My Husband Chose His Ex I Became His Regret novel Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Lala

The navy Valentino suit feels like a second skin, and I’m terrified it’s going to betray me.

84

5 vouchers

I stand in front of the full-length mirror at 7:30 AM, smoothing my hands down the tailored blazer for the fifteenth time. The fabric is flawless but my palms are sweating. What if I spill coffee on it? What if I sit wrong and wrinkle it? What if-

Stop.

Patricia’s voice echoes in my head. You deserve to take up space.

I force my hands to my sides. Look at my reflection. Really look.

The woman staring back is a stranger I’m learning to recognize. Honey blonde waves fall just below my shoulders, styled with the texturizing spray Isabella insisted I buy. The color catches the morning light streaming through the windows, making me look sun-kissed, expensive. My makeup is subtle but polished, a YouTube tutorial I watched at 6 AM, practicing the techniques the makeup artist taught me yesterday. Nude lipstick. Defined brows. Just enough mascara to make my amber eyes pop.

The suit fits like it was made for me. Because it was. Margot had the pants hemmed last night, the blazer taken in slightly at the waist. High-waisted trousers that make my legs look endless. The blazer structured but feminine, hitting at exactly the right point on my hip. Underneath: a cream silk blouse that cost $800 and feels like water against my skin.

I paired it with the black Louboutins Margot selected, four-inch heels that I practiced walking in for thirty minutes last night, pacing the suite until the doorman probably thought I was losing my mind. The red sole flashes with each step. A warning. A promise.

Small gold hoops in my ears, understated, classic and with a Cartier watch.

My phone alarm chimes. 7:45 AM.

Car service arrives at 8:15. Storm Tower is a twenty-minute drive. Meeting at 9 AM sharp.

I have thirty minutes to not spiral.

I walk to the window, press my forehead against the cool glass. The city is already awake-taxis honking, people rushing to work, life happening at full speed.

My phone buzzes. Text from Aidan:

Car is downstairs. Don’t be late. First impressions matter.

I type back: I know. I’m ready.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Then:

15:24 Tue, May 12

Chapter 19

See you soon.

:

84

your hers

I grab the leather bag Margot provided, Prada, supple black leather that smells like money, and slide my new iPhone inside. Corporate credit card. Building access badge. A notebook with my name embossed on the cover in gold foil: Lila Stark, Chief Strategy Officer.

Chief Strategy Officer.

Weeks days ago, I was unemployed. Homeless. Nothing.

Now I’m the CSO of Storm Industries.

I press my hand against my stomach, trying to calm the butterflies. They feel less like butterflies and more like wasps.

“You can do this,” I tell my reflection. “You can absolutely do this.”

The woman in the mirror doesn’t look convinced. But she looks the part. And sometimes looking the enough to start.

I take a breath. Grab my things. Walk to the door.

My hand hovers over the handle. Last chance to run. Last chance to stay small and safe and invisible.

But I’m so fucking tired of being invisible.

part

I open the door and step into the hallway. The carpet is so thick my heels barely make a sound. Even the hotel is trying to make me disappear.

Not today.

I press the elevator button. Wait. Check my reflection in the polished brass doors. Hair still perfect. Lipstick still in place. Suit still immaculate.

The elevator dings. Opens. A couple steps out, designer athleisure, fresh from the gym, the kind of people who belong in hotels like this.

The man’s eyes flick to me. Do a double-take. His gaze lingers just a second too long.

His wife notices. Elbows him.

I step into the elevator. Press L. for lobby. Watch the doors close on their muttered argument.

He looked at me. Actually looked. Saw me.

A smile tugs at my lips. I let it happen.

The car Aidan sent is a black Mercedes S-Class. The driver, an older man in a crisp suit opens the door before I can reach for the handle.

“Ms. Stark.” He nods. “Mr. Storm is expecting you.”

15:24 Tue, May 12

Chapter 19

84

5 vourbers

I slide into the backseat. Leather that probably costs more than furniture. Bottled water waiting in the cup holder. Classical music playing softly through speakers I can’t even see.

