The CEO's Regret: Darling, Don’t Leave Me novel Chapter 4

Chapter 3: The Place That Never Was Mine

Clara

I always knew tonight would be important. I felt it from the moment I opened my eyes that morning, with an uncomfortable pressure in my chest, as if my body were trying to warn me about something my mind still refused to accept. The Blackwood Enterprises annual gala wasn’t just a social event; it was the culmination of months of work, negotiations, sacrifices… and, for me, the last chance to feel like I still had a place by my husband’s side.

I spent the morning coordinating details, answering calls, checking lists over and over. Everything had to be perfect. It always was. That was my specialty: making things work quietly, without seeking recognition.

Even so, as I got ready in front of the mirror that night, I couldn’t help but wonder something I was ashamed to admit:

Will he see me tonight?

The black dress draped elegantly over my body. It wasn’t flashy or provocative, but it made me feel confident, poised, grown-up. I pulled my hair back simply, highlighting my understated makeup. I didn’t want to compete with anyone. I never did.

I wanted to walk beside him. Nothing more.

Ethan was waiting for me at the entrance to the hotel’s main ballroom. Impeccable, as always. When he saw me approaching, he gave me a brief, polite glance.

“You look good,” he said.

It wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation.

“Thank you,” I replied, with a smile I already knew by heart.

We entered together, but not arm in arm. We walked side by side, like two people who shared a last name, not a relationship. The lights, the soft music, the elegant murmur of the guests immediately enveloped us.

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We greeted people, I smiled… I answered questions. I played my part.

Then I saw her.

Vanessa Reed was near the stage, dressed in a light-colored suit that stood out against the dark tones of

the room. Radiant. Confident. Like someone who knew exactly why she was there.

Ethan saw her too, I noticed it in the slight shift in his posture, in the way his attention moved effortlessly. He didn’t come over immediately, but he wasn’t completely focused on me anymore. And that’s when I understood something that hurt more than I expected:

No matter how many times you’re present, if someone else occupies the emotional center, you’ll always be

invisible.

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Never Was Mine

We sat at the head table. I was to his right. Vanessa was a few chairs away, strategically positioned. Every time Ethan got up to greet someone, she was there. They talked. They laughed. They understood each other without needing explanations.

There were no inappropriate gestures, no stolen glances… No obvious betrayal.

Just a naturalness I’d never experienced with him. And that was enough to break me inside.

The moment for the speech arrived.

The lights dimmed slightly, and Ethan walked onto the stage to applause. I watched him from my seat, with a mixture of old pride and a hope I no longer knew if I should allow myself to feel.

Maybe today, I thought. Maybe this time.

He spoke about the company, the challenges overcome, the growth… the vision for the future. His voice was firm, confident, admired by everyone. He was good at that. He always had been.

And then he began to give thanks.

“None of this would have been possible without the efforts of key people,” he said. “People who have been by my side in every important decision.”

My heart raced.

I straightened slightly in my chair. Not out of vanity, but out of an almost childlike need to feel seen. I didn’t need grand words. Just… to be named.

“I want to especially acknowledge a partner whose dedication and support have been fundamental to my professional growth…”

He turned his head.

“Vanessa Reed.”

The applause was immediate. Loud. Sincere.

I felt the sound fade into the distance, as if someone had placed a thick pane of glass petween me and the world. My smile froze. My hands remained still in my lap.

He didn’t mention me, not as his wife, not as his support. Not as part of his life… Nothing.

Vanessa smiled, raising her hand slightly in a gesture of thanks. Radiant, proud, visible. I didn’t exist.

In that instant, something broke inside me with devastating clarity. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t jealousy. It

was humiliation.

Because it wasn’t about him praising another woman. It was about me, the woman who had upheld his

image, his home, his stability… not deserving a single word.

The speech ended. The applause continued. Ethan stepped off the stage with the confidence of someone who believes he’s done the right thing.

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He approached me.

Everything alright?” he asked casually.

