THE BILLIONAIRE'S REGRETS

Shaeema's world shattered the night Michael walked through the front door, his arm draped around another woman. But not just any woman-Sophia, his first love and ex-fiancée, the one who had disappeared weeks before their wedding. The sight stole the breath from Shaeema's lungs, and no matter how hard she tried to speak, no words came out.

Michael didn't flinch. He stood there as if he had done nothing wrong, his grip on Sophia firm, protective. The moment stretched, a cruel eternity where Shaeema felt the ground slipping from beneath her feet.

"Michael... what is this?" she finally choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, as if already exhausted by the confrontation he had yet to endure. "We need to talk, Shaeema."

Her fingers clenched around the kitchen counter. The warmth of the home they had built together felt foreign now, like a place she no longer belonged.

Sophia tilted her head, pressing closer against Michael's side, her belly now visible as she turned slightly. It was then that realization crashed into Shaeema with the force of a storm.

Sophia was pregnant.

A painful lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow. "You told me she left you, Michael. That she ran away. That she didn't want this life with you."

"I thought she had," he admitted, his voice devoid of guilt. "But she came back. And... I still love her. I never stopped."

Shaeema felt as if someone had reached inside her chest and crushed her heart. She had given him everything-her love, her trust, her loyalty. And in return, he had discarded her as if she had never meant anything to him.

"You're divorcing me for her." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. A bitter truth she could already see in his eyes.

Michael didn't deny it. Instead, he pulled a stack of papers from his coat pocket and placed them on the counter between them. "I'm sorry, Shaeema. I never wanted to hurt you, but this is the right thing to do."

The words felt hollow. What was right about abandoning his wife for a woman who had already left him once?

Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall. She wouldn't beg. She wouldn't ask him to reconsider. If this was what he wanted, then so be it.

But the moment she picked up the pen, her hand trembled violently. A sob escaped her lips before she could stop it, her body betraying the mask of indifference she was trying to hold.

"How could you do this to me?" Her voice cracked as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. "I was your wife, Michael. I loved you. I gave you everything."

Michael looked away, his jaw tightening. "It's better this way."

"Better for who?" she cried, gripping the divorce papers so tightly they crumpled under her fingers. "For you? For her? What about me? What about what we built together? Did none of it mean anything?"

Her chest heaved with the weight of her emotions. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain tearing her apart. But the cold detachment in his eyes told her everything-he had already moved on. She was the only one still drowning in the ruins of their marriage.

With a shuddering breath, Shaeema forced herself to stop crying. She straightened her spine, wiped her tears away, and pressed the pen to the paper. Her signature looked foreign, a cruel confirmation that the life she had known was officially over.

Michael exhaled, as if relieved, and with a nod, he turned toward Sophia. "Let's go."

Just like that, he was gone.

The moment the door shut behind them, Shaeema collapsed onto the floor, her sobs breaking free, raw and uncontrollable. Her hands clutched her stomach, her fingers grazing the still-flat surface of her abdomen.

Two weeks. That was how long it had been since she'd seen the positive test result. Two weeks since she had learned she was carrying Michael's child.

But he would never know.

She wouldn't give him that, either.

The next morning, Shaeema packed her bags. There was nothing left for her here. The city that had once held her dreams had become a graveyard of broken promises. She needed to leave-not just for herself, but for the life growing inside her.

With one final glance at the home she had once cherished, Shaeema walked away, determined to never look back.

The sun was just beginning to rise when Shaeema stepped off the bus in the unfamiliar city. Her small suitcase rolled behind her, the wheels clicking over the uneven pavement. A crisp breeze swept through the streets, whispering promises of new beginnings and uncertainties alike. She pulled her coat tighter around her and looked up at the skyline of tall buildings, their glass windows catching the first light of dawn.

She had nowhere to go-no relatives, no friends here-but she had researched this place enough to know it offered opportunities. And opportunities were what she needed now. Not for herself alone, but for the life growing inside her.

Just two weeks ago, before her entire world collapsed, she had stared in disbelief at two pink lines. Pregnant. She had imagined telling Michael over dinner, maybe even crying together with joy. But those dreams died the moment he walked into their home with Sophia on his arm.

Now she carried her child in secret.

Shaeema found a small, budget hostel and paid for two nights. The room was barely large enough for the narrow bed and small desk, but it was warm and private. She dropped her suitcase, sat on the bed, and exhaled deeply.

The next morning, she was up early, combing the city for job openings. With every door she knocked on, every café or office that turned her away, she felt her hope thinning. Still, she pressed on.

By the third day, exhausted and almost out of money, she noticed a small poster in a shop window: "Hiring – Assistant Position at Noura Designs. Inquire Within."

Noura Designs.

It sounded fancy. Too fancy. But something about it drew her in.

She stepped into the boutique and was immediately surrounded by elegant fabrics, soft lighting, and a distinct air of professionalism. A young woman with sleek glasses and a sharp blazer greeted her.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked.

Shaeema straightened her shoulders. "I'm here for the assistant position."

The woman studied her carefully, then nodded. "You'll want to speak with the CEO. Come this way."

Shaeema's heart thundered in her chest as she followed the woman up a flight of stairs to a glass-walled office. Behind the desk stood a tall man in a crisp black suit, sleeves rolled just slightly, revealing a wristwatch that probably cost more than her wedding.

He looked up.

Their eyes met.

"Mr. Fahad, this is the applicant for the assistant role," the woman said.

