All Chapters of His Regret: Winning Back Her Heart: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Marietta's POV"He wants a divorce?" I repeated in shock, my voice barely a whisper."Are you serious?" Relief washed over me as I heard Granny Lorette’s voice from the living room.She would calm Michael. She always had my back."Michael, if this is some kind of joke, you can stop now," Granny Lorette snapped."No! It's not a joke. I’m serious about this," Michael argued, his voice filled with frustration."I can’t stand this any longer, Grandmother. I’m filing for divorce. I’m sick and tired of her. I don’t even love Marietta. You forced me into this whole thing."My breath caught in my throat. I clenched the wooden railing of the staircase, my legs trembling."Are you telling me that after all these years, you never loved Etta?" Granny Lorette’s voice wavered, laced with disbelief.Michael scoffed. "You used your influence and your company shares to push me into this marriage, and now you expect me to stand by her?"Tears burned my eyes, threatening to spill as I peered down at them

Marietta’s POV“I can’t believe you are still in bed!”Michael’s voice cut through my groggy mind like a knife.“And why haven’t you packed up earlier?” he demanded, his brow furrowed in frustration.“Michael, I’m sick,” I murmured weakly, my body heavy with exhaustion.“Are you aware that your flight is scheduled to take off five hours from now?!”“I think I might have caught a fever last night.”“Stop lying, Etta,” he snapped, his disbelief stinging me more than my fever.“I’m not,” I bit back, my voice hoarse.“You are leaving this afternoon. I’ll drive you to the airport, and you must leave even if you don’t want to!” Michael flared up and stormed out, his anger lingering in the air.A bitter smile curled my lips. Michael driving me to the airport himself? How ironic.“C’mon, Marietta, don’t be stupid. He just wants to make sure you leave,” I scoffed under my breath, closing the door behind him.I dragged myself to the bed, my body aching. Maybe a short nap would help.A few hours

Marietta’s POVThe moment I stepped into the airport terminal, I felt it—the weight of a past I had long buried.Three years had passed, yet the air in America still carried the scent of old betrayals. I had rehearsed this moment countless times, told myself I was ready. But nothing prepared me for the sharp sting of familiarity as the cold air kissed my skin.I adjusted my sunglasses and tightened my grip on my suitcase. My plan was simple: get in, handle business, and leave with my dignity intact. No distractions. No emotions.But fate had other plans.I heard reporters calling my name—the one I had spent years rebuilding—spread like wildfire. Heads turned. Cameras flashed. Reporters swarmed toward me with recorders and microphones in hand.I kept my expression neutral, offering the reporters a small, polite smile before walking past them. My driver, already waiting, quickly opened the car door, shielding me from the chaos.I slid into the back seat and let out a quiet breath as the

Marietta’s POVThe night should have ended here.I had played my part. I had smiled, I had accepted my award, and I had made my statement. I should have been able to slip into the background now, enjoy the rest of the evening with a glass of champagne and a few well-placed deflections.But fate—or perhaps something far more cruel—had other plans."Ladies and gentlemen," the host’s voice rang out, smooth and confident. "Before we continue with our celebrations, we have a special moment planned."A hum of curiosity spread through the ballroom. My fingers curled tighter around my champagne glass."As you all know, tonight is about honoring excellence, resilience, and the undeniable power of talent." The host smiled warmly, looking out over the crowd. "And what better way to mark this occasion than with a dance?"A polite ripple of applause.I exhaled quietly. Fine. A dance. Let them twirl around in overpriced gowns and polished shoes. It had nothing to do with me.But then—"And who bette

Marietta’s POVI made my way out of the hall and headed to the hotel room I had booked before flying down to America from Paris. The moment I stepped into my hotel suite, I locked the door behind me and exhaled. The night had drained me. Michael’s words still echoed in my head, twisting and turning in ways I didn’t want them to. "You never even asked me why." I hated that those words had shaken me. Three years. Three years of silence. Three years of building a life from nothing. I kicked off my heels and walked toward the minibar, pouring myself a glass of wine. I wasn’t in the mood to drink, but I needed something—anything—to drown out the emotions clawing at me. As I raised the glass to my lips, my phone vibrated on the table. Bella Monroe. For the first time since leaving that cursed gala, relief flooded through me. I pressed the answer button. "Took you long enough," Bella’s voice came through, smooth and sharp as ever. "I was starting to think you passed out somewher