This is how the other half lives. How Mark lived. How my step-siblings lived while I took the bus.

The car pulls into traffic smoothly. I watch the city slide past the tinted windows-coffee shops, boutiques, people hurrying with their morning lattes. A woman in a business suit jaywalks across the street, phone pressed to her ear, briefcase swinging. She looks harried. Stressed. Real.

I wonder if I look real or if I look like I’m playing dress-up.

My phone buzzes. Text from Patricia:

Remember: You belong in every room you walk into. Your presence is not an imposition. You are not taking up space-you are OWNING space. Breathe.

I screenshot it. Save it. Read it three more times.

Another text, this one from Margot:

You’re going to kill it today. That suit was made for moments like this. Walk in like you own the building. Because honey, you’re about to.

I type back to both of them: Thank you.

Margot responds immediately: Don’t thank me. Just remember this feeling when you walk past Mark Knight’s office someday.

The thought sends electricity through my veins. Mark’s office. Knight Group. The building I used to visit, trailing behind him like an accessory, smiling at his colleagues while they looked through me.

Soon, I’ll walk past that building and he’ll see me through the windows. See what he threw away. See what he never deserved in the first place.

The car slows. I look up.

Storm Tower.

This is where I work now. This is my building.

The driver opens my door. “Ms. Stark.”

I step out. The morning air is crisp, autumn starting to edge into the city. My heels click on the pavement, red soles flashing with each step. I adjust my bag, square my shoulders.

Patricia’s voice in my head: You deserve to take up space.

Margot’s voice: Walk in like you own the building.

Aidan’s text: First impressions matter.

15:24 Tue, May 12

Chapter 19

:

I take a breath. Walk through the revolving doors into the lobby.

84

5 vouchers

The temperature drops ten degrees, all that marble and glass. My heels echo on the floor. People glance up. A few do double-takes. I keep my chin up, my stride confident even though my heart is hammering.

The security desk is staffed by two guards. The younger one, maybe thirty, straightens when he sees me.

“Good morning,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. “Lila Stark. I have a meeting with Mr. Storm.”

He checks his tablet. “Of course, Ms. Stark. You’re cleared for executive access. Forty-second floor.” He hands me a sleek black access card. “This will get you into all authorized areas. Welcome to Storm Industries.”

“Thank you.”

I walk to the elevators. A group of employees is waiting, three men in suits, talking about quarterly projections. They stop talking when I approach. I feel their eyes track me. Assessing. Wondering who I am.

The elevator arrives. They wait for me to enter first.

I step in. They follow. I press 42. They press various floors below that.

“You’re new,” one of them says. Friendly. Professional. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“First day,” I reply. “I’m joining the executive team.”

His eyebrows raise slightly. “Really? What department?”

“Strategy.”

The three men exchange glances. I know what they’re thinking. Who is she? Where did she come from? Why haven’t we heard about this?

The elevator stops at fifteen. Two of them exit. The third, the one who spoke lingers.

“Good luck,” he says. “Storm’s a tough boss. But fair.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He exits at twenty-seven. I’m alone for the final ascent.

I watch the numbers climb. 35. 36. 37.

My reflection in the polished doors shows a woman who looks calm. Collected. Like she belongs here.

The elevator dings and opens.

The forty-second floor is stunning. More glass. More marble. But also warm wood accents, contemporary art on the walls, floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the entire city. A receptionist sits at a sleek desk, young, polished, intimidatingly beautiful.

“Ms. Stark?” She smiles. “Mr. Storm is expecting you. His office is at the end of the hall. You can go right in.”

15:24 Tue, May 12

Chapter 19

“Thank you.”

:

84

5 vouchers

I walk down the hallway. My heels sink slightly into plush carpet. Offices line both sides-glass walls so everyone can see in, see out. People are already working. A woman on a conference call. A man staring intensely at three monitors. Another woman reviewing documents, red pen in hand.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify