Too Late For Regret: My Ex-Husband's Downfall

Colette discharged herself against medical advice the next morning. She felt a fragile strength returning, a temporary reprieve she knew wouldn't last. She took a taxi back to the penthouse.

Eliza greeted her at the door, her face etched with worry. "Ma'am, you look dreadful. Are you ill?"

"Just low blood sugar, Eliza. I'm fine," Colette lied, waving off her concern.

She had just settled onto the living room sofa when the doorbell chimed. It was her mother-in-law, Genevieve Lucas. She swept into the room like a storm front, her posture ramrod straight, her expression severe.

"I spoke with Edwardo," Genevieve began, forgoing any pleasantries. "He said you were unreachable all day yesterday. That you didn't come home. As the wife of a Lucas, that behavior is unacceptable."

Colette remained silent, letting the accusations hang in the air.

Genevieve's eyes narrowed. "You've been married for seven years, Colette. Seven years, and still no heir. The Lucas family requires a legacy. I'm sure you understand." It was a threat, wrapped in the guise of family duty. A warning to either perform or be replaced.

This was the opening Colette had been waiting for.

She leaned forward, her voice soft but clear. "You're right, Genevieve. I do understand. That's why I've decided to divorce Edwardo."

Genevieve's perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up. This was not the reaction she had expected.

"And," Colette continued, pressing her advantage, "I want him to leave with nothing."

A harsh, barking laugh escaped Genevieve's lips. "Are you insane? You signed a prenuptial agreement. You get nothing."

"I'm aware of what I signed." Colette took out her phone, unlocked it, and opened the encrypted folder. She tapped on the video file and slid the phone across the marble coffee table. "I'm also aware of the infidelity clause. The party at fault forfeits everything."

The video began to play. The grainy footage of the parking garage. The passionate, desperate kiss. The Cartier box.

Genevieve's face, already a mask of cold composure, hardened into granite. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, her jaw tight. The only sound in the room was the faint, tinny audio of Cleo's delighted gasp.

When the video ended, Colette reached over and stopped it. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

"So this is your plan?" Genevieve's voice was like chipping ice. "To blackmail my family with this... sordid little video?"

"It's not blackmail. It's a business transaction," Colette corrected her. "I don't want Edwardo's personal assets. A contested divorce would be messy, public, and time-consuming. I want something cleaner."

She paused, letting the words sink in.

"I want five percent of the Lucas Family Trust. One hundred million dollars. A single, clean payment."

She saw a flicker of something in Genevieve's eyes. Not shock. Not anger. It was respect.

"You transfer the funds," Colette said, her tone all business, "and this video, along with any copies, will be permanently destroyed. I'll sign a non-disclosure agreement and disappear from your lives. Edwardo's reputation remains intact. The Lucas name stays out of the tabloids."

Genevieve was a pragmatist. She understood numbers and leverage far better than she understood emotions. A hundred million was a small price to pay to erase a scandal, to get rid of a barren daughter-in-law, and to clear the way for a more... suitable match for her son.

"You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Colette," Genevieve said, standing up.

"I learned from the best," Colette replied, her expression unreadable.

"Fine." Genevieve's decision was swift. "One hundred million. But I want this done in three days. My lawyers will be in touch to finalize the agreement."

"Of course," Colette said. "And please, make sure your son is ready to sign."

At the door, Genevieve paused. "As for your sister..." she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I will handle her. The Lucas family does not tolerate messes."

Colette knew that was a threat aimed at Cleo. She found she didn't care.

After Genevieve left, a wave of weakness washed over her. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only exhaustion and the deep, aching illness in her bones. She retrieved the small white box from her purse. The Asidancanmab.

She knew she should save it. It was priceless. But she needed to be strong for what was coming.

In the privacy of her bathroom, she administered a tiny fraction of the dose into her thigh. The effect was almost immediate. A gentle warmth spread through her limbs, pushing back the crushing fatigue. The ghastly pallor of her skin receded, replaced by a hint of color.

It was a temporary fix. A borrowed strength.

She took the precious vial and walked to the large safe hidden behind a painting in their bedroom. She carefully placed the medicine inside. It was her future. Her only hope. And she would guard it with her life.