DEAR MY EX-HUSBAND, YOUR REGRET IS IN VAIN

Niana’s fingers trembled violently as she tried to smooth the creases of her champagne silk gown for the tenth time. She hated this fabric. It felt cold, exactly like her emotions that night. Looking at her reflection in the grand mirror of the Prescott penthouse, Niana didn't see herself. She saw an asset being polished to be sold to the highest bidder.

Don’t throw up, Niana. Just hold on a little longer. Dad needs this. The company needs this.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the haunting image of the mountain of debt that had plagued her sleep for months.

"Niana? Are you still in there?" Patricia’s voice drifted through the door, followed by a rhythmic, gentle knock. "The Millers are downstairs. Don’t keep them waiting too long, darling. First impressions are everything."

Niana took a deep breath, swallowing the nausea rising in her throat. When she opened the door, she found Patricia standing there, looking flawless in an elegant black dress. Her stepmother smiled—the kind of smile that always made Niana feel like the woman truly cared, even if her eyes occasionally felt too sharp, scanning Niana from head to toe.

"You look... expensive," Patricia whispered, tucking a stray strand of Niana's hair behind her ear. "Come. Show them who the only Prescott daughter is."

Niana stepped out, her legs feeling like lead. They descended to the main living room, which looked out over the shimmering lights of Manhattan. To her, this room was no longer a home; it was an execution chamber. There, Arthur Miller was sipping whiskey with the family lawyer. And in the corner by the window, his back to the room, stood a man with broad shoulders clad in a perfectly tailored dark suit.

When the man turned around, Niana’s heart skipped a beat.

Sean Miller. Niana had seen him on countless business magazine covers, but seeing him in person, in her own home, was far more intimidating. His jaw was chiseled, and his eyes were a dark chocolate that felt as though they could pierce through anything they landed on.

He knows I’m shaking. Damn it, he must be able to feel it, Niana’s mind screamed as Sean stepped forward. She felt so small, as if he could see every fear and insecurity with a single glance. Is he laughing at me inside? A man as successful as him must think this arranged marriage is just a profitable joke.

"Niana," Sean’s voice was low and commanding. He reached for her hand, and instead of a formal shake, he pressed a soft kiss to the back of it.

The touch of his lips felt searing against her cold skin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Sean," Niana said, struggling to keep her voice from cracking.

"I don't mind waiting for something this beautiful," Sean replied, his eyes never leaving her face. "You look much more real than the photos I’ve seen."

"Oh, Sean, you flatter her too much," Patricia let out a light laugh, her hand landing on Niana’s shoulder in a falsely protective gesture. "Niana is a bit shy, but she’s incredibly bright. She’s finishing her thesis at NYU."

"I know. Top of her class, wasn't she?" Sean offered a thin smile. "I’ve read your profile, Niana. And frankly, I’m more interested in your intellect than the numbers in Prescott Industries' financial reports."

Niana looked at him skeptically. A strange flutter stirred in her chest—a mix of being flattered and being on guard. He read my profile? Why? Is this part of the market research before he ‘buys’ our family’s shares? "You... read my profile?" she asked softly.

"Of course. I never enter into any commitment without knowing exactly who I’m dealing with." Sean glanced briefly at his father and Patricia, then returned his focus to Niana. "And I’m pleased to find that what I’ve discovered here far exceeds my expectations."

Arthur Miller cleared his throat, breaking the mounting intensity. "Well, now that you’ve met, why don't we let these young people talk privately? We have merger details to finalize in the study."

Patricia nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, Arthur. Niana, take Sean out to the balcony. The night air is wonderful."

They left, leaving behind a suffocating silence. Niana walked toward the glass balcony doors, desperate for oxygen. New York sparkled below, but she felt like she was drowning in the depths of the ocean.

"You hate me, don't you?" Sean asked suddenly. He was standing beside her now, leaning his elbows on the balcony railing.

Niana flinched, nearly losing her grip on the railing. "What? No, I don't hate you. I just—"

"You feel like you’re being traded," Sean cut her off calmly. "I can see it by the way you’re gripping that railing until your knuckles are white. You feel betrayed by your own family’s situation."

How could he know? Am I that transparent? Niana turned, feeling a mix of offense and shock. Her logic screamed at her to move away, but her eyes were fixed on the steady lines of Sean’s face. "And what about you? Do you feel forced into this too?"

Sean chuckled, a sound that struck Niana as unexpectedly sincere. "Niana, no one can force me to do something I don't want to do. The Miller Group doesn't need Prescott to survive. But I... I personally wanted this."

"Why?"

"Because I saw you at the Met Gala two years ago." Sean leaned in slightly, the masculine scent of sandalwood enveloping her senses. "You were standing in the corner of the room, looking so uncomfortable with all that fake luxury. That’s when I knew. I wanted a woman with a 'soul,' not just a party ornament."

Niana was stunned. He saw me? When I felt at my most vulnerable, he was actually watching me? The insecurity that had been burning inside her began to fade, replaced by a dangerous warmth. She wanted to believe his words were true, but her fear of betrayal still guarded her heart.

"I’m not a great woman, Sean. I’m just trying to survive," Niana whispered.

Sean reached for her fingers, stroking them with a warm thumb. "Then let me help you not just survive, but win. I don’t need your assets. I need a partner."

Niana looked into Sean’s eyes, which seemed so reassuring under the dim balcony lights. For a moment, she let herself drift into those sweet promises. She felt something she hadn't felt since her father fell ill.

Maybe he really is different. Maybe he’s my harbor, Niana thought, unaware that right behind the glass door, Patricia was watching them with a sharp, cold gaze, as if counting down the seconds until the trap they had set finally snapped shut.

Sean pulled Niana into a brief embrace that felt remarkably real. But over Niana’s shoulder, Sean’s smile slowly vanished, replaced by a hollow stare fixed directly on Patricia inside.