The CEO's Regret: Chasing My Runaway Doctor

The soft clinking of polished silver against fine china and the low, elegant murmur of affluent diners at Le Bernardin had been Vivian's only company for two agonizing hours.

She sat completely alone at the secluded corner booth—the exact table where Sterling had taken her on their first date.

Her fingers tightly clutched the expensive leather of her purse, guarding the ultrasound picture hidden safely inside.

Eight weeks.

She was going to tell him about the baby tonight, on their second wedding anniversary, desperately hoping it would finally melt the ice between them.

Then, her phone vibrated violently against the table. An anonymous text message illuminated the screen. It was a high-resolution photo.

Sterling and Kara were wrapped in a passionate embrace, kissing deeply in a dimly lit private booth.

The background was unmistakable. They were in this very restaurant.

A suffocating, sickening wave of irony and betrayal washed over Vivian.

Today was their second wedding anniversary. Sterling knew perfectly well she had booked a table here. He knew she was waiting for him, yet he had the sheer, cruel audacity to bring another woman to the exact same restaurant!

Filled with a sudden, blinding rage, Vivian grabbed her purse and stood up, ready to storm the private rooms and confront them face-to-face.

But before she could take a single step, her phone buzzed again. A second anonymous message flashed on the screen.

"Don't bother looking for them. They already left."

It was immediately followed by a location pin for an exclusive, ultra-luxury penthouse in Upper Manhattan.

Half an hour later, Vivian stood frozen in the grand doorway of Kara's lavish penthouse. The heavy mahogany door had been left slightly ajar, a careless mistake fueled by blind lust. A trail of expensive clothing littered the plush white carpet.

Sterling's custom-tailored tuxedo shirt was discarded carelessly on the floor.

He stood in the center of the living room, his broad, muscular chest completely bare, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

Kara stood pressed intimately against his side, wearing a sheer, scandalous silk slip that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Her makeup was artfully smudged, and a triumphant, wicked smirk played on her painted lips as she spotted Vivian in the doorway.

Sterling did not look panicked when he saw his wife. Instead, his dark eyes were cold and calculating.

"Since you have seen everything, I have no desire to lie to you anymore," he said, his voice as smooth and polished as marble. "Kara is back. What happened between us was a mistake from the beginning. My grandfather forced this marriage. We should not keep making the same mistake. Let us get a divorce."

The words hit her like a physical blow, shattering her ribs and piercing her lungs.

She had loved him for six years. Four years of silent, invisible devotion before he even knew her name. Two years of marriage, of signing Mrs. Sterling Carlisle IV on documents no one would ever see.

She had endured his endless coldness, foolishly believing her deep, unconditional love would eventually thaw his frozen heart.

Kara let out a soft, mocking laugh, leaning heavier against Sterling's bare arm. "Finally. You were always so incredibly clingy, Vivian. It was embarrassing to watch. You should have known your place."

Vivian turned slowly. She walked up to Kara, closing the distance in two swift steps, and raised her hand high.

The slap echoed through the cavernous penthouse like a gunshot.

Kara shrieked, stumbling backward and clutching her rapidly reddening cheek, tears springing to her eyes. "You crazy bitch!"

Sterling moved instantly, with the speed of a predator.

His large, warm hand clamped down on Vivian's wrist like a steel vice. He pulled her flush against his bare chest.

The sudden, intense physical proximity was suffocating. The immense heat radiating from his skin, the intoxicating scent of his masculine cedarwood cologne mixed with Kara's cheap, overly sweet perfume, completely overwhelmed her senses.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" Sterling growled, his face mere inches from hers, his dark eyes flashing with a dangerous, feral intensity.

The tension between them crackled, thick, heavy, and undeniably electric.

Vivian did not flinch. She did not cower. She looked up at him, her eyes like shards of arctic ice, completely devoid of the desperate love that she once felt for him.

She yanked her wrist free with a violent, unexpected jerk. Before he could react to her sudden strength, she swung her other hand with everything she had.

Sterling's head snapped violently to the side. His sharp cheekbone bloomed red where her palm had connected.

For a long, frozen moment, he didn't move. He simply stared at her, his eyes wide with absolute shock.

No one had ever struck him. No one had ever dared.

Vivian looked at his bare chest and Kara's scandalous attire with absolute, unapologetic disgust.

"Put your clothes on," she commanded, her voice icy and dripping with contempt. "And bring out your lawyer. Let us be done with this tonight."

Sterling's jaw tightened. The air in the room grew heavy. Without a word, he bent down, picked up his discarded tuxedo shirt, and slowly buttoned it up, his dark eyes never leaving her face.

Kara, trembling with rage and humiliation, grabbed a silk robe to cover herself.

Once dressed, Sterling gave a sharp nod toward the dark hallway.

Lawrence, the Carlisle family's chief counsel, stepped out of the shadows of the study, a silent witness to her humiliation. He carried a thick document bound in black leather. Lawrence placed the heavy document on the glass coffee table.

DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

"If you will sign here, Mrs. Carlisle. As per the strict terms of the prenuptial agreement, you will be vacating the premises tonight with no claim to Mr. Carlisle's assets. Additionally, Mr. Carlisle requires your signature on a non-disclosure agreement regarding the existence of this marriage."

An NDA. He wasn't just divorcing her. He was erasing her from history.

Vivian's hand trembled violently as it hovered over her purse.

The ultrasound picture. Eight weeks. A flutter of life that had felt like salvation. Now it felt like a cruel, twisted joke.

In that exact moment, the suffocating cage of her pathetic devotion finally shattered, leaving behind something cold, hard, and utterly unbreakable.

She did not pull out the ultrasound. Instead, she picked up the Montblanc pen and scrawled her name across the signature line, the sharp nib tearing through the thick paper on the final, violent stroke.

"I don't want your money," she said. "I don't want your name. I don't want anything from you, Sterling. But you owed me that slap."

She turned on her heel and walked out the door, her spine perfectly straight.

Sterling stood motionless, staring at the closed door. His cheek still burned with a fiery heat. He stared at the empty space where she had just been.

She had always been so compliant. So quiet. So desperate to please him.

The woman who had just slapped him and commanded him like a subordinate was none of those things. A strange, completely unfamiliar panic suddenly seized his chest, tightening his throat like a noose.

Outside, Vivian walked to the curb, the cold night air biting her skin. Her hand still stung.

She pulled out her phone and booked a one-way ticket to Geneva.

She didn't look back. She and her child were going to become ghosts. And Sterling would never, ever find them.