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