THE CEO'S REGRET: CHASING HIS REBORN WIFE

The leather under Cecilia’s cheek felt real. It was cold, smelling faintly of expensive polish and Killian’s heavy cologne.

She blinked, staring at a massive crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling. This wasn't the sterile white paneling of the hospice. There was no rhythmic bleeping of a heart monitor, no smell of rubbing alcohol, no slow, suffocating burn in her lungs.

She sat up too fast, her head spinning.

Her hands were smooth. No needle bruises. No skeletal wrists.

"What is this?" she whispered. Her voice sounded full and completely clear.

She reached into her pocket. Her fingers brushed against a sleek metal phone. She pulled it out. The screen lit up, casting a blue glow over her face.

June 19, 2025.

Cecilia stopped breathing. One year ago. Exactly one year before her organs failed, before her father signed the DNR order without looking at her, and before Vivian wore her mother’s diamond necklace to her funeral.

A muffled groan echoed from the master bedroom down the hall.

Cecilia's eyes narrowed. The confusion vanished, replaced by an icy, heavy realization. This was the night. The night Vivian called her crying, claiming she had a flat tire, while secretly setting up the bed scene that tore Cecilia's dignity to shreds. In her past life, Cecilia had burst through those doors, screamed until her throat bled, and fled into the rain, straight into the trap her family set.

Not tonight.

She stood up, her bare feet sinking into the plush Persian rug. She didn't tremble. She walked down the dimly lit hallway, her phone already clicked open to the camera app.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light cut across the hardwood floor.

Cecilia pushed it open without making a sound.

The air inside smelled sweet, almost sickeningly so. An empty glass coated with a white, powdery residue sat on the nightstand. On the king-sized bed, Killian lay flat on his back, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his face flushed and breathing heavy. He was completely out cold.

Draped across his chest was Vivian. Her silk robe was intentionally loosened at the shoulder, her eyes closed, pretending to sleep. But the slight twitch in Vivian's eyelids gave her away. She was waiting for the screaming to start.

Cecilia felt a cold smile touch her lips. She raised the phone.

Click. Click. Click.

The flash didn't go off, but the high-definition lens captured everything perfectly. The angles showed the drugged glass, Vivian’s staged posture, and Killian’s unresponsive state.

Vivian stirred slightly, shifting her weight to make the pose more provocative. "Killian... don't..." she murmured in her fake, sleep-slurred voice.

Cecilia didn't yell. She didn't throw the glass. She stepped closer to the bed, her shadow falling over them.

"Nice form, Vivian," Cecilia said, her voice completely deadpan. "But your left shoulder looks stiff. Relax it a bit for the camera."

Vivian’s eyes snapped open. The fake drowsiness disappeared instantly. She scrambled backward, pulling the sheet up to her chin, her face pale. "Cecilia! It—it’s not what it looks like! I swear! Killian called me, he was so drunk, and I—"

"Shut up." Cecilia adjusted the camera, taking one final shot of Vivian's panicked expression. "Save it for the press."

"Cecilia, please!" Vivian squeezed out two immediate, practiced tears. "Don't hate him! He loves you, he just... he mistook me for you. I tried to push him away, I really did!"

Cecilia looked at Killian. His chest rose and fell heavily. The absolute lack of response confirmed the drug dose was high. In the past life, she was too blinded by heartbreak to notice the empty glass or his unnatural stupor.

"He's all yours," Cecilia said.

Vivian froze, her tears stopping mid-stream. "What?"

"I said you can keep him." Cecilia tucked the phone back into her pocket. "Though I’d suggest washing the sheets first. He sweats a lot when he's drunk."

"You're... you're not going to wake him up?" Vivian asked, her voice dropping its high-pitched innocence, revealing her confusion. "You're not going to fight?"

"With you? Over a man?" Cecilia let out a short, sharp laugh. "I have a business to run tomorrow, Vivian. I don't have time for community theater."

