The Arrogant Captain's Regret: Chasing My Ex-Wife

Emilia Norman POV:

"Ma'am, stop right there. The VIP corridor is closed tonight."

A burly security guard stepped in front of me, blocking the heavy glass doors inside Montreal's Bell Centre. Freezing wind blew in from the street behind me, and I pulled my camel coat tighter around my body. Through the thick wool, my fingers pressed gently against my flat lower belly.

I reached into my purse, pulled out a laminated pass bearing the Boston Bruins family logo, and held it out.

"I'm here to see Bryant Norton," I said softly.

The guard glanced at the pass and hesitated.

"Captain Norton booked the entire VIP lounge for the night," he said, lowering his voice. "He gave strict orders that no one is to disturb him."

I froze for a second, then forced a small smile.

"Today is our seventh wedding anniversary," I explained. "I just flew in from Boston to surprise him and our son."

The guard looked at my pale face, sighed, and stepped aside.

"Last door at the end of the hall, Mrs. Norton."

I walked down the thick carpet, my heels making no sound. For seven years, I had lived in the shadows as the secret wife of the NHL's biggest superstar.

To protect his commercial image and take care of his physical health, I had given up my own career, working quietly as a low-paid nutritionist and PR assistant for his team.

My heart beat faster as I touched the warm ultrasound printout inside my coat pocket. Just this morning, I had found out we were having a second child. A baby girl.

Reaching the double oak doors at the end of the hall, I raised my hand to knock. The door wasn't latched all the way, leaving a narrow gap.

Familiar cheers echoed from inside-several starting players from the Bruins roster, followed by the loud pop of a champagne cork.

I stepped closer and looked through the gap. My breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled back half a step, pressing my palm against the cold wall to steady myself.

Under the crystal chandelier hung a massive custom banner made of fresh roses: Happy 1st Anniversary of Your Return, Candice!

Bryant sat in the center of the leather sofa in a black tailored shirt, his top two buttons undone. The ruthless captain who wore the "C" on the ice was looking down at the woman beside him with a gentleness he hadn't shown me in years.

Candice Robles wore an off-the-shoulder red couture dress. The beauty mark under her right eye gleamed under the lights as she laughed and rested her hand casually on Bryant's forearm.

"Bryant, you really didn't have to book the whole lounge just to celebrate the anniversary of my return to the States," Candice said, her voice sweet and breathless as she raised her glass. "You guys just won a huge away game. You should be celebrating for the team, not me."

Bryant didn't pull his arm away. He clinked his glass against hers, his gaze dark and focused.

"The team can celebrate any night," Bryant said in his low, gravelly voice. "Tonight is about you."

One of the defensemen sitting nearby laughed and raised his beer. "Hey, Cap, wait a second. Isn't today also your wedding anniversary with Emilia? What if she flies in from Boston to check on you?"

My heart leaped into my throat as I waited for Bryant's answer.

Instead, the warmth vanished from Bryant's face. He took a slow sip of his champagne, his tone turning flat and dismissive.

"She knows her place," Bryant said coldly. "Besides, she's boring at parties. Having her here would just ruin the mood."

A sharp pain twisted in my chest. I clutched the ultrasound printout in my pocket.

Suddenly, a small figure ran into my line of sight. It was my six-year-old son, Jaiden. Holding a huge plate of double-chocolate mousse cake, he threw himself straight into Candice's arms.

Candice gasped softly as Jaiden wiped his chocolate-covered hands right onto her expensive red dress.

"Oh, sweetie, slow down!" Candice said with a gentle laugh, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "You have a sensitive stomach. If your mom finds out I let you eat this much chocolate at night, she's going to lecture me again."

Hearing my name, Jaiden scowled, his little face twisting with annoyance.

"Who cares what she thinks!" Jaiden yelled loudly. "I hate Mom! All she ever does is nag me and force me to eat disgusting healthy meals! She never lets me have any fun!"

He wrapped his chubby arms tightly around Candice's neck and looked up at her with shining eyes.

"Candice is ten thousand times better than Mom! You're pretty and smart, and Mom is just a boring nanny who always smells like kitchen smoke. I wish Dad would hurry up and divorce her so you could be my real mommy!"

My blood ran cold. To fix Jaiden's severe childhood stomach issues, I had spent six years waking up at five every morning to make him customized medicinal meals. I had stayed up countless nights holding him whenever he had a fever.

I looked at Bryant through the gap in the door, waiting for him to scold our son for saying something so cruel.

Candice stroked Jaiden's hair, putting on a look of helpless pity. "Don't say that, Jaiden. Emilia tries her best. It's not her fault she doesn't know how to make a little hockey prince happy."

Watching them, Bryant didn't say a single word to defend me. Instead, he reached out, pinched Jaiden's cheek, and gave Candice an indulgent smile.

"The kid knows who treats him well," Bryant said warmly. "Let him eat whatever he wants tonight."

Those words hit me like a physical blow. Seven years of silent devotion and sacrifice turned into a pathetic joke right before my eyes.

Standing outside the door, listening to the three of them laugh like a real family, my eyes burned. Yet not a single tear fell.

I slowly loosened my grip on the crumpled ultrasound paper, my heart sinking into a freezing numbness.

Footsteps echoed from the other end of the corridor. I turned around quickly, pulled up my coat collar to hide my face, and walked fast toward the exit.

The moment I pushed open the side doors of the Bell Centre, Montreal's blizzard slammed into me. Icy snowflakes hit my cheeks, waking me up completely from my seven-year dream.

I pulled out my phone with trembling, frozen fingers. The screen was completely empty. There wasn't even a three-word anniversary text from my husband.

Opening my chat window with Bryant, I stared at the pregnancy announcement I had typed out on the plane earlier, then hit the backspace key until every single word was gone.

Looking down at my flat stomach in the howling wind, I whispered softly, "It's just you and me now, baby. We don't need them anymore."

I raised my hand, hailed a passing taxi, and gave the driver the name of the airport.

Inside the warm cab, the local sports radio was playing, the host excitedly praising Bruins Captain Bryant Norton's dominant performance on the ice tonight.

Turning my head toward the blurry streetlights outside, I opened a hidden, encrypted email app on my phone-the internal server for Synapse Bio-Lab, the top international sports medicine laboratory I secretly founded and owned.

I typed in my password and looked at the mountain of research invitations piling up in my inbox, a bitter smile touching my lips.

I clicked on an urgent email from my mentor, Dr. Christena Whitney, lifetime chairwoman of the International Sports Medicine Committee, and typed out a short reply.

*I'm ready to come back.*

After hitting send, I put the phone on silent, locked the screen, and leaned back against the headrest with my eyes closed, keeping one hand resting protectively over my belly.

Just as the taxi merged onto the airport highway, the dark screen in my hand suddenly lit up, flashing violently with an emergency landline call from our Boston penthouse.

Emilia Norman POV:

Staring at the flashing landline number from our Boston penthouse while the taxi sped down the highway, I hesitated for two seconds before answering.

Our housekeeper Martha's panicked voice came through the speaker immediately.

"Mrs. Norton, thank goodness you picked up! Master Jaiden just video-called the house from Montreal! He ordered me to dump out all the herbal stomach tonic you spent three days making for him!"

My fingers tightened around the phone. I still had a burn blister on my wrist from simmering that tonic for him before flying out.

"And that's not all," Martha continued frantically.

"Mr. Norton's assistant just called and ordered us to fill the living room with fresh red roses before noon tomorrow to welcome Miss Candice to the penthouse! When I reminded them that you have a severe allergy to rose pollen, Master Jaiden started screaming at me over the phone and said he'd have Mr. Norton fire me!"

The image of Bryant, Candice, and Jaiden laughing together in the VIP lounge flashed through my mind.

Bringing another woman straight into our marital home-and filling it with flowers that made me struggle to breathe-was how my husband chose to end our seventh anniversary.

"Throw the tonic away, Martha," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm. "And buy the roses. Put everything on Mr. Norton's card."

I hung up before she could say another word.

Staring at the small blister on my wrist, a wave of suffocating anger surged up my throat. I refused to be pushed out of my own life without Bryant so much as looking me in the eye.

Taking a sharp breath, I dialed Bryant's private number.

The first call rang twice before he declined it.

Biting my lower lip, I hit redial. This time, he cut the call off after a single ring.

When I called a third time, the line suddenly clicked open.

Before I could even say Bryant's name, Jaiden's shrill, furious voice blasted through the receiver.

"Stop calling, you annoying woman! Didn't you see Dad hanging up on you? Nobody wants to talk to you!"

I froze, my breath catching in my chest. "Jaiden, put your father on the-"

Jaiden didn't listen. The audio muffled slightly as he turned his head away from the phone, his voice instantly turning sweet and clingy.

"Mommy! Mommy Candice, look! I yelled at that bad woman for you! When we fly back to Boston tomorrow, you have to move into our house and be my real Mommy forever, okay?"

Right after that came Candice's soft, triumphant laugh. "Sweetie, you can't call me Mommy yet. What if your mom gets mad at your dad?"

Then came Bryant's low, familiar voice-so close to the microphone it made my skin crawl.

