All Chapters of Billionaire's Regrets:He Hurt Me But Wants Me Back: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Leah’s POVBy noon, I’ve made up my mind.Last night’s conversation with Ethan had left a knot in my stomach, and I refuse to let it fester. I need to fix this. I need to remind him—and myself—that we’re solid, that what we have isn’t fragile enough to break under the weight of a few misplaced emotions.So, I grab my purse and step out of the office, heading straight for the elevators. The morning had dragged on, filled with meetings, emails, and a brief yet impersonal exchange with Dwight about the campaign’s next phase. He had been all business, his voice cool, his demeanor unreadable. I had mirrored his professionalism, acting as though the past meant nothing.But the past wasn’t my concern today.Ethan was.The streets hum with life as I make my way to one of Ethan’s favorite cafés, the same one we used to frequent for weekend brunches when our schedules weren’t so hectic. I order his usual—chicken pesto panini, a side of seasoned fries, and an iced coffee. For myself, I get a gri

Leah’s POVThe city is bathed in golden light as I step out of the cab in front of Cece’s apartment. I clutch mk purse and let out a breathe, and then, make my way towards the front door. Cece opens the door before I even knock. She’s dressed in a loose sweatshirt and leggings, her natural curls piled on top of her head. I had sent her a quick text before I got into the taxi, so she'd been expecting me. Her eyes sweep over me, and immediately, she steps aside in silent invitation. “You look like you need wine.”I huff out a laugh. “Maybe, I need more than just wine.”She ushers me in, and the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla greets me. Cece’s apartment has always felt warm and inviting—a place where honesty isn’t just welcomed but expected.She disappears into the kitchen while I sink into the familiar and comfortable plush couch, kicking off my heels. Cece's house always feel like a second home. A moment later, she returns with two glasses and a full bottle of unopened red

Leah’s POVThe ballroom is bathed in warm golden light, the chandeliers casting a soft glow over the elegantly dressed guests. The hum of conversation blends seamlessly with the classical music playing in the background. It’s the kind of event I’ve attended my entire life—polished, poised, and full of people who pretend to be interested in you while silently assessing how useful you are to them.Ethan and I arrive together, his hand resting at the small of my back as we step into the grand hall. I’m dressed in a midnight-blue gown, my hair swept into a low chignon, while Ethan looks effortlessly sophisticated in his tailored black tux."Remind me why I agreed to this again?" Ethan leans down, murmuring into my ear. His tone is teasing, but I sense the slight edge beneath it."Because my father specifically requested our presence," I reply, offering him a small smile. "And because networking at these events is good for both of us."He sighs but nods. "Right. Networking. Can’t wait."I

Dwight's POVI should have known she would be there.I should have prepared myself, braced for the inevitable. But no amount of forethought could have truly readied me for seeing her again... with Ethan.Leah.Sometimes, I forget just how entrenched she is in this world. Her father isn't just a businessman—he's a force, a name people respect, fear, and admire in equal measure. Long before I built my own empire, he was already at the top, shaping industries with a single decision.And that fame rubs off on Leah.The way she carries herself tonight, poised and untouchable, is a reminder of that. But I know better. I know the woman beneath the polished exterior—the one who once held my face between her hands and swore she'd always be mine.The moment I see her, something in me locks up, like a tightly coiled spring winding itself tighter.She looks beautiful. Of course, she does. That midnight-blue gown hugs her in all the right ways, her hair swept into a simple, elegant style that only

Leah’s POVThe rhythmic clack of heels against the sleek hardwood floor fills the studio, each step deliberate, each stride confident. The models move with practiced ease, their poised expressions betraying nothing but cool professionalism. Some walk with effortless grace, others with a deliberate fierceness, their gazes locked straight ahead as if the world itself is watching.I sit upright, my pen poised over my clipboard, scanning the line of women as they move across the room. Each one is here with a purpose—to prove she belongs, that she’s the right choice for our campaign. Their movements are calculated, their expressions perfected from years of training, yet even in their flawlessness, I search for something more. Something real. Something that feels like it belongs to the brand we’re trying to build.Beside me, Dwight stands with his arms crossed, eyes sharp as he observes each model with a calculating gaze. His presence is infuriatingly steady—controlled, composed, completely