Vivian scrambled out of the bed, her bare feet hitting the floor as she tried to block the doorway. "Cecilia, stop! You can't leave like this. If you walk out, what happens to the family alliance? What will Dad say?"

"Dad?" Cecilia leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "You mean the man who gave you the keys to this penthouse tonight? Tell him his investment just went down the drain."

"You're crazy," Vivian hissed, her fangs finally coming out. "Killian won't let you divorce him anyway. The Night Corporation needs the Lin family’s shipping routes. He’ll drag you through court for years."

"Then he can try," Cecilia said, looking down at Vivian’s frantic expression. "But right now, he can’t even open his eyes. You overdid the sedative, Vivian. If his heart stops tonight, you're looking at a murder charge, not a marriage certificate."

Vivian’s face drained of color. She looked back at Killian’s heavy, unmoving form on the bed. "I didn't... it was just a sleeping aid."

"Keep telling yourself that." Cecilia stepped around her, completely indifferent. "Have fun cleaning up the mess."

She turned on her heel and walked down the long, mirrored hallway of the penthouse. Every step away from that bedroom felt like shedding a layer of old skin. In the living room, the moonlight cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the stark luxury she used to think was a home.

She walked straight to the heavy mahogany desk in the corner. Killian kept his official corporate stationary in the top drawer. She pulled out a crisp, blank sheet of paper and gripped his heavy fountain pen.

With swift, steady strokes, she began to write.

Divorce Agreement.

Party A: Cecilia Lin. Party B: Killian Night.

"What are you doing?" Vivian’s voice cut through the dark room. She had thrown on her jacket, her eyes tracking Cecilia’s hand movements with pure panic. "Are you actually writing a divorce note? On his own paper?"

"It saves time," Cecilia replied without looking up. The pen scratched against the thick paper. "I don't feel like waiting for lawyers to draft a preliminary version. This gives him the basic idea."

"He will never agree to a total asset split," Vivian stated, stepping closer, trying to peek at the terms. "You brought nothing into this marriage but your mother's old trust, and that's locked until you turn twenty-six. You're leaving yourself broke."

"I'm leaving myself free," Cecilia corrected. She signed her name at the bottom with a sharp flourish. "There's a difference. But since you're so worried about my finances, why don't you worry about yours? Dad's company stock drops ten percent every time you get caught in a scandal. Let's see how the market reacts to tomorrow morning's news."

Vivian lunged across the desk, her manicured nails clawing for the paper. "Give me that!"

Cecilia snatched the paper back effortlessly, her movements far faster than the frail girl Vivian was used to bullying. She slammed her hand down on the desk, staring Vivian directly in the eyes.

"Touch me again, and those photos go straight to the board of directors before Killian even wakes up," Cecilia whispered. Her voice was low, carrying a lethal weight that made Vivian instantly step back. "You think you're the predator here, Vivian? You're a parasite. And I've just stopped feeding you."

Vivian swallowed hard, her bottom lip trembling, this time out of genuine fear. "Cecilia... you've changed. What happened to you tonight?"

"I woke up," Cecilia said simply.

She folded the document neatly and placed it exactly in the center of the kitchen island, right where Killian’s assistant would place his morning coffee. She slipped off her heavy diamond wedding ring. The metal felt cold against her skin as she set it directly on top of her signature, acting as a paperweight.

She walked into the master closet, ignoring Vivian who stood frozen in the living room. Cecilia didn't touch the rows of designer dresses Killian had bought to mold her into the perfect high-society trophy. She ignored the walls of expensive shoes and luxury bags. Instead, she grabbed a simple black trench coat, her personal identification documents, and her private bank cards from her old handbag.

She checked her phone's banking app. Balance: $45,000.

It wasn't a billionaire's fortune, but it was money her father hadn't been able to touch. It was her survival fund.

When she walked back out, Vivian was on her phone, desperately whispering to someone on the line. She snapped her mouth shut the moment she saw Cecilia.

"Calling Dad?" Cecilia asked, pulling on her coat. "Tell him to buy aspirin. He’s going to need it."

