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💔 She gave him everything. He gave her a divorce. 💔 Velare Hotels’ headquarters was the epitome of luxury—whispered about in boardrooms, bookmarked in billionaire itineraries. Bamboo pillars and rich wood panels lined the interior, exuding warmth wrapped in wealth. For over a century, Velare had been the crown jewel of elite hospitality. Soft footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. A woman walked gracefully, heels silent against the polished floor. Her ankle-length dress swayed slightly, long dark hair parted and cascading past her hips. Krystal Vale didn’t knock. The CEO’s glass door creaked open as she stepped inside. She placed a lunchbox on the side table, took a breath, and straightened. From the 50th floor, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic Manhattan view. From the outside, the one-way glass revealed nothing. Lorenzo Moretti didn’t believe in offering the world a glimpse into his private life. His office was pure him—dark mahogany, leather-bound books, and custom furniture that dared no one to sit without invitation. Krystal perched at the couch’s edge, quietly plating the food. Occasionally, she glanced at the door. Still no sign of him. She pulled a small white packet from her purse, tore it open, and sprinkled the powder into the food and juice, stirring it until it vanished. “One more dose, and the Human Cactus is cured,” she whispered proudly. “The tremor will be gone for good.” She stuffed the empty packet away. “Debt paid. Grandpa’s wish fulfilled. He funded my education, and I treated his grandson. We’re even.” Her joy faded as reality returned. “But how the hell do I make that workaholic eat before the meds wear off?” she muttered, pacing. “The man treats food and sleep like side quests.” The door creaked open. Heavy, commanding footsteps followed. Her heart skipped. She turned quickly, smoothing her expression into a smile. Lorenzo entered, tall and sharp in a black suit. Tension clung to his broad shoulders, his cool gaze sharp enough to freeze fire. His cologne was heady, magnetic. But she knew the man beneath it—equally intoxicating. Krystal’s breath hitched. ‘God, that face could steal air from a room.’ She shoved the thought aside. No swooning over the Cactus. Grabbing the juice, she approached, smile sweet. “Baby, you’re finally here. Long day?” She reached up on her toes, offering the drink. He pulled back. Gripping her hand, he shoved the glass away. She stumbled slightly, scowling inwardly. ‘One sip and I’m done. The man speaks for hours but won’t drink a drop?’ He turned, icy eyes locking on hers. “No matter how kind you are, I’ll never return your feelings.” Her smile trembled. Still, she wrapped her fingers around his gently. “As long as I’m beside you, that’s enough,” she whispered. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. But it vanished as his jaw clenched. “Esther’s back,” he said. “We should… get a divorce.” Krystal froze. “You’re divorcing me?” she whispered. Not now. I’m so close. Her mind spun. If I miss today’s dose, he’ll vanish again. She forced her breath steady, fists clenched. Lorenzo studied the way her joy vanished, the pain in her eyes. That look—he saw it every time he walked in. Her world paused for him. And now, her sadness cut deep. He pressed a hand to his chest as if to soothe the ache. “I’ll give you anything, as long as you sign,” he said, voice softer. “I don’t want anything,” she replied hollowly. She stepped closer, brushing his neck gently with her fingers, lifting the glass once more to his lips. This time, he drank. His eyes stayed fixed on her lips, close to his. But instead of kissing him, she leaned to his cheek and whispered, “In two years of marriage, did you never feel anything? Not even a little?” His jaw tightened. He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back. Krystal steadied herself, lowering her gaze to the empty glass. A subtle smile tugged at her lips. All done. Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. Something about her looked… pleased. Suspicious. