His Regret, Her Unstoppable Rise

My seven-year marriage to the heir Kobe Kidd began as a contract. I was the respectable placeholder wife he needed. In exchange, I got the stability I'd craved my whole life. I kept my side of the bargain perfectly, except for one mistake: I fell in love with him.

Then, his first love, Felicie, came back into the picture. Suddenly, I wasn't a wife; I was an obstacle. After our car crashed, he scrambled to save an unconscious Felicie from the wreckage, leaving me trapped inside the smoking vehicle without a second glance.

I survived the explosion, only to face something worse. When Felicie was stabbed by her own violent ex after using me as a human shield, she told Kobe I'd hired the man to kill her.

He believed her instantly.

He didn't check the cameras. He didn't ask me a single question. He just looked at me with pure, undiluted hatred and had me thrown into the mansion's cold, dark basement.

I was locked away for days, screaming for a man who had already left me to burn. I finally understood. It didn't matter what the truth was. I wasn't her, and that was the only crime that mattered.

So I finalized our divorce, walked away without looking back, and started a new life. But months later, he found me. He showed up in my small café an ocean away, his eyes full of regret, begging for a second chance.

He said he finally knew the truth.

He said he loved me.

Chapter 1

"The transfer will be completed within three days. Make sure the papers are ready." Delma Puckett' s voice was steady, a stark contrast to the storm raging outside the window.

On the other end of the line, the lawyer, a man hired by her mother-in-law, sounded pleased. "Of course, Mrs. Kidd. The amount is satisfactory. Mr. Kidd will be ready to sign."

Delma ignored the title. It wouldn't be hers for much longer. "Good. I'll be there this afternoon."

She hung up without waiting for a reply, her fingers resting on the phone for a moment before she set it down. Her gaze fell on the platinum wedding band on her finger. It was heavy, studded with diamonds that seemed to catch and hold the gloomy light from the window, but they gave off no warmth.

It was a perfect ring. A symbol of a perfect, seven-year marriage to a perfect heir, Kobe Kidd. But it was all a facade.

She twisted the ring, the metal cold against her skin. The coldness took her back seven years, to another rainy day.

It was the first time she had seen him.

The rain was relentless, soaking the city in a gray misery. Delma was working as a waitress for a high-end catering company, a side job to make ends meet. The event was a lavish garden party, hastily moved indoors, at a mansion in the wealthiest part of town.

She saw him across the crowded room, a man who stood out not just for his tailored suit, but for the intense focus in his eyes. He was Kobe Kidd. Even someone like Delma, who didn't follow celebrity gossip, knew his name. The Kidd family was practically royalty in this city.

He wasn't looking at the business magnates or socialites around him. His attention was entirely on a stunningly beautiful woman with fiery red hair.

"That's Kobe Kidd," a guest whispered near Delma's station. "He's been chasing Felicie Richardson for months."

"She's playing hard to get, but who could resist him?" another replied with a laugh.

Delma knew the name. Felicie Richardson was an actress on the rise, famous for her beauty and a string of well-publicized, short-lived romances.

But Felicie didn't look like she was playing hard to get. She looked annoyed.

"Kobe, please," Felicie said, her voice loud enough for those nearby to hear. "I'm trying to talk to my friends." She turned her back on him, a clear dismissal.

He didn't flinch. He simply waited, his posture unchanging. A few minutes later, he had a waiter deliver a small, velvet box to her table. Felicie opened it, and her friends gasped. A diamond necklace glittered inside.

Felicie smiled, a tight, practiced expression. She didn't put it on. She just snapped the box shut and handed it to a friend, who quickly pocketed it.

Later, Delma was clearing plates near the patio doors when she heard Felicie talking to that same friend.

"Why don't you just tell him you're not interested?" the friend asked. "You know you're still seeing Mark."

Felicie laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. "Are you crazy? As long as he's interested, the gifts keep coming. Besides, the attention is good for my career. Let him waste his time. Men like him have plenty of it."

Delma felt a knot of disgust tighten in her stomach. She had grown up in the foster system, bounced from one home to another. She knew the value of a dollar, the weight of every meal. To see such casual cruelty and wastefulness made something in her snap.

