From Prison to His Perfect Regret

I sacrificed five years of my freedom to save my husband' s billion-dollar empire.

I walked out of prison expecting gratitude, but instead, I found his assistant wearing my life like a second skin.

And when his company faced a new crisis, he didn't look to me for support-he looked at me as the prime suspect.

Jasper thought a luxury suite at The Plaza could erase five years of silence.

He claimed he was "protecting" me, while Candice, the woman who orchestrated my fall, blocked my letters and managed his heart.

But the moment his laptop was wiped, his mask of devotion crumbled.

He accused me of sabotage instantly, blind to the real enemy standing right beside him.

I didn't argue. I just walked away.

He screamed that I' d be destitute without him, that I was throwing my life away for a "nobody."

Instead, I found Cohen, the inmate who had protected me inside when Jasper abandoned me.

Months later, Jasper called, sobbing. He' d finally found the security footage proving Candice' s guilt.

"I'll wire you ten million dollars," he begged, his voice breaking. "I'll even give Cohen a construction job. Just come home."

I looked at Cohen, who was gently painting a crib for our unborn child in our warm, safe home.

"Keep your money, Jasper," I said.

"We're already taken care of."

Chapter 1

Ashlie POV:

The federal prison gates clanged shut behind me, the sound a final, brutal punctuation mark on the last five years of my life. I' d spent them inside, wondering why my husband had let me rot. Now, the bitter wind of upstate New York tore at my thin clothes, whipping snow into my face. It felt like the world was actively trying to freeze me. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the broken pieces of my spirit together. It was an old habit, one I' d learned in a place where comfort was a forgotten luxury.

A sleek black SUV, too expensive for this forgotten stretch of road, pulled up beside me. The window glided down. Jasper.

He looked exactly the same. Perfect hair, perfect suit, that same charming smile that used to make my stomach flip. Now, it just made me sick.

"Ashlie," he said, his voice a low, practiced rumble. "I missed you so much."

His words were cotton candy, sweet and hollow. "Did you?" I asked, my voice raspy from disuse, from years of holding it back. "Because I called. A lot. I wrote letters. More than you can imagine."

He flinched. Good.

"And how many of them did you answer, Jasper?" I watched his eyes, searching for a flicker of genuine remorse. There was none. Just that familiar, polished helplessness.

"Ashlie, darling, you know how it was. Business trips. Protecting you from the media. It was for your own good." His excuses were like stale bread. Hard, dry, and impossible to swallow.

"Five years, Jasper," I cut him off, my voice sharp enough