Too Late For His Empty Regret

My husband Ethan was my childhood hero, the perfect man who promised me forever. After our son was born, he seemed like the perfect father, too.

Then an anonymous message popped up on my phone: Ethan Blake is cheating. I have proof.

But the man I found wasn't just a cheater. He was a monster who mocked my postpartum body with his mistress.

"All that trauma from childbirth... It's too much," he'd said, disgusted.

He publicly humiliated me, caused an accident that left me crippled, and then bankrupted my family's company, putting my father in the ICU.

This was the same man who once broke his own hand to protect me, the boy who swore he'd love me forever.

How could he become this cruel stranger who looked at me with nothing but disgust?

As he left me broken and blamed me for everything, the love I had for him finally died.

I picked up my phone and called a number I hadn't dialed in years.

"Jackson," I said, my voice cold as ice. "It's Audrey. I need your help. Remember your offer?"

Chapter 1

Audrey POV:

The phone buzzed on the silk pillow beside me. It was an anonymous Instagram message. Ethan Blake is cheating. I have proof. My breath seized in my throat. I couldn't breathe, not with that sentence staring back at me.

Ethan was in the kitchen, humming softly as he wiped down the marble countertops. The scent of coffee and his familiar cologne drifted into the bedroom. He looked so perfect, so domestic. He always made sure to clean up after his morning gym session.

He walked in, a gentle smile on his face, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in his hand. "Morning, my love," he said, his voice a warm caress. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. "Sleep well?"

I nodded, my mind screaming. This was Ethan. My Ethan. The man who had carved a space in my heart since we were kids. He couldn't be cheating. It wasn't possible. The thought was a cruel joke.

I remembered the day he told me he loved me for the first time. We were ten, playing in his family' s sprawling Hamptons estate, and he'd sworn he' d marry me, his eyes full of earnest promise.

When we were teenagers, he punched a senior who' d tried to corner me after a school dance, breaking his own hand just to keep me safe. He didn' t care about the pain. He only cared that I was crying. He looked at me, his eyes bruised, but still managed a crooked smile.

Our engagement party, under a canopy of twinkling lights in Central Park, felt like a dream. He' d spun me around, his laughter echoing, telling everyone within earshot that I was the only woman he would ever love.

He was the one who always brought me soup when I was sick, the one who remembered my favorite flowers, the one who held my hand through every fear and every triumph. He was there when I graduated, when I started my first job, when we bought our first home. He was the only constant in my life.

He was the man who chose my maternity clothes with such care, who stayed up nights reading baby books, who squeezed my hand through every contraction, his face a mask of worry and adoration. He was the perfect husband, the perfect father.

No. This was a mistake. A cruel, sick joke. Someone was trying to mess with us.

The phone buzzed again. My stomach dropped. Check his gym bag. You' ll find proof.

My heart hammered against my ribs. A cold dread slithered through me. I stared at the message, a tremor running through my hands. No. I wouldn't. I couldn't.

But my feet were already moving. I walked to the walk-in closet, my movements stiff, robot-like. His gym bag lay on the floor, forgotten after his morning workout. My fingers fumbled with the zipper. I pulled it open.

And there they were. Tucked beneath a sweaty t-shirt. Two used condoms. My vision blurred. The world spun. The scent of Ethan' s cologne, once comforting, now turned sickening. It was a smell of betrayal.

I stumbled back, my knees giving out. I collapsed onto the plush carpet, the anonymous messages flashing in my mind. The truth hit me like a physical blow. He did it. He cheated.

My fingers, still shaking, tapped on the Instagram profile. It was private. I clicked "Follow." A second later, the request was accepted. Another message popped up. Go to The Velvet Whisper tonight. 9 PM. He' s there with her. It was an address, an exclusive speakeasy downtown.

I felt a desperate, primal need to see it, to confirm this nightmare. I needed to see for myself.

The speakeasy was dimly lit, a haze of expensive perfume and hushed conversations. I found a secluded corner, my heart pounding, my eyes scanning the room. Then I saw him. Ethan. He was laughing, his head thrown back, with a woman I recognized. Kendall Johnston, his ambitious junior analyst.