She watched as Felicie finally left the party, breezing past Kobe without a second glance. He stood there for a moment, his handsome face unreadable, before turning to leave.

On sheer impulse, Delma put down her tray of empty glasses. She walked straight up to him as he neared the exit.

"She's using you," Delma said, her voice low but clear.

Kobe stopped. He turned to look at her, his eyes cold and assessing. He took in her simple black-and-white uniform, her plain face. She was nothing like the glamorous women he was used to.

"She has a boyfriend," Delma continued, her heart starting to pound. "She just likes the gifts and the attention. She was laughing about it with her friend."

He remained silent, his expression unchanging.

Delma took a breath, the craziest, most desperate idea of her life bubbling to the surface. "You need a wife, don't you? Someone to satisfy your family, to look the part. You're wasting your time and money on her."

She met his gaze directly. "Marry me."

His silence stretched, heavy and unnerving.

"It would be a contract," she pressed on, her voice gaining strength. "I won't love you. I won't cheat on you. I will play the part of the perfect wife. In return, I get financial security. A home. Something I've never had. I'm a much better investment than she is."

For the first time, a flicker of something-surprise, maybe amusement-crossed his face. He studied her for a long, quiet moment.

"Fine," he said.

Just like that, their seven-year story began. It started as a transaction. Delma, who had spent her life feeling disposable, was driven by a desperate need for stability. Dignity, she believed, was something you could buy.

But a strange thing happened over those seven years. Kobe, the distant, aloof heir, was a man of his word. He was respectful, considerate in his own detached way. He never demanded more than their contract stipulated. He remembered she didn't like onions, and he made sure the house staff knew. He bought her a small bookstore when she mentioned she loved to read.

Slowly, against all her better judgment, Delma fell in love with him. She started to believe that this transactional marriage could become something real. That one day, he might look at her with the same warmth she felt for him.

She had allowed herself to hope.

Then, six months ago, Felicie Richardson came back.

Her family had gone bankrupt, her acting career had stalled, and she was desperate. Kobe, in what Delma now understood was a mix of pity and lingering affection, gave her a job as his executive assistant.

The change in him was immediate and devastating. Delma saw the way his eyes followed Felicie in a room. She heard the softness in his voice when he spoke to her on the phone. It was a tone he had never used with Delma.

The final blow came a month ago. Delma had gone to his office to bring him lunch, something she rarely did. She pushed the door open a crack and saw him sitting at his desk, staring at his phone. On the screen was a picture of Felicie, smiling. The look on Kobe's face was one of profound, heartbreaking longing.

It was a look he had never, not once, given her.

In that instant, Delma understood. She had never been a wife. She had been a placeholder. A convenient, respectable stand-in until the real star of the show was ready to return.

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the glass, mirroring the cold dread that had been her constant companion for weeks. That was the day she decided to cut her losses. In the world she came from, you learned to recognize a losing game and walk away before you lost everything.

She had already lost her heart. She wouldn't lose her dignity, too.

She put on her coat, grabbed the envelope with the signed divorce papers, and walked out into the rain.

Kobe's office was on the top floor of the Kidd Enterprises building. The receptionist tried to stop her, but Delma walked past her without a word. She knew the way.

As she approached the double doors of his office, they opened. Felicie Richardson stepped out, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Delma," Felicie said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "What a surprise. Are you here to see Kobe?"

"I'm here to drop something off," Delma said, her voice flat. She held up the envelope.

Felicie's eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh, is that what I think it is? Let me help you. Kobe is very busy."

She reached for the envelope, but Delma pulled it back. "I'll give it to him myself."

Felicie's smile tightened. "Don't be difficult. You know he doesn't want to see you. He's with me now."

"I'm still his wife," Delma stated, not as a claim, but as a simple fact. "Let me pass."

"Wife?" Felicie let out a short, cruel laugh. "You were just a seat-warmer. And now, I'm back. The seat is mine."

At that moment, the office door opened wider, and Kobe stepped out. He saw the two of them and his brow furrowed. "What's going on?"

His eyes flickered to Delma, then to the envelope in her hand, and a look of weary annoyance crossed his face.

"Kobe, darling," Felicie cooed, immediately moving to his side and linking her arm with his. "Delma is here. She has the papers you've been waiting for."

Kobe looked at Delma, his expression cold. "Give them to me."

