My Husband Chose His Ex I Became His Regret novel Chapter 103

Chapter 103

Aidan

Victor Harlow’s big mistake is thinking I’m reacting.

I’m not.

By the time his little photograph lands in my messages, I’m already past the anger stage.

Anger helps for about half a minute. After that, dwelling on it would be foolish..

I look at the photo on my phone for maybe twelve seconds.

Victor’s in it.

Three board members.

Private meeting.

One chair is empty–mine.

The message below says: You’re already too late.

I shut off my screen.

People who send messages like that, they’re all after the same thing. They want emotion, panic, movement.

And if you show up to fight on their terms, you’ve already lost.

Behind me, Lila studies my face.

“What?”

I move to my desk, open my laptop, and start digging into Storm’s internal voting records.

“What do you think Victor wants me to do right now?” I ask.

She leans on the desk. “Storm into a boardroom.”

“Exactly.”

My fingers fly across the keys, shareholder data, proxy votes, and board attendance pulled up in three windows.

For a moment, Lila just watches.

“So what are you actually going to do?” she finally asks.

I smile. Not because any of this is funny, but because I’m starting to see the edges of the fight.

“Something annoying,” I say.

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She raises her eyebrows. “That’s your master plan?”

“Victor expects fireworks.”

“So what are you giving him?”

“Paperwork.”

She laughs right away, and I love that sound, even with her tired, under pressure, she still finds it

I catch her eyes, and she softens. But we both remember, there’s still that photograph, the meeting, the attempted coup.

Back to the task. I dig further.

There it is.

Interesting.

On paper, those three board members with Victor hold about fourteen percent of the voting power. That’s the number everyone’s supposed to be scared of. But it’s not real ownership. Just influence.

Ownership lives somewhere else.

I grab my phone. Direct line. Thomas picks up before it barely rings.

“Aidan.”

“Ineed every institutional shareholder on a call within thirty minutes.”

A beat.

“You already know.”

“Yes.”

A silent pause. Then he exhales. Thomas gets it. Good. I don’t have time to spell it out.

“They’re moving early.”

“Yeah. And they’re bluffing early.”

“You’re sure?”

I glance at the photo again. Victor, all casual confidence.

Too confident.

If Victor actually had the votes, he wouldn’t be sending me pictures.

“Thomas.”

“Yeah?”

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“If he already had a win in his hand, he’d be counting shares, not sending threats.”

A pause. Then: “Oh.”

Exactly Oh.

True firepower doesn’t announce its arrival. It just takes what it wants.

Victor is playing confident because he still needs leverage. He’s short.

Now my pulse settles, steady.

The study door swings open. One of the staff steps in carefully.

“Mr. Storm?”

I look up. “Yes?”

“Mr. Park is here.”

Of course he is. Good.

I stand. “Send him in.”

A second later, Thomas arrives with two phones, a tablet, and the unmistakable look of someone who hasn’t slept in close to a day. Nothing new.

“Tell me everything.”

He hands me the tablet. “Three board members confirmed.”

I skim. Knew that.

“Proxies?”

“Shifting.”

“How much?”

“Not enough.”

Good.

Thomas waits, watching.

“You don’t seem worried,” he finally says.

I look up. He’s been at this with me over a decade. He knows: if I stop looking worried, it’s time for someone else to start.

I walk to the liquor cabinet, but pour coffee instead. Not time for whiskey.

“We’re watching the wrong thing,” I say.

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Thomas straightens. Lila tunes in. Good.

I slide the tablet, show the photo.

“What do you see?”

Thomas: “Victor.”

“No.”

“A meeting?”

“No.”

Lila folds her arms, thinking. “A performance.”

I point. “Exactly.”

Thomas shifts, catching on.

“Victor wants me distracted by the board,” I say.

Thomas’s eyes clear. “He wants you to spread yourself thin.”

Inod. “Yes.”

Now we’re facing the right problem. The hidden one, not the shiny one.

I sift through the acquisition files, three, five, seven years. Patterns. Moves.

And then, there.

Aname, tucked away. Hidden twice under holding companies.

Thomas sees my face. “What?”

I turn the laptop. “Who owns this?”

His eyes read, squint, then widen. “No way.”

I nod. Yep.

The thing everyone missed, beneath all the drama and noise, debt, slowly gathered through back channels over eighteen months.

Could’ve fooled most anyone. Not me, I wrote the blueprints.

Thomas looks up, eyes wide. “Victor’s buying the debt.”

“Yes.”

“And if he gets enough…”

“He runs the show. No board needed.”

Silence.

Lala stares at me, tracking every word. She’s quick, damn, I love that.

I look at her. “Remember what you said earlier?”

She blinks. “Which part?”

“There were two campaigns.”

Recognition flashes, right. Scandal and money, both at once.

Exactly.

Victor never wanted the board. He wanted noise, confusion, cover. All a stage trick, while the real play happened deep under the surface.

Now my smile comes back, slow, dangerous. Thomas even steps away from me, which makes me grin wider.

“You found him,” he says.

“Yes.” And I mean it this time. Satisfaction, finally.

Because now I know where the fight is. And when I know that, I usually leave with the win.