My blood ran cold as I watched them. Her hand rested on his arm, her eyes shining with an intimacy that made my stomach churn. I watched them, my breath catching in my throat, as he leaned in, his lips finding hers. A slow, passionate kiss. A kiss that stole my breath and shattered my world.

It was her. Kendall. The woman who always sent me polite, friendly messages about Ethan's "long hours" at the office. The woman who had complimented my postpartum glow just weeks ago. The deception was a bitter taste in my mouth.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. I couldn't make a sound. I couldn't let him know I was here.

They pulled apart, grinning. His friends at the table cheered, clinking glasses. Ethan raised his hand, silencing them. He leaned closer to Kendall, his voice dropping, but I could still hear it. Every word was a hammer blow to my chest.

"She' s just... not the same, you know?" he chuckled, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. "Postpartum body. All that trauma from childbirth. It's too much." He shuddered dramatically, pulling Kendall closer. "You're so understanding, Kendall. No kids. Ever. That's what I need."

He kissed her again, a possessive, hungry kiss. My body felt like it was dissolving. The man I loved, the man who promised me forever, was disgusted by me. By my body, by the miracle we created. By our child.

I stumbled out of the speakeasy, the world spinning around me. I didn't know how I got home. I just found myself kneeling by my son' s crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in peaceful sleep.

My son. The child Ethan had claimed to adore. The child he had planned for, had dreamt of. He had called him his greatest blessing. It was all a lie. All of it. He was a liar. He had been lying to me for months. Maybe years.

My son stirred, his small hand reaching out. He wrapped his fingers around my thumb, his grip surprisingly strong. A jolt went through me. My son. My beautiful son. He was all I had left. Looking at him, a fierce resolve hardened inside me.

I pulled out my phone. I typed in Kendall' s number. My fingers hovered over the send button. No. Not yet. I had to be smart. I had to be strong.

I looked at my son again, his innocent face illuminated by the soft glow of the nightlight. My love for Ethan had died tonight, choked by his cruelty and betrayal. But a new emotion was taking root. A cold, hard determination.

I pressed 'Delete' on Kendall's contact. Then, I wrote a message to the anonymous Instagram account: I need your help.

Audrey POV:

The anonymous account responded instantly: Tell me what you need, Audrey. The message was chillingly direct. I typed back, Everything.

The next morning, a thick envelope appeared on my doorstep. Inside, I found photo evidence, detailed schedules, even hotel receipts. Kendall' s face, always so composed, now looked like a venomous snake in the grainy photographs. My husband, Ethan, looked happy. Happier than he' d looked with me in months.

Alongside the evidence, there was a pre-drafted divorce agreement. It was surprisingly simple, granting me custody of our son, a generous settlement, and a significant portion of Ethan' s assets. It was almost too good to be true. My anonymous helper covered all the bases.

Kendall sent another message: Did you find my little surprise? Ethan's quite the passionate one, isn't he? A wave of nausea washed over me. She was taunting me. She knew I knew.

I stared at the divorce papers on the polished mahogany table, my hand trembling as I reached for the pen. It felt heavy, like a weapon. My heart was a bruised thing in my chest.

I remembered Ethan, a reckless sixteen-year-old, racing his beat-up car through the pouring rain to pick me up from a party. He'd crashed it, breaking his arm, but he'd still made sure I was okay first. "Are you hurt, Auds?" he'd asked, his face white with pain, ignoring his own bloodied arm.

He was my hero then. He was the one I ran to, the one who made me feel safe. He was everything. That feeling, that absolute certainty, was a deep, unshakeable part of me. How could I tear that out? It felt like amputating a limb.

The thought of living without him, without the life we built, was a vast, empty canyon. It stretched before me, dark and terrifying.

My phone buzzed again. Kendall: Still dilly-dallying? Ethan just left for his 'late night meeting' with me. We have champagne.