"She won't dare say a word," Bryant said lazily. "Since Jaiden likes having you around, you can stay at the penthouse tomorrow. Give me the phone, buddy."

There was a brief rustle as Bryant took the phone back. He didn't even bother checking if I was still on the line before cutting the call off with a cold click.

The dead tone buzzed in my ear.

*Mommy Candice.*

My own son-the boy I had nearly bled to death on the operating table to bring into this world-was begging another woman to be his mother. And my husband was inviting her into our home without a shred of guilt.

A violent wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. I pressed my forehead against the freezing glass of the cab window, gasping for air to keep from throwing up.

My trembling hand slipped into my coat pocket and pulled out the crumpled ultrasound printout.

Under the passing highway streetlights, I looked down at the tiny black-and-white image of the baby growing inside me. If Bryant and Jaiden ever found out about her, would they treat her like a nuisance too? Would I have to watch them break her heart the way they had just broken mine?

No. I would never let them near her.

Every bit of warmth drained from my chest. Gripping the edges of the thermal paper with both hands, I tore the ultrasound report straight down the middle.

The sharp ripping sound echoed in the quiet cab. I folded the pieces together and tore them again and again until the paper was reduced to tiny scraps in my palm.

I rolled down the window. Freezing wind mixed with snow roared into the back seat, stinging my face. I opened my hand outside the window, and the storm swept the white scraps away into the dark Montreal night.

Rolling the window back up, I unlocked my phone, scrolled to the bottom of my contacts, and dialed Arthur Hayes, the most ruthless divorce attorney in Boston.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Emilia?" Arthur's sharp, professional voice came through. "It's past midnight. Did something happen?"

Watching the snowstorm outside, I spoke clearly.

"Arthur, I need you to draft an uncontested divorce agreement. Have it ready as soon as I land in Boston."

Arthur went silent for a second, clearly shocked, before shifting straight into business mode. "How much of Bryant's assets are we going after? With his NHL contract and endorsements, you're entitled to tens of millions."

"I'm walking away with nothing," I said without hesitation. "I don't want a single cent of his money, the Boston properties, or his team shares. I just want this done fast."

I paused, resting my cold palm over my flat belly, and forced the next words out cleanly.

"Also, draft a custody-surrender agreement. I am voluntarily giving up all custody and visitation rights to my son, Jaiden Norton."

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath on the other end of the line.

"Emilia, think about this carefully," he warned. "Giving up custody of your firstborn son in a high-net-worth divorce means cutting off all leverage and ties completely. Are you sure?"

A cold, bitter smile curved my lips.

"He already chose a new mother for himself tonight," I said. "And I want every trace of Bryant and his son erased from my future."

"Understood," Arthur said gravely. "I'll have the papers waiting for you tomorrow afternoon. You should clear your things out of the penthouse immediately."

Shortly after I hung up, the taxi pulled up to the departure curb at Montreal-Trudeau International Airport.

I paid the driver, pushed the door open, and walked into the brightly lit terminal, heading straight to the ticketing counter to buy the earliest red-eye flight back to Boston.

Sitting alone on a metal bench at the boarding gate, I glanced up at the overhead TV screen. A late-night sports entertainment channel was airing fresh paparazzi footage taken outside a luxury Montreal hotel twenty minutes ago.

On the screen, Bryant had his wide black trench coat draped over Candice's shoulders, shielding her tightly in his arms while holding Jaiden's hand as they walked into the hotel lobby.

I looked away calmly, as if watching three strangers. My chest didn't even ache anymore.

When the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal, I stood up, smoothed the wrinkles on my coat, and walked straight down the jet bridge to strip every trace of myself from that Boston penthouse before sunrise.

Emilia Norman POV:

Early morning sunlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows as I stepped off the private elevator into our Boston penthouse.

The moment the doors slid open, the heavy, sweet scent of red roses hit my face. My throat constricted instantly, an allergic itch prickling across my skin.

Buckets of fresh red roses lined the marble living room. Near the kitchen island, our housekeeper, Martha, stood holding a heavy black trash bag filled with the shattered glass jars of herbal tonic I had spent three days simmering for Jaiden.

Seeing me walk in with my coat still damp from the snow, Martha froze, her face turning pale with guilt.

"Mrs. Norton... I'm so sorry," she stammered. "Master Jaiden called again an hour ago to make sure the flowers were set up for Miss Candice, and I had no choice-"

"It's fine, Martha. You're just doing your job," I said quietly, holding back a cough as I walked past the roses toward the master bedroom.

