From Prison to His Perfect Regret

I sacrificed five years of my freedom to save my husband' s billion-dollar empire.

I walked out of prison expecting gratitude, but instead, I found his assistant wearing my life like a second skin.

And when his company faced a new crisis, he didn't look to me for support-he looked at me as the prime suspect.

Jasper thought a luxury suite at The Plaza could erase five years of silence.

He claimed he was "protecting" me, while Candice, the woman who orchestrated my fall, blocked my letters and managed his heart.

But the moment his laptop was wiped, his mask of devotion crumbled.

He accused me of sabotage instantly, blind to the real enemy standing right beside him.

I didn't argue. I just walked away.

He screamed that I' d be destitute without him, that I was throwing my life away for a "nobody."

Instead, I found Cohen, the inmate who had protected me inside when Jasper abandoned me.

Months later, Jasper called, sobbing. He' d finally found the security footage proving Candice' s guilt.

"I'll wire you ten million dollars," he begged, his voice breaking. "I'll even give Cohen a construction job. Just come home."

I looked at Cohen, who was gently painting a crib for our unborn child in our warm, safe home.

"Keep your money, Jasper," I said.

"We're already taken care of."

Chapter 1

Ashlie POV:

The federal prison gates clanged shut behind me, the sound a final, brutal punctuation mark on the last five years of my life. I' d spent them inside, wondering why my husband had let me rot. Now, the bitter wind of upstate New York tore at my thin clothes, whipping snow into my face. It felt like the world was actively trying to freeze me. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the broken pieces of my spirit together. It was an old habit, one I' d learned in a place where comfort was a forgotten luxury.

A sleek black SUV, too expensive for this forgotten stretch of road, pulled up beside me. The window glided down. Jasper.

He looked exactly the same. Perfect hair, perfect suit, that same charming smile that used to make my stomach flip. Now, it just made me sick.

"Ashlie," he said, his voice a low, practiced rumble. "I missed you so much."

His words were cotton candy, sweet and hollow. "Did you?" I asked, my voice raspy from disuse, from years of holding it back. "Because I called. A lot. I wrote letters. More than you can imagine."

He flinched. Good.

"And how many of them did you answer, Jasper?" I watched his eyes, searching for a flicker of genuine remorse. There was none. Just that familiar, polished helplessness.

"Ashlie, darling, you know how it was. Business trips. Protecting you from the media. It was for your own good." His excuses were like stale bread. Hard, dry, and impossible to swallow.

"Five years, Jasper," I cut him off, my voice sharp enough to slice through the fake sincerity. "Five years of silence. Tell me, was it hard for you to orchestrate that? To make sure every single one of my calls, every one of my letters, disappeared into a black hole?"

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "It wasn't like that. I had Candice manage my schedule. She kept things running."

My lip curled without my permission. Candice. Always Candice. "Oh, Candice. Of course. The gatekeeper." The cold wind bit harder, but it couldn't touch the chill already forming in my chest.

"You really expect me to believe your executive assistant, the one who runs your entire life, just accidentally blocked every single one of my desperate attempts to reach out?" I asked, the sarcasm thick enough to chew. "Or maybe, just maybe, she was doing exactly what you wanted her to do."

He started to speak, but I stopped him with a raised hand. "Don't bother. I' m not the naive girl who loved you blindly anymore. The woman who walked into that prison five years ago is dead. And you killed her, Jasper."

His eyes widened, and he reached out, but I recoiled before he could touch me. The snow continued to fall, coating the world in a deceptive blanket of white. It was cold. So cold. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a kind of clarity that was as sharp as the ice forming on the car windshield. This conversation, this pretense, it was just the beginning. And I wouldn't let him off easy.

"Get in, Ashlie," he said, his voice surprisingly firm. "Let's get you somewhere warm."

"Warm?" I scoffed, stepping closer to the car, but not yet inside. "You think a heated seat can thaw five years of ice, Jasper?"

He didn't answer, just kept the door open, waiting. I knew I needed to go with him, for now. There was nowhere else. But I would make him pay for every single minute of those five long, silent years.

Ashlie POV:

Jasper's perfect face crumpled. The flicker of guilt I'd searched for in Chapter 1 finally surfaced, a fleeting shadow across his eyes. It was a weak emotion, quickly replaced by a familiar defensiveness.

"Ashlie. Is that really how you feel?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned hurt, as if my pain was an inconvenience to him.

I just stared at him, my silence a more potent weapon than any words. He shifted, uncomfortable under my gaze.

"I... I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking out at the endless stretch of snow. "I truly am. I know I messed up. But I was just trying to protect you. Protect us." His voice cracked, a performance I knew all too well.

