The Billionaire's Regret: Too Late to Love
7.7 / 10.0
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Allen Hale discarded his devoted wife, Mia, for another woman, unaware she was pregnant. After their divorce, Mia was presumed dead but secretly survived, transforming into Iris Morris, a powerful heiress. Years later, she returns to dismantle Allen’s empire alongside the twin sons he never knew he had. As his world crumbles, Allen faces a bitter reckoning. Mia must now decide if the man who betrayed her deserves a second chance or if his regret came far too late.
The Billionaire's Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter 1
Allen had already left when Mia woke up.
She noticed it in pieces.
The other side of the bed was cold. Too neat. The faint dip in the pillow gone, like it had never been touched. His phone charger unplugged. His closet door half open, one hanger turned the wrong way.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening.
Nothing.
No shower running. No footsteps. No low voice on a call he thought she couldn't hear. Just the hum of the city outside and the soft tick of the clock on the nightstand.
She checked the time.
6:12 a.m.
He never left that early unless something was wrong-or important.
Her first instinct was disappointment. It rose quietly, like a bruise you don't notice until you press it. Today, of all days.
Then she pushed it aside. She'd gotten good at that. At rearranging her expectations so they didn't hurt as much.
She rolled onto her side and reached for her phone.
No message.
Not even a note on the counter.
Still, she smiled a little. A small, private one.
He's trying to surprise me, she thought.
The idea warmed her chest. Made her sit up straighter. Five years married-surely he hadn't forgotten what today was. Surely not.
She swung her legs out of bed and padded into the kitchen barefoot, the marble cool under her feet. The apartment looked the same as always-perfect, polished, untouched. Like a place meant to be admired, not lived in.
She made coffee. Stronger than usual. Let the steam fog her face. Breathed it in.
Today mattered. She decided that.
By nine, she'd already changed twice.
The first dress felt too hopeful. The second too careful. She settled on the ivory one she'd worn once before-years ago, when Allen had looked at her like he was still afraid to lose her. The memory made her throat tighten as she zipped it up.
She tied her hair back loosely. Nothing too done. Nothing that looked like effort.
The surprise came together quietly.
A reservation at the restaurant where they'd celebrated their first anniversary. Flowers sent ahead. A gift she'd picked weeks ago and hidden under sweaters she rarely wore-an expensive watch he didn't need but had once admired in passing.
She imagined his face when he realized she'd planned everything. That soft blink he did when he was caught off guard. The way his mouth curved when he smiled for real, not for meetings or cameras.
She texted him around noon.
> Mia: I'm stealing you tonight. Don't make plans.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then:
> Allen: Busy day. Might be late.
Her fingers hovered over the screen.
> Mia: It's our anniversary.
A pause.
Longer this time.
> Allen: I know.
No heart. No smile.
She stared at the word know until it blurred.
Still-she didn't cancel anything.
By evening, the apartment felt too quiet again. The kind of quiet that presses in on you, makes you notice things you usually ignore. She lit one candle. Then another. Left them burning even when she decided not to wait anymore.
She checked the mirror one last time before leaving. Pressed her lips together. Smoothed the front of her dress.
"You're not asking for much," she whispered to her reflection. "Just tonight."
The restaurant glowed warmly against the dark street, all soft light and laughter and the clink of glasses. The hostess smiled when she gave her name.
"Your table's ready," she said.
Mia hesitated. Just a second. A breath.
"Yes," she said. "Thank you."
The table was perfect. By the window. Exactly where they'd sat five years ago. The flowers she'd ordered were already there-white roses, simple, elegant. Allen's taste.
She sat.
Ordered water. Then wine.
Checked her phone.
Nothing.
Time passed in strange, uneven stretches. Five minutes felt like thirty. Then suddenly it was almost eight-thirty. The chair across from her remained empty, the napkin folded neatly like it was waiting for someone who wasn't coming.
She was reaching for her phone again when she heard it.
Allen's voice.
Not on the phone.
Behind her.
Close enough that she felt it more than heard it.
Her body reacted before her mind did-shoulders stiffening, breath catching mid-inhale. That voice had lived inside her for years. She knew its rhythms. The way it softened when he wasn't pretending to be sharp.
She didn't turn right away.
She listened.
"...you're impossible," he said, and there was laughter in it. Real laughter. The kind she hadn't heard directed at her in months.
A woman laughed back. Low. Familiar. Comfortable.
Mia turned.
Allen stood there like he belonged to the moment. Jacket off. Tie loose. Relaxed in a way he never was at home anymore. The woman beside him leaned in close, her fingers resting on his wrist, casual and unguarded.
As if she'd done it before.
As if it was allowed.
Something inside Mia went quiet. Not numb-just still. Like the world had paused to let her see clearly.
Allen said something she couldn't hear. The woman smiled up at him, wide and easy, and he smiled back without thinking.
That was the part that hurt the most.
Not the touch. Not the setting.
The ease.
The way he looked like himself again.
Mia didn't make a sound. Didn't step forward. Didn't drop her purse or gasp like women did in movies.
She stood slowly, her movements deliberate. Smoothed her dress. Picked up her bag.
Allen never saw her.
The candle on the table flickered as she passed, the flame bending, then going out.
Outside, the night air hit her sharp and clean. She inhaled too deeply, like she was trying to pull herself back together with oxygen alone.
Her hands were shaking now. She pressed one to her stomach without thinking. Just to feel something solid. Something hers.
She didn't cry.
She walked down the street, heels clicking softly, the sound echoing in a way that felt too loud. Somewhere behind her, laughter spilled out of the restaurant. Glass clinked. Life went on.
Five years.
She'd planned a surprise.
And somehow, she was the one standing alone in the dark.
Mia didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
Something had already ended.
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The Billionaire's Regret: Too Late to Love of Contents
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