Delma's heart felt like a block of ice in her chest. She had held onto a tiny, foolish sliver of hope that he might hesitate, that he might show some flicker of regret. There was none.

She walked forward and handed him the envelope.

He took it, not even looking at her as he opened it. Felicie leaned over his shoulder, her eyes scanning the document. "It's all in order," she said, pointing to the signature line. "Sign it, Kobe. Let's get this over with."

With a smooth, practiced motion, Kobe took a pen from his pocket and signed his name. He didn't hesitate. He didn't look up.

The finality of it hit Delma with the force of a physical blow. It was done. Seven years, erased with a scribble of ink.

Felicie took the signed papers from his hand. She walked back to Delma, a victorious glint in her eyes. Instead of handing them over, she let them drop. The papers fluttered to the plush carpet at Delma's feet.

"There you go," Felicie said with a smirk. "Everything that was mine is finally mine again."

Delma looked from the papers on the floor to Felicie's triumphant face, then to Kobe, who stood by, his face a mask of indifference. He hadn't even flinched at Felicie's blatant act of humiliation.

"You're wrong," Delma said, her voice quiet but firm. "You didn't take anything that was yours. You just picked up something I threw away."

Felicie's face contorted with rage. "You bitch-"

"Let's make a bet, Felicie," Delma cut her off, a strange calm settling over her. "Let's see how long you can keep him this time."

"What are you talking about?" Felicie snapped, grabbing Delma's arm. "You think you can just walk away?"

"Yes," Delma said, pulling her arm free.

Suddenly, there was a loud creaking sound from above. A large, decorative shelving unit, overloaded with heavy books and awards, was tilting precariously from the wall.

Delma's eyes widened. She instinctively tried to step back.

Felicie, in a flash of panic, shoved Delma hard, putting her directly in the path of the falling shelf.

A deafening crash echoed through the hallway.

Delma was still on the floor, her ears ringing from the crash. Dust and debris filled the air. She was in a state of shock, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

The first thing she saw clearly was Kobe rushing forward. But he didn't rush to her.

He ran straight to Felicie, who had stumbled back a few feet and was now clutching her arm, a pained expression on her face.

"Felicie! Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Kobe's voice was filled with a panic and concern Delma had never heard from him before.

He knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her arm, afraid to touch her.

"I think... I think my arm is broken," Felicie whimpered, tears welling in her eyes. "She pushed me, Kobe. Delma pushed me out of the way to save herself."

Kobe's head snapped toward Delma, his eyes filled with cold fury. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't even seem to see the splintered wood and scattered books around her.

He carefully scooped Felicie into his arms, his movements gentle and protective. As he stood up, his leg bumped hard against Delma's shoulder, sending a jolt of pain through her. He didn't notice. Or if he did, he didn't care.

She watched, frozen, as he carried Felicie away, his back rigid and unforgiving. He never once looked back.

The sharp pain in her shoulder finally broke through the numbness. She pushed herself up slowly, her body aching. Her ankle was throbbing, and she could see a dark bruise already forming on her arm where a heavy book had struck her.

She limped back to her small apartment, the divorce papers clutched in her hand. The pain in her body was nothing compared to the vast, empty ache in her chest.

She ran a bath, the hot water stinging her bruises. She didn't cry. The tears felt frozen inside her, a solid lump of grief she couldn't release.

Her phone rang. It was her lawyer, confirming the divorce was legally finalized. The papers had been filed electronically by Kobe's team. It was over.

A strange sense of relief washed over her. It was a bitter, painful relief, but it was there. She was free.

Just as she hung up, her phone rang again. This time, it was an unknown number. When she answered, a cold, authoritative voice informed her that she was being summoned to the hospital.

It wasn't a request. It was an order from Bobby Conrad, Kobe's mother.

When she arrived, she found Kobe in the waiting room, pacing back and forth. It was the first time she had ever seen him look so agitated. He had always been the picture of calm control. He had a habit of rubbing his thumb over his index finger when he was deep in thought, but now his hands were clenched into tight fists.

Bobby Conrad sat on a plush chair, her face a mask of disapproval. She looked Delma up and down, her gaze lingering on Delma's simple clothes and the visible bruise on her arm.

