It came to me three nights ago, a dream so vivid, so terrifyingly real, that it felt more like a memory. It wasn't just a nightmare; it was a warning.

In the dream, our marriage had continued its toxic spiral. We never divorced. Instead, against all odds, I got pregnant. I thought a child would fix us, that it would finally make Liam see me. I was wrong. It only gave him a new way to punish me.

Sarah Jenkins was a constant presence in our lives, our son' s beloved "Aunt Sarah." Liam adored her, and so did our son. I was the outsider in my own family, the villain in their perfect story.

The horror began when our son turned five. He was diagnosed with a rare blood disease, the same one Sarah' s nephew had died from years ago. He needed a bone marrow transplant. I wasn't a match. Liam wasn't a match.

But Sarah was.

She was hailed as a savior. But then, a DNA test for the transplant revealed a truth more terrible than any disease. Our son wasn't our son. He had been swapped at birth. My real child, the one who shared my blood, had been given to another family. The family that raised my biological son had abused him, neglected him. He had died at the age of three from an "accidental" fall.

And the woman who had swapped the babies, the nurse on duty that night? She was Sarah' s distant cousin, a woman who owed Sarah a great debt.

In the dream, I confronted Liam with this information, my hands shaking as I held the proof. I expected him to be horrified, to share my grief and rage.

Instead, he looked at me with cold, dead eyes. "So what? The boy we raised is our son. He needs Sarah to live. Your biological child is dead. It' s a tragedy, but it' s in the past."

His cruelty didn't end there. Soon after the transplant, Sarah' s kidneys began to fail. A complication from the donation, the doctors said. She needed a new one. And as fate would have it, I was a perfect match.

Liam came to me, not to ask, but to demand. "You will give Sarah your kidney," he said, his voice flat. "It's the least you can do. You owe her. If it weren't for you hiding that letter, she would have been my wife. None of this would have happened."

I refused. I screamed at him, called him a monster.

His revenge was swift and brutal. The next day, videos of me were leaked online. Videos from our bedroom, intimate and humiliating, edited to make me look depraved. The media tore me apart. My company's stock plummeted. My family disowned me. I lost everything.

He stood over my ruined life and said, "This is what you get, Chloe. You should have just given her the kidney. You're worthless now. You deserve to die."

I woke up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst. The details were so clear, so specific. The look in my son's eyes, the texture of the hospital sheets, the cold weight of Liam' s final words. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that it wasn' t just a dream. It was a premonition. It was my future if I stayed.

That nightmare was the reason I said "okay." It was the reason I demanded 50% of his company. It wasn't about the money. It was about survival. I had to get away from him, to sever every tie before that horrific vision could become my reality.

The taxi pulled up to the curb, jolting me from my thoughts.

"Miss, we're here," the driver said.

I paid him and got out, the neon lights of the bar district buzzing around me. I immediately pulled out my phone and dialed my best friend, Olivia.

She answered on the first ring. "Chloe? What's up? Don't tell me you've been stood up by another one of your boy toys."

"I'm getting a divorce, Liv," I said, my voice hoarse. "It's over."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then, "Are you kidding me? Chloe Davis, are you out of your mind? Did you hit your head?"

Her shock was understandable. She had watched me spend five years chasing after Liam, degrading myself, doing everything I could to win a single scrap of his affection. She'd seen me at my worst, a woman so obsessed she would do anything, from faking illnesses to staging elaborate "chance" encounters, all for a man who looked at her like she was something he'd stepped in.

"You're the one who schemed and plotted to marry him! You cried for days when you thought he was going to leave you last year! And now you're just... getting a divorce?" she shrieked into the phone.

"Don't mention it," I mumbled, feeling a headache coming on. The memory of my past desperation was humiliating. "It's a happy occasion. I'm at your bar. Come down and celebrate with me."

"Celebrate?"

"Yes. And get me the hottest male model you have on staff," I said, forcing a cheerful tone. "I need a distraction. A big, dumb, beautiful distraction."

I needed to feel something other than the cold dread that the dream had left behind. I needed to escape into noise and bodies and meaningless pleasure, anything to forget the man I was leaving and the horrifying future I was running from.