After Husband Chose His Mistress Over Our Son,I Wed a Billionaire, He Regrets

　　"You're here?" Stanley glanced at me, set down the dainty fruit plate, and picked up the plastic container beside it to hand to me. "Saved these for you."

　　I gave it a careless glance. Inside were nothing but scattered, irregular chunks of pulp, obviously the scraps left over from carving his rabbit-shaped apple slices.

　　I still remembered how, after Stanley first stumbled across one of those videos, he'd thrown himself into trying it, nicking his fingers three times before he finally produced a single perfect little apple rabbit.

　　Back then I'd teased him, laughing, "You're getting this good at it. Which little sweetheart are you trying to win over?"

　　He'd pulled me close, doting all over me, flicked the tip of my nose, and said, "Who else would I bother for, except my own little tyrant? I'll never make these for anyone else as long as I live. If I do, may I get hit by a car the second I step out the door."

　　Pity. Promises only hold while love does.

　　I didn't know exactly when Stanley's heart had turned, but I'd traced it back: Samantha first appeared on his radar two years ago.

　　Seeing that I didn't take the container, Stanley frowned.

　　On the hospital bed, Samantha lay pale and fragile, her voice soft and pitiful. "Miss Stephens, do you find dear Stanley beneath you? He didn't make you a rabbit, sure, but he set some aside just for you."

　　"If you throw his kindness back at him like this, you'll break his heart. And then that child's ashes, I'm afraid, might just..."

　　I didn't miss the malice glittering at the bottom of her eyes.

　　She was provoking me on purpose. Threatening me.

　　Stanley set the things down hard. "Sam, watch what you say."

　　He looked at me, his gaze calm, as though looking at a stranger passing on the street.

　　"Since you came to apologize, don't just stand there."

　　I clenched my fists so tight my nails bit into my palms, and I didn't even feel it.

　　No physical pain could touch even a fraction of what my heart was going through.

　　Watching Stanley flaunt his favoritism so openly, my chest twisted in agony.

　　"So as long as I apologize sincerely enough, you'll give me my child's ashes?"

　　I couldn't be sure my father would actually get those ashes, and I didn't dare gamble on either side's conscience.

　　Stanley's face darkened, displeased. "What are you questioning? You think I'd lie to you? Sam is kind and generous. All she's asking is an apology."

　　"Fine." I nodded.

　　I bowed ninety degrees toward Samantha and said, every word landing hard, "I'm sorry, Samantha. I shouldn't have pushed you, and I shouldn't have refused to repent and apologize."

　　I held the bow for a full three minutes before I straightened up and asked Stanley, "Is that enough?"

　　Stanley's expression shifted slightly. He stopped putting on airs. "I'll have the ashes sent back this afternoon."

　　Even with his word, I still couldn't rest easy, and pressed him. "Stanley. Remember what you said."

　　Stanley waved an impatient hand. "I won't forget."

　　After leaving the hospital, I went back to the villa and picked up where I'd left off, clearing things out. Over the years I'd bought plenty of furniture, decorations, and the like.

　　I packed all of it up to sell.

　　Every piece had been paid for with my own money, back before I got pregnant.

　　Later, after the baby came, Stanley couldn't bear to see me keep working, and since the child needed someone there, he talked it over with me. "Stay home and raise our son. I'll go out and earn the money to take care of you both."

　　He called it talking it over, but the truth was Stanley never left me any room to maneuver.

　　Once I'd dealt with everything and was about to lie down on the bed for a moment, Stanley barged in, bodyguards trailing behind him.

　　Before I could get a word out, Stanley spoke first. "Cindy Stephens, I actually thought you'd truly repented. I never imagined you'd be vicious enough to want Sam dead!"