"Felicie has a rare blood type," Bobby said, her voice sharp. "She lost a lot of blood from a deep cut on her arm. The hospital is low on it. You're a match. You will donate."

Delma stared at her, speechless. Behind Bobby, through the glass of a hospital room door, she could see Felicie lying in bed. Even in her hospital gown, she managed to look both fragile and smug. As if sensing Delma's gaze, Felicie's eyes met hers, and a small, triumphant smile played on her lips.

This was it, then. The ultimate humiliation. After seven years of being a wife, she was now being reduced to a walking blood bag for her replacement. A self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips, dry and humorless.

"Fine," she said.

Kobe himself gripped her arm and led her to the donation room. His touch was impersonal, his face grim. She didn't resist. She sat in the chair, silent, as the nurse prepped her arm. She didn't look at him. She felt a strange sense of detachment, as if she were watching a movie about someone else's life.

The needle went in, and she watched her blood, dark and red, flow through the tube. It felt symbolic, as if the last of her love and life force for Kobe was being drained away, ready to be given to the woman he truly loved.

When it was over, Kobe was the one to help her sit up. For a fleeting moment, his hand on her back felt gentle.

"Rest for a bit," he said, his voice low.

It was the first thing he had said to her that wasn't an accusation. A flicker of her old, foolish hope stirred.

"Where are you going?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. It was a habit, asking about his day, his plans.

"I need to get back to Felicie," he said, and the gentleness was gone, replaced by that same anxious concern. "She's scared. She needs me."

He turned and walked away without another word.

From her chair, Delma could see into Felicie's room. She watched as Kobe went to her bedside, his shoulders slumping with relief. He leaned down and gently brushed the hair from Felicie's forehead. The tenderness in that simple gesture was something Delma had craved for seven years and never received.

"What a joke," she whispered to herself, a bitter smile twisting her lips. She was a fool. A complete and utter fool.

She stood up, her head swimming, and walked out of the hospital. She didn't look back.

That evening, scrolling through her phone, she saw the news. Felicie had posted a picture of her bandaged arm on social media, with a caption: "A scary accident today, but lucky to have my hero by my side." She had tagged Kobe.

Kobe, who never used social media, had commented. A single word: "Always."

The public speculation exploded. Everyone was talking about the rekindled romance between the Kidd heir and his first love. Felicie's replies to the comments were coy and suggestive, fanning the flames.

Delma turned off her phone. She walked into her bedroom and began to pack. She took out the boxes she had been storing things in for years. Gifts from Kobe. A designer handbag for their first anniversary, a style she never wore. A diamond tennis bracelet for her birthday, something Felicie would love. She realized now that every gift he had ever given her had been chosen with Felicie in mind.

She remembered the one gift she had given him that he seemed to truly treasure. A simple, inexpensive watch she had bought him for his birthday one year. She had noticed he wore it often. She had thought it meant something.

Now, she understood. As she packed away her life, she found an old magazine. There was an article about Kobe and Felicie from years ago. In one of the photos, Felicie was wearing the exact same watch. It wasn't that he cherished Delma's gift. It was that he had never let go of his past.

The weight of it all pressed down on her. How could she have been so blind? So willingly foolish? She had drowned herself in a fantasy, and the reality was a cold, hard slap in the face.

She finished packing, leaving the boxes of expensive gifts in the middle of the room. When the movers came the next day, they were surprised.

"Are you sure you want to donate all this, ma'am? This stuff is worth a fortune."

"I'm sure," Delma said. "I have no use for it."

Just as they were leaving, her phone rang. It was Kobe.

"There's a charity gala tonight," he said, his voice clipped and business-like. "You need to be there. As my wife."

Delma was confused. "We're divorced, Kobe."

"The public doesn't know that yet. We need to maintain appearances for a while longer. I've had a dress and jewelry sent to your apartment." A pause. "I'll have my driver pick you up at seven."

He was still using her. Even now.

"Fine," Delma said, the single word tasting like ash in her mouth.

She went to the high-end boutique where he'd arranged for her to pick up a gown. As she walked in, she froze.

There, in the center of the store, was a scene that burned itself into her memory.

Kobe was kneeling on the floor, a shoehorn in his hand, carefully helping Felicie try on a pair of ridiculously high heels.

