The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Regret

Chapter 4

The car engine shut off with a final cough.

Vivian Xavier practically flew out of the passenger seat, hand clamped over her mouth. Adrian Foster trailed behind her, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist as he guided her toward the master bedroom like a dutiful husband.

I followed silently, a step or two behind, watching their silhouettes melt into one another.

"Prepare a bowl of bird's nest porridge for Mrs. Xavier," Adrian said to the cook, voice full of that effortless authority—the kind only men like him ever wore well.

As I headed down the stairs toward the guest bedroom, Vivian glanced back at me. Her lips barely moved.

"And make two extra dishes," she added casually. "Mr. Foster's favorites."

Inside the guest bedroom, I unzipped my suitcase—then stopped dead.

My clothes… every last piece had been torn apart. Ripped into shreds like something out of a horror movie. They looked like they'd been mauled by a wild animal.

Luckily, my passport and documents were still intact. I'd hidden them in the lining—just in case.

I had just finished collecting the papers when the door slammed open behind me.

Adrian leaned against the frame, swirling a black glass bottle in his hand. His eyes narrowed in disgust.

"Samuel Sinclair," he drawled, "you really don't have any shame, do you? Everyone in the circle's laughing behind your back. And you still don't know when to leave."

He gave the bottle a lazy shake.

The sharp, chemical scent of gasoline hit me instantly.

"I heard," Adrian said, voice curling into a sneer, "that on the day Old Mrs. Sinclair died, you got on your knees and begged Vivian to take you to the hospital in her helicopter?"

He chuckled.

"Too bad. She'd already promised to watch the sunset with me."

He shoved his phone in my face.

On the screen: a photo of them kissing on a beach, backlit by pink skies.

"That was taken that day."

I slapped the phone out of his hand and lunged, grabbing him by the throat.

The bottle slipped and shattered on the floor.

Gasoline spilled everywhere, soaking into the rug.

Adrian scrambled, reaching into his pocket—and flicked a lighter.

The flame jumped to life.

Woosh.

Fire exploded in every direction.

Smoke filled the room, thick and suffocating. My eyes burned. My lungs screamed. My knees gave out and I collapsed onto the floor, too weak to move.

"Samuel!"

Vivian's voice punched through the haze.

"Mrs. Xavier, no! It's not safe—wait for the extinguisher—"

"Move!"

A door slammed open. Heavy footsteps. Vivian rushed inside.

"Vivian—help me…" Adrian's pitiful voice rasped through the smoke.

And then I saw her.

She ran straight past me. Straight to him.

Not even a glance in my direction.

Half an hour later, I walked out the front gate of the villa, suitcase in tow.

Vivian's voice chased after me, sharp with panic.

But I didn't look back.

At the airport check-in counter, I mailed a small package.

Recipient:

CEO's Office, Xavier Corporation.

As the plane rolled toward takeoff, my phone buzzed.

[Stop this nonsense. Tomorrow at ten, accompany Adrian to his prenatal checkup—and get your lungs examined while you're at it.]

I pulled the SIM card out and dropped it in the nearest trash bin.

Outside the window, the city lights faded into a distant blur.

Vivian Xavier... this time, I mean it.

Goodbye.