My Coldhearted Husband’s Regret

Phillip kept his voice low when he slid the invitation across the table, glancing around to make sure Mary wasn't within earshot. But Veronica caught every word anyway.

"Understood," she said simply.

The situation was complicated but predictable. Mary and Cook had been close friends for decades. Under normal circumstances, Cook would be the first person Mary would want at her birthday celebration.

But tradition worked against them. In their family's customs, guests who were older than the birthday person typically didn't attend the festivities. It was an old-fashioned rule that Cook had always respected.

For years, Mary's birthdays had been quiet, intimate affairs. Nothing more than a simple family dinner with a store-bought cake and a few carefully chosen gifts.

And in all those years, Cullen had made himself scarce every single time. He always had the same excuse ready - work was demanding, meetings couldn't be rescheduled, business emergencies that required his immediate attention.

Veronica knew better. She'd seen him clear his schedule for golf tournaments and weekend trips with his friends. She'd watched him prioritize every social obligation except the ones that mattered to his wife.

Every year, like clockwork, Mary would approach her birthday with cautious optimism. She'd ask Cullen weeks in advance if he might be free this time, if perhaps he could spare a few hours to accompany her to the Murray family gathering.

Every year, he crushed that hope with practiced indifference.

This year, Veronica had decided not to ask. She couldn't bear to watch Mary's face fall again when Cullen delivered another hollow excuse.

But this year carried different weight. Mary was turning seventy, and Phillip had expanded the guest list to include business associates and old family friends. It would be a proper celebration, not just a quiet family dinner.

The politics of the situation were unavoidable. Even with her marriage to Cullen hanging by a thread, even if divorce papers were already signed and filed, the Dennis family would still receive an invitation. The friendship between Mary and Cook demanded that courtesy.

Whether they chose to honor that invitation was entirely up to them.

Veronica had planned to spend the night at her own apartment. She'd been looking forward to the solitude, to sleeping in her own bed without the weight of pretense pressing down on her chest.

But the invitation changed her plans. She turned her car around at the next intersection and drove back toward Cullen's villa instead.

The house was dark when she arrived. Cullen and Sabrina were still out, probably grabbing dinner somewhere or running errands. Cook had returned to the Dennis Estate several days ago to handle some family business, leaving the house feeling even more hollow than usual.

Veronica dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and headed straight for the bathroom. The hot water felt like absolution against her skin, washing away the tension that had been building in her shoulders all day.

Thirty minutes later, she emerged from the steam-filled bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping wet. The sound of car doors slamming in the driveway told her that Cullen and Sabrina had finally returned home.

She remained calm, settling into the chair by her vanity to dry her hair. The mundane routine of running the brush through her damp strands helped center her thoughts.

Sabrina's voice echoed through the house before Veronica heard her feet pounding up the stairs. The bedroom door burst open, and suddenly small arms were wrapping around her waist.

"Mom, we're back!" Sabrina's excitement was infectious, but Veronica noticed immediately that her daughter smelled like expensive perfume. Niall's signature scent clung to Sabrina's clothes and hair.

Veronica's expression didn't change. She turned off the hairdryer and touched Sabrina's cheek gently. Her skin was soft and warm, flushed from whatever adventure they'd been on.

"Have you had your bath yet?" Veronica asked, keeping her voice neutral.

Sabrina shook her head, dark curls bouncing. "Not yet. We just got home."

"It's after ten o'clock. You need to get cleaned up - school starts early tomorrow."

Cullen's footsteps on the stairs were heavier, more measured than his daughter's enthusiastic sprint. He appeared in the doorway just as Veronica finished speaking, and their eyes met across the room.

The moment stretched between them, loaded with unspoken tension. Veronica held his gaze for exactly two seconds before turning away, her dismissal as sharp as a blade.

Sabrina tugged at her mother's hand, oblivious to the undercurrents flowing around her. "Mom, will you help me with my bath? Please?"

"Of course," Veronica replied, her voice softening for her daughter. "Let me finish drying my hair first."

"Okay!" Sabrina bounded toward her own room to gather pajamas and her favorite bath toys.

Cullen moved to the opposite side of the bedroom, maintaining careful distance. "What time did you get home?" he asked, his tone deliberately casual.

"Not long ago." Veronica didn't look at him, focusing intently on sectioning her hair with the brush.

He didn't push for more details. Instead, he walked toward the walk-in closet, probably planning to shower off whatever evening he'd spent with Niall and Sabrina.

But the invitation was burning a hole in Veronica's purse, and she couldn't let this moment pass without addressing it.

She switched off the hairdryer and reached for her bag. The envelope felt heavier than it should as she pulled it out.

"Cullen," she called, stopping him before he could disappear into the bathroom.

He turned back, eyebrows raised in question.

"My grandmother's birthday is next week." She held out the invitation, her arm steady despite the way her heart was hammering against her ribs. "This is for the Dennis family."

As she stepped closer to hand him the envelope, Niall's perfume hit her like a physical blow. The scent was woven into Cullen's shirt, his hair, probably his skin underneath. The intimacy of it made her stomach clench, but she kept her face perfectly composed.

Their fingers brushed as he took the invitation, and Veronica stepped back immediately, putting distance between herself and the overwhelming evidence of how he'd spent his evening.