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then at her. She stood still, unreadable, eyes on him. He answered. “Esther?” Her voice came through clearly. “Lorenzo, my head’s killing me. Another flare-up. Can you come? I’m scared…” His body tensed. “I’ll be there soon.” He ended the call and turned to leave. Krystal grabbed his hand. “Eat something first,” she said, concern in her voice. He didn’t even look at her. “Don’t bother me.” He yanked his hand away and walked out. “Baby—” she called, but the door had already slammed shut. She stood in silence, staring at the door. Then her shoulders dropped. The sweetness vanished, replaced by a smirk as she rolled her eyes. Walking back to the table, Krystal packed the lunchbox, muttering, “Don’t bother me,” in a mocking tone. “As if I’m dying to. You really think I’m in love with you? Please.” Bitterness laced every word. “I’ve played the doting wife just to stay close. You think you’re some irreplaceable Prince Charming?” She laughed—dry, amused. Just then, footsteps echoed behind her. Her body stiffened. Didn’t that Cactus leave? Was I too loud? Did he hear?! She spun around—heart pounding. It wasn’t Lorenzo. It was Xander—his secretary. Krystal exhaled, hand over her chest. “Holy crap, you scared me…” She quickly resumed packing, hands still trembling. If he ever finds out I’ve been lying for two years, I’m done. Not even my bones would be left. Xander stepped closer, watching her closely. He saw the tremor in her fingers, the forced calm. He handed her a file. “These are the divorce papers. Mr. Moretti said he’s willing to meet any request you have.” Krystal took them, flipping through until her eyes hit the last page. Alimony: $100 million. She gasped. “One hundred million?! Holy shi—” Xander blinked. That reaction wasn’t like her. She quickly covered it with a cough. “I’ve lived off him for two years. I won’t take a penny.” She signed and returned the file. “Please tell him I agree to the divorce. I want nothing.” *** Krystal slid into the black Mercedes waiting at the curb—the car Lorenzo had custom-ordered for her. She said nothing as it pulled into traffic. She opened her phone and typed to a contact named Darren: ‘I’m free. Ten minutes. Pick me up from the Moretti house.’ The drive was quiet. When they arrived, she walked inside without pause, straight upstairs. The maids exchanged concerned looks. Something was off. Krystal had delivered Lorenzo’s meals every day—rain, snow, heat. Once, drenched in a storm. Another, walking through a snowstorm in sandals. Now, she passed them without a word. No mention of dinner. No check-ins. Just silence. Minutes later, a loud thud echoed down the stairs. She descended, dragging a large suitcase. “Mrs. Moretti, are you going somewhere?” a maid asked gently. Krystal nodded. “I divorced your boss. I’m leaving. I only took my clothes. Everything else is untouched.” Gasps filled the hallway. The woman who once crossed a blizzard to deliver Lorenzo Moretti his lunch was now leaving him without a single tear. *** Xander walked briskly into the VIP suite. Inside, Lorenzo stood beside a hospital bed, arms crossed, watching a pale woman under the covers. When Xander entered, Lorenzo stepped into the hallway and shut the door. “Well?” Lorenzo asked, voice clipped. “Did she throw a fit? Refuse to sign?” Xander shook his head, holding out the papers. “No, sir. She signed without a word. Even refused alimony.” Lorenzo’s brows furrowed as he snatched the folder, flipping through it with disbelief. “She took… nothing?” he said, stunned. “Not a cent,” Xander confirmed. Lorenzo’s grip tightened. Jaw locked. “She doesn’t work. No family. No friends. An orphan who probably didn’t even finish school. Now she just walks away from everything? With nothing?” “She said she’ll figure it out,” Xander replied quietly. Lorenzo slammed his palm on the table. The papers flew. His voice echoed in the corridor. “She’s a full-time housewife! What the hell is she figuring out? Does she think life is a damn movie?! Where is she now?” Xander hesitated. “The maids told me… she went home, grabbed a suitcase, and left. Just her clothes. No bags. No jewelry. Nothing else.” Lorenzo’s face turned to stone. A nerve ticked violently at his temple. “She did what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. Xander took a careful step back, throat dry. “Sir… she’s