I didn't buy it. Not anymore. I remembered the desperate calls from the prison payphone, the static-filled connection, the automated voice telling me the number was unavailable. I remembered the letters, carefully penned, begging for a sign, any sign, that he still remembered me. And the crushing silence that followed each attempt.

"Protect me?" I scoffed, the sound harsh in the confined space of the luxury SUV. "From what, Jasper? From the truth? From the fact that you threw me under a bus to save your precious company?"

He visibly winced. "It wasn't like that! The board was breathing down my neck. The IPO was everything. They said if anyone tied to the company was involved, it would crash. I had to stabilize things. And you... you were so good at marketing, they thought you were the mastermind behind the numbers, not just the presentation."

"And you let them think that," I stated, my voice flat. "You let me take the fall for your embezzlement. For your company's scandal."

"It was a clerical error, Ashlie! A mistake! One that Candice was supposed to fix, but then things escalated." He was trying to shift blame, even five years later. Always. Candice.

"And you never got any of my messages, right?" I asked, a bitter smile touching my lips. "Never got a single one of the dozens of calls, the hundreds of letters?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No! Candice handled all my correspondence. She said she screened everything, to keep the media away, to keep me focused on the company during a critical time." He actually sounded genuine. Or maybe he just genuinely believed his own lies. "I told her to tell everyone I was heartbroken, that I was working myself to death to keep your name clean, but I never got any message from you, Ashlie. Not one. I thought you were just... too angry to talk to me."

I watched him, a slow, cold realization dawning on me. Candice. Of course. That ambitious, conniving woman. She'd always been obsessed with Jasper, with his company, with his success. She'd been my "friend," my "confidante" when I first joined the company, then she wormed her way into Jasper's life as his assistant.

"She kept you away from me, didn't she?" I whispered, not a question, a statement. "She blocked every attempt. She made sure I was isolated. She made sure you stayed oblivious."

Jasper's eyes flickered, a dawning horror on his face. "No. Candice wouldn't. She's incredibly loyal. She's been my right-hand for years."

"Loyal to you, or loyal to her own agenda?" I countered, my gaze unwavering. "Think about it, Jasper. Who stood to gain the most from me being out of the picture? Who suddenly became indispensable to you, managing your life, your business, your heartbreak?"

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror as if to confirm her presence, even though she wasn't there. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. The perfect CEO, completely blind to the snake in his own office.

"Ashlie, I... I never thought..."

"You never thought, Jasper. That's the problem." I leaned back against the plush leather, the scent of expensive car and old betrayal filling my nostrils. "You always let others do your dirty work, and then you pretend to be the victim."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His perfect facade was cracking, piece by piece. It wasn't enough. Not yet.

"We're almost there," he said, switching gears. "I booked us a suite at The Plaza. I wanted to pamper you. To make up for everything."

"The Plaza?" I repeated, a dry laugh escaping my lips. "Not our home? The one we built together? The one that's probably been gathering dust, or perhaps, hosting someone else?"

He flinched again. "No, of course not! Our home is... it's being renovated. For your return. I wanted everything to be perfect. A fresh start. This is just temporary. I want to spoil you, Ashlie. Show you how much I missed you. How much I still love you."

His words, meant to soothe, only scraped against my raw nerves. He still didn't get it. He thought money, lavish gestures, and hollow promises could erase five years of solitude and betrayal.

"Just drive, Jasper," I said, turning my head to watch the blurred, snow-covered landscape. My stomach growled, a vulgar reminder of the meager prison fare. Maybe a steak wouldn't taste so bad. Especially if it was cooked by someone entirely different.

The SUV sped through the city, the towering buildings a stark contrast to the small, grey world I'd just left. Jasper tried to make small talk, but I offered only one-word answers, my gaze fixed on the endless stream of city lights. He eventually fell silent, occasionally glancing at me in the rearview mirror, his usual confidence deflated.

When we pulled up to The Plaza, the doorman, a man I vaguely remembered from our previous visits, rushed to open my door. Jasper was out of the car in an instant, circling to my side, his hand hovering near my back, as if waiting for permission to touch me.

"Welcome back, Mrs. Albert," the doorman said, his smile wide and genuine. "We were all so worried about you."

Mrs. Albert. The name felt foreign, a leftover from a life that no longer existed. I offered a weak smile in return.

"She's had a long journey," Jasper interjected smoothly, laying a possessive hand on my arm. "Let's get her inside."

Inside, the lobby was a symphony of old-world elegance and hushed luxury. Crystal chandeliers glittered, marble gleamed, and the air smelled of expensive perfume and fresh flowers. It was a world entirely disconnected from the one I had inhabited for the past five years.

"I booked the penthouse suite," Jasper announced, his voice regaining some of its usual swagger. "The one with the best view of the park. Just for us."