I looked at him. I really looked at him. And for the first time, I didn’t see the man I had married. I saw someone who never understood what it meant to be with me.

“Yes,” I replied. “Everything’s perfect.”

I stood up before he could say anything else.

I walked toward the exit with purposeful steps, carefully controlling every gesture, every breath. I wasn’t going to cry there. I wasn’t going to give that moment away to anyone.

In the bathroom, I leaned against the mirror. My hands were trembling slightly.

My eyes shone, but I didn’t cry. Not yet.

I touched up my lipstick with slow, mechanical movements. I watched the woman who was looking back at me. And I recognized her.

She wasn’t the perfect wife, she wasn’t the patient woman. She was someone tired of not existing.

I went back to the table just to get my purse.

Ethan intercepted me.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Now? Is something wrong?”

I looked at him one last time that night.

“No,” I said. “Nothing new is happening.”

He didn’t insist. He never did.

I left the room without looking back. The night air hit my face as I stepped through the hotel door. I took a deep breath. I felt a strange, painful, but clear calm.

That night I understood something that would change my life forever: I wasn’t leaving because he had replaced me. I was leaving because he never chose me.

And as the noise of the gala faded, I knew that was the last place I’d ever expect anything from Ethan Blackwood again.

The decision was made. I just had to say it out loud.

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Chapter 4: Divorce?

Clara

The car stopped in front of the house without me even noticing the drive. The driver opened the door, but I didn’t move immediately. My hands were clasped in my lap, my fingers tightly closed, as if letting go would be a betrayal of the woman I had been for years.

“Good evening, Mrs. Blackwood.”

I nodded without looking at him.

As I got out, the cold air hit my face, but it wasn’t enough to dispel the feeling that weighed on my chest. The house lights were off, as they always were when Ethan wasn’t there. From the outside, it looked elegant, imposing, perfect. From the inside… it had always been silent.

I closed the door behind me, and the echo of my footsteps spread through the foyer. I didn’t turn on the main lights. I walked, guided by the small lamps, the ones I had chosen to create a sense of home that

never quite materialized.

I took off my heels in the hallway and left them to one side. The sharp sound of leather against marble

seemed too loud for a house accustomed to my silence.

I entered the living room and sank into one of the armchairs, the one facing the garden window. From

there I could see the trees, the soft lights outside, the still pool. Everything so perfect, so orderly, so

empty.

Home… The word formed in my mind and struck me as absurd.

Home implies laughter in the kitchen, gentle arguments, unexpected hugs, voices calling to each other

from another room.

This house had been an elegant hotel where I was the only permanent guest.

I looked around. The furniture I had chosen, the paintings I had hung, the rugs I had imported. Everything

r was exactly where it should be. And yet, nothing felt like mine.

I felt tears fall before I realized I was crying.

It wasn’t a loud cry. It was silent, slow, as if my body had learned to suffer without bothering anyone. Tears streamed down my cheeks and disappeared into the fabric of the armchair.

I remembered the gala, the speech… His voice proudly calling Vanessa’s name… The absence of my name

I hadn’t screamed. I hadn’t made a scene. No one had noticed the crack opening inside me.

But I had. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

Time, so much time waiting for something that was never meant to be. Time justifying silences, interpreting gestures, inventing excuses for a man who never asked me to invent them.

Because he never felt he had to explain himself.

Part of me wanted to keep crying. To let the pain seep through me until I was completely drained. But another part, wearyer, older, rose up inside me like a firm voice.

I can’t take it anymore…

The words didn’t leave my lips, but they pierced my mind with terrifying clarity.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. I took a deep breath.

I wasn’t going to be the woman who waits anymore. I stood up.

The house was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat as I climbed the stairs. Each footstep echoed in the hallways like a preemptive goodbye.

I entered the bedroom… Our room.

The bed was immaculate. The pillows were neatly arranged. The sheets were perfectly smooth. Everything

as usual. Everything as if no one slept there for emotional reasons, only out of routine.

