HIS REGRET (Ex-Husband wants Me Back) novel Chapter 282

On the outskirts of Mighatan, hundreds of miles from Mighatan Hospital.

The old warehouse stood in silence, lit only by a dim, flickering bulb. The air was thick with damp rot, rusted iron, and the acrid smoke of cigars that still lingered in the rafters. The building’s surroundings were equally desolate—perfect for anyone who wanted to stay hidden without drawing attention.

But that safety shattered at dawn. The chill of morning still clung to the air when a pack of broad-shouldered men in black uniforms stormed inside. They moved wordlessly, just as the earlier surveillance had predicted—the warehouse’s sole occupant was always slow to rise at this hour.

“I’ll make sure he pays for every last thing,” said a man as he slid off his dark glasses, his lips curling into a cold, deliberate smirk. His gaze lingered on the warehouse as though it were prey. “Clear out anyone in the way. Harold stays alive—for me.”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.”

Inside, Harold sat smugly in his hideout, convinced the world still tilted in his favor. The morning’s profits had brought a satisfied grin to his face. He never imagined his sanctuary would be breached.

The shock came swift—a brutal hand clamped around his throat from behind. The wineglass slipped from his fingers, shattering against the concrete floor.

“Well, well, well… look who I’ve found,” a low, icy voice breathed against his ear.

“Wh-who the hell are you?!” Harold thrashed, but his arm was wrenched behind him until his body buckled forward.

A tall man with a chiseled jaw kicked him hard, forcing him onto his knees. Harold barely had time to gasp before the man’s boot smashed against his face—once, twice—sharp bursts of pain exploding across his skull.

“You mean to tell me you don’t recognize me?”

“Ugh!” Harold spat blood, staggering back. “Who are you to touch me like this?!”

“Cale Miller,” came the flat reply. His voice carried no heat, only deadly certainty. “The name might not mean much to you. But I’m sure you know my brother.”

Harold froze, breath coming in ragged gulps. “M-Miller…? You’re Chris Miller’s brother?”

Cale’s thin smile was devoid of mercy. “Good. So you do understand exactly who you’re dealing with.” He yanked Harold up by the collar, forcing their eyes to meet.

“I have a lot of questions, Harold. And you’d better answer every one of them. Because if you don’t…” His voice dipped, lethal and quiet. “Tonight, will be the last night you ever see.”

Fear flooded Harold’s features. He had never expected anyone to find his hideout, much less a member of the Miller family. “What do you want from me?” His voice cracked, trembling.

Cale’s eyes, dark as cut obsidian, narrowed to blades. “Of all the things I could ask you… there’s only one I care about right now.”

He signaled with a flick of his wrist. Two of his men seized Harold, dragging him to the center of the room and forcing him into a chair. The ropes bit tight into his wrists and chest no matter how violently he thrashed.

When it was done, Cale sat casually across from him, a slim knife turning between his fingers like a toy. His tone was almost conversational when he spoke next.

“Josh’s accident.”

The blood drained from Harold’s face. His eyes bulged wide, terror glistening in their depths. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

Before he could finish, Cale snatched a half-full wine bottle from the table and hurled it against the wall. Glass shattered in a violent spray, shards glittering as he leveled a jagged edge inches from Harold’s cheek.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Harold tried to crawl, to free himself, but Cale’s boot plunged into his chest, pinning him. A dark smear of blood marked the sole. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I can tell you where the evidence is!” Harold gasped, breath ragged. “In the reading room—drawer number three. There’s a key to another room. I hid the files there. You can take them. Please… please release me! I told you what you wanted—stop torturing me!”

Cale bent over him, cold eyes boring into Harold. “Why did you only speak the truth now? Why not from the start?”

“I—I was afraid… I—” Harold’s answer was cut brutally short by a blunt blow. Cale struck again and again without restraint. Blood flowed; Harold’s body went limp, his moans fading until he finally lost consciousness.

“Take him,” Cale said, voice calm under the rage. “Don’t let this man die. Not yet. I want him to wake up when his crimes are exposed. I want him to know—this is what happens when you touch the wrong child.”

His men hauled the unconscious Harold away. Cale stared at the dark splotches on the floor, fingers clenched until his knuckles whitened. “No one touches Josh. Not one person. Anyone who dares… will end up like him.”

One of the men returned, holding the files Harold had mentioned. “Mr. Miller.”

“Make sure everything goes to Chase’s legal team—he’ll know what to do.” Cale peeled off his blood-spattered gloves. “Where are my other shoes? I refuse to wear these again.”

Within minutes someone handed him a fresh pair; a new blazer was draped over his shoulders.

“Clean up the traces and find everyone who worked with Harold,” he commanded. “If they don’t turn themselves in, make sure they get the same message.”

“Yes, Mr. Miller.”