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I had just gotten the sonogram of our long-awaited baby, ready to give my billionaire husband, Blake, the surprise of his life. But that night, a woman answered his phone. The next morning, he handed me a divorce agreement. He coldly stated our three-year marriage was just a business arrangement and he only ever saw me as a sister. His college sweetheart, Estella, had returned. To pave the way for his true love, Blake didn't just kick me out of our home. He destroyed my career. He abruptly cancelled my multi-million dollar campaign to make Estella the new face of our luxury brand. When a colleague publicly mocked me as a discarded stray dog, Blake protected her and ordered me to apologize. He even forced me to personally manage Estella's launch, letting her publicly humiliate me in the boardroom by revealing that the parting gift I cherished from him was actually bought by her. "You must take good care of it. I hope you don't mind that I had Blake pass it along." I was stripped of my husband, my dignity, and my hard work, reduced to a pathetic charity case. I touched my flat stomach, realizing the tiny life inside me would only be a liability to him. My three years of devotion were nothing but a cruel joke. Looking at the two people who had shattered my world, my heart finally turned to ash. I wiped my tears, calmly walked out of that boardroom, and prepared my counterattack. I would take my dignity back, piece by painful piece.
Contents
Redesigning His Regret After She Left Chapter 1
Celina Ferrell's fingers traced the outline of the tiny, pulsing blot on the sonogram picture. The paper was still warm from the printer.
In the sterile, quiet office on the Upper East Side, that small shape was her entire world.
"Congratulations, Celina," the doctor said, her voice a soft, reassuring presence. "Everything looks perfect. Just remember to rest and keep your nutrition up."
Celina nodded, a smile spreading across her face so wide it made her cheeks ache. She could feel her own heart, a frantic, joyful beat against her ribs. This was it. The gift she and her husband Blake Ingram had been waiting for, for three years.
"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much."
Stepping out of the clinic, the bright afternoon sun felt like a spotlight just for her. She instinctively laid a hand over her flat stomach, a silent promise to the new life within.
A plan bloomed in her mind, perfect and shimmering. She would give Blake the surprise of his life.
She conjured his face in her mind, the face of one of Wall Street's most decisive and powerful men, always marked by composure and restraint. She allowed herself to dream that he could shed his armor, if only for a moment, and offer her that rare, tender smile, welcoming the child they were soon to welcome. She craved that moment.
The black town car was waiting at the curb. Gus White, their driver for years, held the door open for her.
"Home, Gus," she said, her voice softer than she intended. "And please, drive smoothly."
Back at their Park Avenue penthouse, the scent of fresh lemons filled the air. Maria Kowalski, their housekeeper, had already prepared a glass of her favorite sparkling water with lemon.
"Ma'am, Mr. Ingram's flight is scheduled to arrive at JFK at seven this evening," Maria informed her.
Celina glanced at the clock on the wall. Four o'clock. Plenty of time.
"Thank you, Maria."
She decided to cook herself. It was one of their few rituals, a way to bring a sense of normalcy and warmth into a life often dictated by schedules and board meetings.
In the kitchen, she moved with a familiar grace, the simple act of chopping vegetables grounding her. A smile played on her lips, a secret joy that made the cavernous apartment feel bright and full.
As evening fell, the dining table was set. Two tapered candles stood sentinel, the scent of roasted chicken and rosemary filling the air. She'd even opened a bottle of Blake's favorite Cabernet, though she herself would only be enjoying the aroma tonight.
Seven-thirty came and went. Blake wasn't home.
Flights get delayed, she told herself. It happens all the time.
At eight, the silence began to press in on her. She pulled out her phone, her thumb hovering over his name before finally pressing call.
The phone connected on the second ring. But the voice that answered was not Blake's deep baritone.
It was a woman's voice. Soft, a little sleepy.
"Hello?"
The air in Celina's lungs turned to ice. The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but she couldn't remember who it was. Her heart felt like it had been seized by a cold, tight fist. She couldn't breathe.
She ended the call without a word. The phone slipped from her numb fingers, landing with a muffled thud on the thick Persian rug.
Who was that? Why did she have Blake's phone? The questions echoed in the sudden, deafening silence of her mind.
Minutes passed. She forced herself to move, to pick up the phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed again.
This time, it rang for a long, agonizing time before he answered. It was his voice.
"What is it?" he asked, a sharp edge of impatience in his tone.
Celina's throat was tight. She fought to keep her voice steady. "Are you... home yet? I called your phone..."
"Just landed. Traffic from the airport is a nightmare," he said. His voice sounded distant, and the background was completely silent. Too silent for a car stuck in New York traffic.
Her heart sank. He was lying. She could hear the dismissal in his voice, the lie hanging in the air between them.
"Oh," was all she could manage. She longed to ask about that woman, but the words refused to come. She dared not venture near the truth she suspected lurking beneath.
"I'm tired, Celina. I'll see you at home."
He hung up before she could reply.
She stood there, clutching the cold phone, her eyes fixed on the perfectly prepared meal. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows that danced like mocking ghosts. She felt like a fool.
Slowly, she walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Below, the river of headlights flowed down Park Avenue, a vibrant, glittering spectacle that had never before made her feel so utterly alone.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. A text from Blake. Short. Unsettling.
"We need to talk."
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