"Are they comfortable, Fee?" he asked, his voice soft and full of concern.

"They're a little tight," Felicie pouted, leaning on him for support. "But they're so beautiful."

"Then we'll take them," Kobe said without hesitation. "And we'll get them in every color." He looked up at her, his eyes full of a doting indulgence Delma had never seen. "I remember you always loved this brand."

Delma felt the air leave her lungs. He remembered. After all these years, he still remembered Felicie's favorite shoe brand. He had never once remembered Delma's.

"But Kobe, that's too much," Felicie said, though her eyes danced with delight.

"Nothing is too much for you," he said, his voice low. "I have a lot to make up for."

Delma finally understood. He wasn't just being kind to an old flame. He was trying to rebuild their past, to erase the years they had spent apart, the years he had spent with Delma.

The sales associates fawned over them. "You two make such a beautiful couple," one gushed. "A love story for the ages."

Kobe didn't correct her. He simply smiled, a genuine, happy smile that reached his eyes. It was a smile Delma had seen only in old photos of him with Felicie.

He helped Felicie to her feet, his arm securely around her waist. The gesture was so natural, so possessive.

A pain, sharp and visceral, shot through Delma's chest. She felt like an intruder, a ghost watching a life that was never meant to be hers.

She turned and walked out of the store, the sound of Felicie's happy laughter following her. She didn't need a new dress. She would wear one of her own.

The charity gala was held at a grand ballroom, glittering with chandeliers and overflowing with the city's elite. Delma arrived alone. She saw Kobe immediately, standing at the center of a circle of admirers, Felicie tucked securely at his side. He looked powerful and at ease, a king in his court.

He noticed her arrive, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he turned back to his conversation. He excused himself and walked toward a group of business partners, motioning for Felicie to entertain them. "I need to make sure Delma doesn't cause a scene," she heard him mutter as he passed.

She wanted to laugh. A scene? She was long past caring enough to cause a scene.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere grew more lively. A portly businessman, a major competitor of the Kidd family, approached Felicie with a glass of champagne.

"Miss Richardson," he said with a lecherous smile. "An honor. Let's have a drink."

Before Felicie could respond, Kobe was there, smoothly taking the glass from the man's hand. "Felicie doesn't drink," he said, his voice dangerously low. "I'll take this one for her."

Delma's blood ran cold.

"Kobe, don't," she said, stepping forward instinctively. "You can't. Your allergy..."

He was severely allergic to alcohol. It was something she had discovered on their wedding day. His mother had insisted on a champagne toast, and despite his protests, she had forced a glass into his hand. He had taken a single sip and collapsed, his throat closing up. He had almost died. It was a terrifying memory, one that had ensured Delma always kept him away from alcohol.

But her warning was too late. To defend Felicie's honor, to prove his devotion, Kobe lifted the glass and drank the entire thing in one swallow.

Delma closed her eyes, a wave of sickness washing over her.

The night descended into chaos. The businessman, drunk and angry at being rebuffed, began to insult Felicie. "Everyone knows what you are," he slurred. "Just a washed-up actress trying to latch onto the Kidd fortune."

Delma remembered a time when Kobe would have handled such a situation with a cold, cutting remark and a quiet dismissal. He despised public displays of aggression.

But this was different. This was about Felicie.

With a guttural roar, Kobe lunged at the man, his fist connecting with a sickening crunch. The ballroom erupted in screams.

"Kobe, stop!" Delma cried, rushing forward to grab his arm.

He flung her away without a second glance. She stumbled backward, her heel catching on the carpet, and fell hard to the floor. The impact sent a jarring pain up her spine.

He didn't notice. He was a man possessed, raining blows down on the businessman, his face contorted with a rage she had never witnessed.

"Kobe, please, you'll kill him!" Felicie sobbed, finally grabbing his arm.

Her touch was all it took. He stopped instantly. He stood up, breathing heavily, and glared down at the bloodied man on the floor. "If you ever speak to her like that again," he snarled, "I will destroy you."

He wrapped his arm around the weeping Felicie and led her away, leaving a stunned crowd and Delma, alone and forgotten on the ballroom floor. The physical pain in her back was a dull ache compared to the sharp, piercing agony in her heart.