Inside the bedroom. I crouched down, pulled a battered black suitcase from the bottom compartment, and packed only the basic sweaters and jeans I had bought with my own money.

The jewelry boxes bearing the Norton family crest stayed untouched on their velvet trays.

Walking over to the marble vanity, I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror and slowly slid the seven-year anniversary diamond ring off my finger.

I set the diamond ring neatly on the cold marble surface, placing my penthouse keycard and my Bruins family pass right underneath it without leaving a note. There was nothing left to say.

Dragging my suitcase out into the hallway, I passed Jaiden's closed bedroom door, which was covered in posters of Bryant in his Bruins jersey.

Lying on the floor right outside his door was the handmade wool scarf I had knitted for Jaiden last month-trampled flat and stained with muddy shoe prints.

I stared at the dirty scarf for three seconds. Then I turned away without picking it up and walked straight to the elevator.

As the steel doors slid shut, cutting off the suffocating scent of roses that didn't belong to me, I finally took a deep, easy breath.

Outside the building, I hailed a cab. On the way to the quiet Boston suburbs, I stopped by a specialty boutique to pick up a wooden box of rare vintage Darjeeling tea-a gift I had reserved months ago for my mentor, Dr. Christena Whitney.

Forty minutes later, the butler led me into the glass sunroom of Christena's estate. The silver-haired lifetime chairwoman of the International Sports Medicine Committee sat in a rattan chair, reading through thick medical journals.

I walked over and gently set the vintage tea box on her table.

"Professor, I'm back," I said softly.

Christena looked up over her reading glasses, her sharp gaze taking in my pale face and the suitcase waiting by the doorway.

"Seven years ago, you threw away a brilliant career in regenerative medicine to play housewife for a hockey player," she said sternly, though a flicker of heartache crossed her eyes.

"You cut off all your colleagues, and now you think you can just walk back in with a box of tea?"

"I know I let you down, Professor," I said quietly, offering no excuses. I reached into my bag, pulled out a notebook containing the soft-tissue regeneration model I had drafted, and slid it across the table.

"I paid the price for that mistake. Now, I want to take back everything that belongs to 'Luna.'"

Christena picked up the notebook. As she flipped through the dense equations and clinical models, her stern expression gradually softened into surprise, then quiet relief.

Closing the notebook, she took off her glasses and sighed.

"Synapse Bio-Lab has kept your top-level clearance open all these years, Emilia," she said warmly. "Your lab coat is still hanging in the inner office. Come back and show the world what real sports medicine looks like."

I nodded firmly, blinking back the sudden heat in my eyes.

Leaving the estate an hour later, I checked into a quiet business hotel downtown, sat down at the desk, and opened a new laptop to log into the Bruins' internal employee system.

Bryant Norton POV:

I rubbed my throbbing temples as I walked out of the bedroom of my Montreal hotel suite, nursing a mild hangover. Candice's party at the Bell Centre had lasted past two in the morning.

Picking up my phone from the leather sofa, I glanced at the screen.

It was completely blank.

Normally, even if we argued, Emilia would send me a text by seven in the morning reminding me to take my vitamins and asking when my flight back to Boston was landing.

Today, there wasn't a single message.

I let out a cold laugh and tossed the phone back onto the table. She was obviously throwing a tantrum because I hung up on her last night and agreed to let Candice stay at the penthouse.

A knock sounded at the door, and my personal assistant stepped in with my morning schedule.

"Captain," my assistant said cautiously, "arena security mentioned that Mrs. Norton came by the Bell Centre VIP corridor last night."

My hands paused while tying my silk tie. My brows furrowed slightly before my face hardened.

So she had flown to Montreal and seen me with Candice and Jaiden. Yet she hadn't even dared to open the door and confront me.

"Leave her alone," I said dismissively. "With her submissive temper, she'll get over it in a couple of days."

"Should we send someone to check on her?"

"Order a limited-edition diamond necklace from Tiffany's and have it delivered to the penthouse," I instructed, buttoning my cuffs. "That'll be enough to make up for her little grievance when I get back."

The assistant hesitated, looking down at his tablet.

"Sir, Martha called from the penthouse earlier. She said Mrs. Norton came back at dawn, packed a suitcase, and left. Her personal phone has been turned off ever since."

Irritation flared in my chest. She was actually trying to play hard to get by running away from home?

I pinched the bridge of my nose, my voice dropping an octave.

"I don't have time for her tantrums," I said coldly. "Call the bank and freeze all her supplementary credit cards immediately. Let's see how long an unemployed housewife with no income can last out there before she comes crawling back."

Grabbing my suit jacket, I strode out of the suite toward the training rink without giving her another thought.