I opened the closet. My dresses were arranged by color. My shoes were lined up. My jewelry was stored in

compartments. Every object spoke of an organized, controlled, elegant life.

But it didn’t speak of love.

I took a suitcase from the top shelf and placed it on the bed. Then another. And another.

My hands moved with mechanical precision as I began to fold clothes. Dresses, blouses, sweaters. I didn’t cry while I packed. I didn’t hesitate. Every item of clothing I packed was a silent affirmation of something

I’d been putting off for years.

I didn’t know where I was going, I only knew I couldn’t stay there.

I sat on the edge of the bed when I finished packing the essentials. The suitcases were closed to one side, lined up, discreet, like everything else in my life.

I looked at the clock. It was past eleven.

Ethan would be late, he was always late.

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I stayed there, waiting. Not with hope, but with an expectant calm, like someone waiting for a storm knowing they can’t stop it.

The silence was absolute. Only the distant ticking of the clock and the soft hum of the heating system. thought about all the nights I’d spent in that same bed, staring at the ceiling, hoping to feel something

more than absence.

I thought about all the times I’d convinced myself that love would grow if I was patient.

I thought about the woman I became when I got married, the one who believed that time created intimacy. The one who thought physical closeness would awaken emotions, the one who confused stability with

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affection.

The front door opened.

I didn’t jump, I didn’t smile, I didn’t count the seconds.

I heard his footsteps ascending the stairs. Firm. Confident. As always. I recognized his state.

I could tell by the way he was walking. He seemed content today.

The bedroom door opened.

“Clara?”

I slowly looked up.

“I’m here.”

He came in, loosening his tie. His movements were automatic, mechanical. He placed his phone on the

dresser, took off his jacket, and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

“Why did you leave?” he asked, his tone neither reproachful nor concerned. Just curious.

I looked at him silently.

“We need to talk.”

My words hung in the air.

He didn’t pick them up.

He turned to the closet, put his jacket back, and went to the bathroom. He was acting as if I had said the soup was cold or that it would rain tomorrow.

“The event was perfect,” he said from the bathroom. “The London investors were impressed. Vanessa handled the presentation flawlessly.”

His voice was filled with that quiet satisfaction he only felt when something went right in business.

He came out of the bathroom, drying his hands with a towel.

“We’re going to close the deal ahead of schedule. It’s a huge expansion for the company.”

He went over to the bed, sat on its side, checking messages.

“It was a productive night.”

I watched him.

He could talk for hours about numbers, strategies, contracts.

He’d never talked about us like that before.

“I want a divorce.”

Chapter 4

The words came out of my mouth without a tremor.

Ethan froze.

His hand stopped mid-gesture. His gaze slowly rose to meet mine. His eyebrows furrowed, as if he’d

misheard.

“What did you say?”

I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t cry. I didn’t move.

“I want a divorce.”

The silence fell over the room with a physical weight.

That’s when his eyes shifted to the suitcases beside my bed.

He looked at them as if they were a decorating mistake.

Then he looked back at me.

“What’s this?”

I stood up slowly, without breaking eye contact.

“My things.”

“Since when…?”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

“Since today.”

He stood up too, as if gravity had shifted.

“Clara, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Is it because of the gala?” he asked, frowning. “If something bothered you…”

“No.”

His lips parted slightly, surprised.

“Then I don’t understand.”

“That’s the problem, Ethan,” I replied calmly. “You never understood.”

He took a step closer.

“You’re exaggerating. You’re tired. It was a long night.”

“No.”

“We can talk about it tomorrow.”

好

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“We’re talking about it now.”

He sighed, as if I were a logistical problem that needed to be patiently resolved.

“Clara, this isn’t the right time:”

“It never is for you.”

My words made him stop

“How long have you felt like this?”

“Always. Don’t act surprised.”

He frowned.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable.

“You can’t make a decision like this over one night.”

“It’s not over one night,” I said. “It’s over every night.”

His gaze hardened.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”