I said nothing, letting him lead me through the opulent lobby, past admiring glances and whispered greetings. He was putting on a show, for them, and for himself. He wanted everyone to see the devoted husband, welcoming his wronged wife back into his gilded cage. But I wasn't buying it.

In the elevator, I finally turned to him. "Why aren't we going home, Jasper? Really."

He sighed, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "Ashlie, I told you. Renovations. I want it to be perfect for you. A fresh start. And besides," he hesitated, his eyes flickering. "I wanted us to have some time, just us, to reconnect. Without... without the ghosts of the past haunting every corner of the house."

"The ghosts of the past?" I repeated, a cold laugh escaping my lips. "You mean Candice, Jasper? Is she haunting our home, or has she made herself perfectly at home there?"

His face went pale. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He had no answer. Because I knew the truth. I could see it in his eyes.

The elevator doors opened to a lavish penthouse suite. It was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Central Park, now dusted with snow. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in an ice bucket, next to a silver platter of fresh fruit.

"Here we are," Jasper said, a forced cheer in his voice. "Our sanctuary."

I walked to the window, staring out at the city lights. It was beautiful. And utterly meaningless. I felt nothing but a profound emptiness.

"I had the staff prepare dinner," he said, gesturing to the gleaming dining table. "But I have something special planned for you first."

I turned, my gaze hard. "What could possibly be so special, Jasper?"

His smile was soft, almost shy. "I'm going to cook for you, Ashlie. Just like I did on our first anniversary." He watched me, searching for a reaction. "Remember? Your favorite steak. Medium rare."

My stomach clenched. Steak. The last thing I had wanted was a reminder of a time when I had actually loved this man. A time when his gestures meant something.

"You're going to cook?" I asked, my voice flat. "Here? In a hotel kitchen?"

"They've set up a private culinary station for me," he said, beaming. "Chef's compliments. I told them it was a special occasion. For you."

He watched me expectantly, waiting for praise, for gratitude, for any sign of the old Ashlie. But she was gone. Buried under five years of concrete and steel.

I took a deep breath, the cold air still somehow clinging to me even in the warmth of the suite. "Fine. Cook."

He looked surprised by my lack of enthusiasm, but quickly recovered. "Great! You just relax. I'll be back shortly." He shed his expensive suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. He actually looked happy, bustling about, giving orders to the hotel staff who seemed to adore him.

A young male waiter, his face bright with admiration, approached me. "Mr. Albert is such a devoted husband, Mrs. Albert. He told us how much he missed you. And he spent weeks planning this. He even brought his own special ingredients from home to make your favorite meal."

The waiter's words were meant to be kind, to warm my heart. Instead, they curdled my stomach. Devoted husband. The irony was a bitter taste in my mouth. He was putting on a show, for the staff, for me, for himself. A performance of a perfect life, a perfect love.

"Yes," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "He's very... devoted."

The waiter beamed, oblivious to the icy edge in my tone. He poured me a glass of sparkling water, the bubbles dancing in the elegant flute. "You must be so happy. To be back with such a thoughtful man."

Happy. The word felt alien. I hadn't felt happy in so long, I wasn't sure I remembered what it was. I nodded vaguely, just wanting him to leave. He bowed slightly and discreetly exited the suite.

I walked back to the window, the city lights blurring into a watery haze. Happiness. It was a distant memory, a concept that no longer applied to me. All I felt was a dull ache, a constant hum of resentment that had become my new normal. The thought of Jasper in a chef's apron, meticulously preparing a meal for me, was repulsive. It was a grotesque parody of what we once were. He was trying to buy back my love, my forgiveness, with food and luxury. But some things weren't for sale. And my heart was at the top of that list.

Ashlie POV:

I stared at the city lights, my mind drifting back to a time when "happy" wasn't a question mark but a constant state of being. The girl who used to dream of perfect romantic gestures, the one who believed in grand declarations of love, had died a slow, agonizing death behind bars. I' d walked into prison a naive marketing director, ready to sacrifice everything for the man I loved. I' d walked out a hardened survivor.

Jasper returned, a triumphant grin on his face, a silver cloche in his hand. He placed it carefully before me, then lifted the lid with a flourish. A perfectly seared steak, glistening with juices, sat on the plate, surrounded by roasted vegetables. The aroma was rich, tempting, a stark contrast to the bland, institutional smells I' d grown accustomed to.

"Your favorite, Ashlie," he said, his eyes shining with expectation. "Just like our first anniversary. Remember? You said it was the best meal you'd ever had."

I picked up my fork, the heavy silver feeling foreign in my hand. He watched me, his breath held, waiting for my reaction. For a compliment. For a smile. For a sign that his grand gesture had worked its magic.

I cut into the steak, brought a piece to my mouth. It tasted... like steak. Rich, flavorful, expertly cooked. Everything a steak should be.

He leaned forward, anticipation radiating from him. "Well? Is it good?"

I met his gaze, my eyes devoid of warmth. "It tastes terrible, Jasper."

His smile collapsed. His face drained of color. "Terrible? But... I followed the recipe exactly. I used the best ingredients. I even got that special truffle butter you liked."

"It's not the cooking, Jasper," I said, my voice flat. "It's the chef. The man who made it. The man who let me rot in a cell for five years, while he enjoyed his steaks and his freedom."

His jaw dropped. He looked like I had slapped him across the face. "Ashlie... that's not fair."

"Fair?" I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "You want to talk about fair, Jasper? Was it fair when you convinced me to take the fall for your embezzlement? Was it fair when you promised it would be a short sentence, a mere formality, and then let me languish there while you rebuilt your empire?"

His eyes welled up, a single tear tracing a path down his cheek. "I suffered too, Ashlie! Don't you think I was lonely? Don't you think it killed me to know you were in there? I worked himself to the bone, trying to keep our company afloat, trying to protect your reputation!"

"Lonely?" I scoffed. "You were lonely, Jasper? While I was counting down every minute of every day? While I was fighting off women who thought a 'newbie' was easy prey? While I was learning to eat slop, just to survive?"

He looked horrified. "Ashlie, no. I never imagined... Candice told me you were in a nice facility, that you were being taken care of."

"Candice again," I muttered, shaking my head. "Always Candice, spinning her pretty lies, making sure you stayed comfortable in your ignorance."

Just then, as if on cue, a soft knock echoed at the door. Jasper looked relieved, snatching the opportunity to escape my accusatory gaze. "Come in!"

The door opened, and Candice Acevedo swept into the suite. She was a vision in a sleek, emerald green designer dress that clung to her curves, her hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup impeccable. She looked like she had just stepped off a magazine cover, not from a day at the office.

"Jasper, darling, I just had to make sure everything was alright," she cooed, her eyes darting to me, a flicker of something I couldn't quite place-triumph? -in their depths. "I heard you were cooking. How sweet of you."

She moved past me as if I were invisible, gliding straight to Jasper. She fixed his tie, even though it was already perfectly straight, her fingers lingering on his lapel. She picked up his half-empty glass of sparkling water, took a sip, then offered it back to him. It was a gesture so intimate, so possessive, it screamed volumes without a single word.

Jasper, for his part, seemed flustered. "Candice! What are you doing here? I thought I told you no interruptions tonight." His voice was weak, a mere whisper of authority. He didn't pull away from her touch.

Candice pouted, a practiced, saccharine expression. "Oh, Jasper, don't be cross. I was just so worried about you. And I wanted to welcome Ashlie back, of course." She turned to me, her smile dazzling, completely fake. "Ashlie, darling! It's been too long. I'm so, so sorry about all those missed calls. My schedule has been absolutely insane since you left. Work overload, you know how it is. It was impossible to keep track of everything."

Her apology was as transparent as Saran wrap. I just watched her, my expression carefully neutral.

"I just took over your marketing duties, and then Jasper's personal affairs, and then the IPO... it was just too much for one person!" She sighed dramatically, then patted Jasper's arm. "But we got through it, didn't we, sweetie? All those late nights, just you and me, keeping the ship afloat."

She picked up a breadstick from the table and nibbled on it delicately, her eyes fixed on me. "Oh, it was so hard on Jasper, Ashlie. Absolutely devastated. I had to pick him up from bars so many times, late at night, because he was just so heartbroken. He'd just sit there, nursing a drink, staring into space, saying 'My poor Ashlie, my poor Ashlie.'"

Her words were a subtle dagger, twisting in the wound. She wasn't just apologizing; she was drawing a clear line between us, highlighting her indispensable role in Jasper's life during my absence. She was saying, I was here. I was his wife. You were gone.

"Really, Candice?" I asked, my voice dangerously soft. "You had to pick him up from bars? How... dedicated of you."

She beamed, mistaking my sarcasm for genuine appreciation. "Oh, I was! Someone had to look after him. He was losing his mind with grief. I practically lived at the office, making sure he ate, making sure he slept. He couldn't function without me." Her chest puffed out subtly, a peacock displaying its feathers.

"So you were playing wife, then," I stated, letting the words hang in the air.

Candice's fake smile faltered. Jasper choked on his water. The temperature in the room plummeted, colder than the snow falling outside. I watched her, the mask of innocence slipping, revealing the sharp, cunning woman beneath. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that she was just getting started.