Then, a text from Ethan: Working late, babe. Big deal coming up. Don't wait up. Love you.

The word "love" tasted like ash. I picked up the pen, my hand no longer trembling. It moved swiftly, decisively, across the dotted line. My signature. Audrey Fox.

It was done. The air left my lungs in a shaky exhale. A strange mix of emptiness and a terrifying sense of freedom washed over me.

Later that evening, the nanny brought me a warm glass of milk. "Mr. Blake said it would help you sleep, ma'am," she said softly, her eyes full of concern.

Ethan. Always the thoughtful husband. He used to brew special herbal teas for me, precisely measured, to help with my fragile stomach in college. He' d even learned to massage my temples just right to ease my tension headaches. He had been so attentive, so caring.

I let out a harsh, broken laugh. A single tear traced a path down my cheek. The care, the thoughtfulness, it was all a performance now. A lie.

I didn't sleep a wink that night. The next morning, I dressed in the sharpest suit I owned, the divorce papers clutched in my hand. My body felt weak, but my resolve was iron. I had to face him.

I arrived at Blake Enterprises, the gleaming tower of Ethan' s power. Kendall was already there, perched on the edge of Ethan's mahogany desk, a smirk playing on her lips. She looked at me, her eyes glinting with triumph.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Mrs.," Kendall purred, picking up Ethan's heavy corporate seal. She stamped a document with a flourish, then tossed the seal back onto the desk. "Right on time. The agreement is effective today, by the way. I made sure to expedite it."

I remembered Ethan refusing to let me touch his seal, saying it was "company property, too important." Now, this woman, his mistress, handled it with such casual disregard. The hypocrisy was a fresh wound.

"You really think you've won, Kendall?" I asked, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I knew anger was useless now. It only served to fuel her.

She laughed, a brittle sound. "Oh, Audrey. I always win. You just took longer to realize it." She pushed the sealed divorce agreement across the desk towards me. "Here you go, hun. Your ticket to freedom. And mine."

I picked up the papers. My gaze met hers. "Enjoy your victory, Kendall," I said, my voice low. "But remember, what goes around, comes around."

I turned to leave, the heavy doors of Ethan's office building looming before me. Just as I reached them, they swung open, and Ethan stepped in. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowed when he saw me.

"Audrey? What are you doing here?" His tone was sharp, impatient. He wasn't pleased.

Then he saw Kendall, his face softening immediately. He walked past me as if I were invisible, his arm going around Kendall' s waist. "Kendall, my love, you didn't have to wait for me. You look exhausted." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "You've been working so hard on this project."

A sickly sweet scent hit me. It was Kendall' s expensive shower gel. It clung to Ethan, a physical manifestation of their betrayal. My stomach clenched. I needed to get out. Now.

"What's that you have there?" Ethan asked, his eyes finally landing on the papers in my hand. His brow furrowed at the bold red seal.

Audrey POV:

Ethan' s eyes zeroed in on the red seal on the divorce papers. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. He started to reach for them, his hand outstretched.

Kendall gasped dramatically. "Oh, Ethan! My stomach just twisted into knots. I think I pushed myself too hard on that presentation." She clutched her abdomen, her face paling slightly.

Just like that, Ethan' s attention snapped away from me. "Kendall, darling, what's wrong?" He rushed to her side, his arm wrapping around her, his concern absolute. "You need to rest. Audrey, you can leave now. We'll talk later." He dismissed me with a flick of his wrist.

My heart, already a shattered mess, felt another sharp pang. He didn't care. Not about me. He never would again. It was chilling to see how easily he cast me aside.

A bitter, hollow laugh escaped my lips. I turned to leave, the papers still in my hand.

"Wait!" Kendall called out, her voice suddenly strong, no trace of pain. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped package. It was a tube of cream. "Oh, and Audrey, Ethan asked me to get this for you. It's for your stretch marks. You know, from the baby. We want you to feel your best." She winked, a malicious glint in her eyes. "He said you really need it, especially with how... persistent they are."