already gone.” *** Lorenzo paced his dark office at Velare headquarters, long after closing. The shadows, the silence, the weight of her absence—it was unbearable. He hadn’t gone home. There was nothing to return to. He dropped into his chair, ran a hand through his hair, and checked his phone again. Called her. Straight to voicemail. He slammed it on the desk. Jaw clenched. Eyes burning. “That reckless woman...!” He stood again, pacing like a man caged by regret. His voice cracked. “She has no one. No money. No place to go. Didn’t even leave a note. How could she just vanish?” The silence screamed back. Then—his phone rang. Hope surged as he snatched it up. “Krystal?” No. Xander Calling. He gritted his teeth. “Yeah?” “Sir, I found Mrs. Moretti.” Lorenzo went still. His grip on the phone tightened. “Where?” “She’s… at a nightclub. Downtown.” *** At Blue Orchid Bar, Krystal giggled and made her way to the restroom, heels clicking on the floor. The hallway was dim, quieter than the music-thumping club behind her. “This place changed so much,” she mumbled. Then—bam. She collided with something solid. Someone. She stumbled back. Eyes widened. Lorenzo. Tall. Fuming. Jaw clenched tight. Fire in his eyes. She gasped, turned to run— —but his arm shot out, blocking her. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her, pinning her to the wall. “You’re really ignoring me now?” he snapped. “Looking away every time?” She sighed, annoyance washing away her buzz. Why is this cactus here?! Plastering on a fake smile, she said, “Hi! How’s your arm? Feeling okay?” Wrong move. His fury flared. He glanced around, voice dropping to a growl. “Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? Where the hell did you go? And what are you doing in a bar?!” She hesitated, mind racing. Then she murmured, “After leaving you… I’m just…” She faltered, eyes darting. “I’m working here.” Lorenzo’s gaze swept over her—short dress, flawless makeup, glossy hair. Everything about her radiated polish. And none of it had been for him. His jaw flexed. “Working? Dressed like this?” He stepped in, grabbed her arm, and leaned into her neck. His breath scorched her skin. She froze, nerves igniting under his touch. Then he pulled back—but didn’t move away. His eyes bore into hers, sharp and unreadable. “You’ve been drinking?” His voice was ice. “Is that your job now? Dressing like this, drinking in bars?” Her eyes widened. “So what if I am? You think I’m an escort or something?” He didn’t flinch. Just stared. Cold. Quiet. Deadly. She looked away, voice small. “Yeah… I have to drink sometimes. It’s work. I’m not your rich wife anymore.” She yanked her arm free, stepping back like a wounded animal. Her voice was soft—tired—the same tone she used in their final years together. “I’m modeling for a photographer now. I take the jobs I can get. If drinks come with it, I can’t say no.” Lorenzo’s expression darkened—thunder brewing in his chest. He turned away, fists clenched, but whipped back around. “I offered you a hundred million in alimony,” he snapped. “It’s still on the table.” She shook her head gently. “Being with you for two years was enough. I don’t want anything else. And don’t worry—I won’t come between you and Esther. Let’s stay away from each other.” She turned to go. Her face relaxed the moment she looked away from him. She walked fast, needing to leave. Lorenzo’s fingers reached instinctively for her hand—but caught nothing. He stood frozen, fury simmering. He hadn’t told her to leave. Hadn’t said a word about cutting her off. The thought of her walking away with nothing made his blood boil. But that was her—stubborn, reckless, maddening. Krystal clutched her chest, relief trickling in, a small grin on her lips. ‘That should keep Cactus away for good. No man wants a burden when he’s trying to please his new woman.’ The ache lingered, but it was a softer pain than the one she’d already endured. Just then, Darren emerged from the VIP lounge, concern on his face. They bumped into each other in the hallway. “Where were you?” he asked, gripping her shoulders. “You’ve been gone forever. People thought you passed out.” Krystal rubbed her temples, still dazed. “I swear I need an exorcist. He’s everywhere. I just ran into him again—in the hallway. What kind of cursed fate is this?!” Darren slipped an arm around her. “We’ll deal with him later. Right now, come back. Everyone’s waiting.” They turned the corner—and froze. Lorenzo was standing right there. His eyes swept over Darren’s arm around Krystal and turned glacial. “Who is he?” Darren stepped up to speak, but Krystal squeezed his hand hard. “He’s my photographer,” she answered calmly, eyes flickering with unease. Darren blinked at her, confused. She mouthed, Don’t speak. Lorenzo’s gaze narrowed. He took in every detail—the way Darren touched her, how she looked up at him—and fury simmered beneath his stillness. Then came the low, deadly question. “Are you sleeping with him?” Krystal’s head whipped toward him. “No! I’m just his model.” She quickly softened her tone into the husky, tender whisper he once craved. “I needed money. I’m modeling in bikinis for him.” ‘This will disgust him. No way he’ll let scandal mess with his image.’ A sly glint flickered in her eyes. Darren stiffened. “Wait… bikini model?” She shot him a glare. He blanched. “Yeah, yeah—bikini model,” he stammered. “She’s mine for tonight. We’ve got a shoot.” Lorenzo moved before either of them could blink. He yanked Darren’s arm off Krystal and swung. Crack! Darren hit the floor, groaning. “Touch her again,” Lorenzo growled, “and I’ll erase you.” Krystal gasped as Lorenzo grabbed her hand and stormed out, dragging her behind him. Outside, under the streetlights, he hauled her to his black car. Jaw tight. Eyes colder than winter. He opened the passenger door, shoved her in, and buckled her seatbelt himself. “You don’t need that kind of job,” he muttered. “I’ll give you whatever you want. But you’re never doing this again.” He slammed the door and circled to the driver’s side. Krystal sat stunned, heart pounding. She unbuckled the belt and stepped out. “Lorenzo!” He froze, mid-motion. She’d said his name. Not baby. Not darling. Just Lorenzo—sharp and cold. He gripped the door tighter. “Get in.” But she didn’t move. She stepped back. He came around again, tense, rigid. She looked up at him. “You’re this angry because… you love me, right?” His body locked up. His hand clenched against the car. “I just don’t want you ruining my name,” he said, voice flat. Krystal smirked internally. Bingo. Love. Feelings. The ultimate repellents. And he had Esther now anyway. Still, she put on a wounded look, voice soft and breaking. “Sorry I’m such a disgrace to you.” His body tensed. “That’s not what I meant—” “I know I don’t deserve you,” she cut in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile was faint, brittle. “Esther’s perfect. You love her. I won’t get in the way.” She shifted, gaze dropping. “I’m sorry I asked. I’m leaving now.” She stepped past him. But Lorenzo turned fast, blocking her path. His voice sliced through the quiet. “So that’s why you blocked me? Because of her?” Krystal froze, confusion flashing in her eyes. ‘Is this narcissist seriously thinking I’m jealous?’ She exhaled, steadying herself. “No. I just... didn’t trust myself not to call. I didn’t want to bother you anymore.” Lorenzo gently took her hand, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I can’t be with you,” he said. “But I can still take care of you. Just know—I’m not someone who can give you a future.” She pulled away, voice cracking. “Then don’t be kind. Don’t give me hope, Lorenzo.” Then she stepped around him again, and this time, she didn’t stop. As she walked away, she let out a deep exhale of relief. A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Finally got rid of that Cactus,” she mumbled under her breath, heading down the path. But behind her, Lorenzo stood frozen. His jaw clenched as his eyes followed her retreating figure. Panic began to rise in his chest. She was walking away again—and this time, he had no excuse, no reason, no card left to play. She was going to disappear from his life again. ‘What if this is the last time I ever see her?’ Desperation finally cracked his restraint. His heart pounded as he blurted out— Continue Reading - Jealous Billionaire’s Endless Regret 💔 Obsessed Billionaires, Cherished Brides Series 💔 #1 Amazon Bestseller series in Romantic Suspense!