Fahad's gaze lingered on Shaeema, unreadable.

"Thank you, Layla," he said, then turned his attention fully to Shaeema. "Come in. Have a seat."

Nervous, she sat. She could feel her hands trembling in her lap, but she met his eyes with quiet determination.

"I don't have much experience in fashion," she began, "but I'm a fast learner. I'm organized, and I won't disappoint you."

Fahad watched her in silence for a moment before speaking. "Tell me something, Miss...?"

"Shaeema."

"Tell me something, Shaeema. What made you walk through that door today?"

She hesitated. Her throat tightened. "Because I have nothing left to lose."

Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of understanding.

"You're hired," he said simply.

Shaeema blinked. "Just like that?"

He nodded. "Just like that."

As she stepped out of the office with Layla handing her a contract and job details, Shaeema felt the stirrings of something she hadn't felt in weeks.

Hope.

This wasn't just a job. It was her chance to start over-for her and the child growing quietly inside her.

And she intended to make the most of it.

The soft hum of the sewing machines and the rustle of fabric became part of Shaeema's new rhythm. The fashion design company, House of Elan, buzzed with creativity and stress in equal measure. It had only been a month since she joined as an assistant to the assistant designer-a position that barely paid enough, but for Shaeema, it was a foothold in a life she was rebuilding from scratch.

Each morning, she stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her scarf, brushing down her modest outfit, and whispering words of encouragement to the tiny life growing inside her.

"You've got this," she told herself one morning, placing her hand gently over her belly. It was still flat, but the nausea, the cravings, and the quiet flutter inside told her otherwise. The doctor had confirmed it-she was nearly six weeks along.

Her first trimester was going to be rough without support, but she had made her decision. She wouldn't tell Michael. He had Sophia now. A baby with her. He had no room for a child from a marriage he tossed away like it meant nothing.

Still, the memory of him lingered like smoke she couldn't wash off.

"Shaeema?" a voice called from the door of the small kitchenette at the office.

She turned quickly to find Giselle, her supervisor, standing with a coffee in hand. The woman was sharp, efficient, and had a soft spot for people who didn't waste time.

"Mr. Khan wants to see you in his office."

Shaeema blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Now. Don't keep the CEO waiting."

Her heart jumped a little. Fahad Khan, the CEO of House of Elan, was known for his demanding standards and flawless designs. He barely spoke to junior staff unless there was a problem. Had she messed something up?

Swallowing her nerves, she made her way to the top floor. The executive suite was a world apart from the sewing floor. Sleek, modern, and minimal. The receptionist outside Fahad's door gave her a nod.

"He's expecting you. Go ahead."

She hesitated for a second, then stepped in.

Fahad stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, dressed in a black tailored suit, his back to her, arms crossed. He turned slowly, his dark eyes settling on her. His features were sharp, but his gaze held none of the usual frost.

"You're Shaeema Idris," he said.

"Yes, sir," she replied, keeping her voice steady.

He studied her for a moment. "You worked on the hem corrections for the spring line prototype yesterday."

"Yes."

"You corrected a stitching pattern the senior designer missed. How did you spot it?"

Her heart thumped. "I-I worked part-time in tailoring during university. I've always had an eye for detailed work."

Fahad didn't smile, but there was something close to approval in his eyes.

"I need someone I can trust with the new sustainable line we're introducing. Just someone to assist with materials and logistics. It's a trial. Are you interested?"

Shaeema's lips parted in surprise. This was a big deal. A chance to be noticed.

"Yes, absolutely. Thank you."

He nodded. "Good. You'll report directly to me on this project. I value efficiency and honesty. That'll be all for now."

Shaeema stepped out of his office, her thoughts swirling. The promotion-or rather, the opportunity-felt like a small spark of hope in her otherwise dark days.

That night, she returned to her modest apartment. The kitchen light flickers when she switches it on. The place was small, a little run-down, but it was hers. A small sanctuary. She dropped her bag on the couch, slipped off her shoes, and sat down, finally letting her exhaustion show.

Her phone buzzed with a message.

Giselle: "Good job today. You made an impression."

She smiled faintly, her hand moving again to her belly.

"You hear that, little one? We're making it."

The next few weeks passed in a blur of fabric samples, design meetings, and morning sickness. Fahad was strict but fair. He rarely spoke beyond work matters, but when he did, there was always depth behind his questions. Once, after she nearly fainted during a meeting, he caught her just before she hit the ground.

"You're overworking yourself," he'd said. "Take the rest of the day off."

"I'm fine," she whispered, embarrassed.

"You're not," he replied, more gently this time. "This company can wait. Your health can't."

Since then, something changed in their dynamic. His eyes lingered longer. His voice softened when addressing her. He started asking if she'd eaten. Sometimes, he brought her a sandwich without a word and left it on her desk.

Shaeema didn't know what to make of it. She was still reeling from the betrayal she had left behind. Her nights were filled with memories she tried to erase, her mornings with survival.

But one morning, while taking the train to work, her hand instinctively curved around her belly. A stranger nearby smiled at her knowingly.

"First pregnancy?" the woman asked.

Shaeema nodded.

"Hardest thing is doing it alone. But you look like someone who's stronger than you realize."

Her throat tightened.

She didn't feel strong. She felt like a broken woman picking up glass shards with her bare hands. But something in her knew she couldn't afford to fall apart.

Not now.

Not with her baby counting on her.

And not with a man like Fahad slowly, unknowingly becoming part of her story.