My body stiffened. Shame, hot and prickly, spread across my skin, making my stretch marks burn. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing down on me.

Ethan took the cream from Kendall, his gaze cold as it met mine. "She's right," he said, his voice flat. He thrust the tube into my hand. "You should use this every day, Audrey. For your own good. It helps with the... the aftermath." His eyes flickered down to my stomach, a look of distinct distaste on his face.

It was a cold, calculated stab. The man I loved, the father of my child, was using my postpartum body, the very vessel that carried his son, as a weapon against me. It felt like he had just plunged a knife into my heart and twisted it.

Ethan and Kendall then linked arms, turning their backs on me, heading toward his private elevator. Just as the doors were about to close, I heard Kendall' s voice, clear and sharp.

"Are you sure that cream will work, Ethan? I read it has some pretty nasty side effects if used too often. Like, skin thinning, increased sensitivity... maybe even some scarring." She giggled.

Ethan' s laugh was equally cruel. "Oh, it'll work, Kendall. It'll work just fine. And if it doesn't, well, at least she'll remember who' s in charge. She needs a reminder of her place."

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor, the cream tube slipping from my numb fingers. It hit the polished marble with a dull thud. My head swam. My vision blurred. He had meant to hurt me. To actively, maliciously cause me pain. The man I had loved, the man I had married, was truly gone. Replaced by a monster.

Rage, cold and pure, surged through me. I picked up the tube of cream, my hand shaking with fury, and hurled it against the opposite wall. It exploded, a white splatter against the expensive wallpaper.

I somehow made it home, my body a leaden weight. By the time I collapsed onto my bed, a searing fever had set in. My head throbbed, my skin felt raw and inflamed.

The nanny, bless her heart, called Ethan immediately. "Mr. Blake, Mrs. Blake has a high fever. She' s not responding well."

I heard his clipped, impatient reply through the phone, even from my bed. "Just give her some Tylenol, Maria. She's probably just being dramatic. I'm busy. Don't call me again unless it's an emergency." He hung up.

My tears had run dry. There was nothing left but a vast, aching emptiness. I remembered one winter, years ago, when I' d gotten the flu. Ethan had stayed by my side, pressing cool cloths to my forehead, whispering reassurances, his touch a balm. Now, he couldn' t even be bothered.

The fever raged for three days, blurring the lines between reality and nightmare. On the third night, I felt a cool hand on my forehead. Ethan. I cracked open my eyes. He was there, his face etched with concern, his fingers gently massaging my temples.

A wave of relief, fleeting and dangerous, washed over me. Had he come back? Was it all a misunderstanding? My body, aching and exhausted, leaned into his touch.

Then, the cold, slimy sensation of the cream on my skin. He was rubbing it onto my stomach, his touch rougher than before. "Kendall found this special kind," he murmured, his voice dripping with an artificial sweetness. "She said it's much stronger. Will clear up those ugly marks right away."

His smile didn't reach his eyes. There was a cold, calculating glint there, a flash of something akin to disgust. He hated me. He truly hated me. My stomach churned.

I slapped his hand away, my strength surprising even myself. "Get out!" I rasped, my voice hoarse from fever.

His face hardened instantly. "Audrey, stop being childish," he said, his tone devoid of warmth. "Maria, get her dressed. She's coming with me to Kendall's celebration tonight."

Maria, the nanny, looked at me, her eyes wide with worry. "But sir, she's still very ill. She's barely conscious."

Ethan scoffed. "She'll be fine. And make sure she wears a mask. I don't want her infecting Kendall. Kendall has a very important presentation tomorrow." He then walked to the bathroom sink and scrubbed his hands raw, as if my touch had left him contaminated.

My body felt like lead, my mind clouded by fever. I was a puppet, limp and unresponsive. Maria helped me into a gown, her hands gentle. I was pushed into the back of Ethan's car, my head lolling against the seat.

We arrived at the glittering gala. The doors opened, and the first thing I heard was Kendall' s triumphant laugh, followed by the murmurs of the crowd.