"You won't get away with this," Vivian spat, her voice shaking. "Without the Lin family backing, you're nothing in this city. You'll be begging to come back within a week."

"Lock the door when you leave," Cecilia said, walking past her toward the private elevator. "Or don't. Maybe someone will come in and rob the place. It would save me the trouble of clearing out the rest of my things."

She pressed the elevator button. The doors slid open instantly, the polished brass reflecting her calm, pale face. She stepped inside, turning around to face the penthouse one last time. Vivian stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking small, confused, and utterly outmaneuvered.

The elevator doors chimed and closed, cutting off the view.

The descent was fast. Cecilia watched the floor numbers count down on the digital screen. Twenty, fifteen, ten, five. With every floor she dropped, the weight on her chest loosened.

The elevator opened into the grand marble lobby. The night doorman, an older man named Thomas who had always been kind to her, blinked in surprise as she stepped out.

"Mrs. Night? Going out so early?" Thomas asked, looking at his watch. "It’s barely four in the morning. Shall I call the driver for you?"

"No need, Thomas," Cecilia said, offering him a genuine, polite smile. "And it’s Miss Lin now. If anyone asks, I was never here tonight."

Thomas looked confused, but he bowed his head respectfully. "Understood, Miss Lin. Safe travels."

"Thank you, Thomas. Take care of yourself."

She walked through the heavy glass revolving doors and stepped out into the crisp, pre-dawn air. The city was quiet, the streetlights reflecting off the damp asphalt. A lone yellow cab pulled up to the curb a few yards down, dropping off a late-night passenger.

Cecilia raised her hand, flagging it down. She opened the door and slid into the vinyl backseat.

"Where to, lady?" the driver asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

Cecilia looked out the window, watching the upper floors of the Night Corporation penthouse disappear into the low-hanging fog.

"The downtown tech district," Cecilia said, her voice steady and resolute. "And step on it. I have a long day ahead of me."

The cab hit the gas, pulling away from the curb just as the first faint line of gold morning light broke across the horizon. Behind her, on the kitchen counter of the most expensive penthouse in the city, the diamond ring caught the dawn, pinning down the paper that would change everything.

__

The pounding in Killian’s head felt like a rhythmic sledgehammer behind his eyes.

He groaned, rolling over as the blinding morning sun pierced through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His arm brushed against soft skin. For a split second, a wave of relief hit him—until a cloying, sugary scent filled his nose. Not Cecilia's vanilla.

He snapped his eyes open. Vivian was lying beside him, her lips curved into a smug, victorious smirk.

"Good morning, Killian," she purred, reaching a manicured hand toward his chest. "Did you sleep well?"

Killian’s expression turned lethal in a fraction of a second. He didn't hesitate. He grabbed her wrist, shoving her violently out of the bed. Vivian hit the hardwood floor with a sharp yelp, the silk sheets pooling around her ankles.

"Get out," Killian growled, his voice raw and scraping like sandpaper. He gripped his throbbing temples, the blurry memories of last night flashing behind his eyelids—the bitter taste in his drink, the sudden paralysis. "Who gave you access to my penthouse?"

"Killian, don't be so cruel!" Vivian whimpered from the floor, rubbing her bruised elbow while trying to maintain her fragile, victim look. "You called me last night. You were crying about Cecilia, begging me to come over. We... we belong together, you know that."

"I said, get the hell out before I have security throw you from the roof," he hissed, standing up and throwing on a dark silk robe. His eyes scanned the room, instantly landing on the empty glass on the nightstand. The white residue was dry.

He didn't wait for her to finish crying. Killian stormed out of the bedroom, his chest tightening with a sudden, suffocating panic. "Cecilia!" he shouted into the empty hallway. "Cecilia!"

Silence met him.

He reached the kitchen island. The morning light gleamed off a heavy platinum wedding band. It was resting perfectly over a sharp, handwritten signature on a single sheet of corporate paper.

Killian stopped dead. His heart hammered against his ribs as he read the two words at the top: Divorce Agreement