My Coldhearted Husband’s Regret

The lounge area was relatively quiet, with only a few guests scattered around the elegantly arranged seating. Veronica and Whitney had retreated here to escape the crowded main hall, seeking a moment of respite from the evening's social whirlwind. Just as Whitney opened her mouth to continue their conversation, voices drifted over from behind a decorative pillar adorned with cascading orchids.

"Maverick, you seem quite fascinated by Cullen's woman tonight." The voice belonged to someone Veronica didn't recognize, but the tone carried the casual arrogance typical of their social circle.

"Fascinated might be too strong a word," came Maverick's familiar voice in response. "But I'll admit she's caught my attention."

Both Veronica and Whitney went completely still, their conversation forgotten. Maverick Martinez stood just a few feet away with two of his usual companions, their backs turned toward the women. A row of champagne flutes on the nearby service table partially obscured their view, and they remained oblivious to their unintended audience.

"During the charity auction earlier, I couldn't help but notice you kept glancing at that sweet little thing beside Whitney," Maverick's friend continued with obvious amusement. "She's probably still wandering around the ballroom somewhere. Why don't you go introduce yourself properly?"

Veronica felt her breath catch in her throat. The conversation had suddenly shifted to focus directly on her, and she found herself frozen in place, unsure whether to flee or stay and listen. Beside her, Whitney's eyebrows shot up with immediate interest, already calculating how she might orchestrate an introduction between her best friend and the eligible bachelor.

But before Whitney could formulate any matchmaking schemes, Maverick dismissed the suggestion with a casual wave of his hand.

"Not interested anymore," he said, his tone surprisingly flat and disinterested.

Whitney's eyes widened in confusion, her romantic plotting grinding to an abrupt halt.

"Wait, what happened? You seemed genuinely intrigued earlier," his friend pressed, clearly puzzled by the sudden change in attitude.

"She's attractive enough, I suppose," Maverick replied with a shrug that Veronica couldn't see but could hear in his voice. "But after observing her for a while, she strikes me as painfully dull. Too quiet, too docile, completely lacking in any real personality or spark. Women like that bore me to tears."

"Ah, I see what's happening here," his friend laughed knowingly. "You've gotten a taste of Niall's fire, and now everyone else pales in comparison, right?"

The observation hit its mark with uncomfortable accuracy. Maverick had indeed spent considerable time talking with Niall earlier in the evening, and the contrast between the two women was stark and undeniable.

"It's not necessarily about Niall specifically," Maverick protested, though his denial lacked conviction. "It's just that I prefer women with more substance, more complexity."

His friend's laughter grew louder and more pointed. "Come on, Maverick, just admit it. Niall is exactly your type now, isn't she? That cool, untouchable beauty with just enough attitude to keep things interesting. She's everything that makes a man want to chase her."

Before Maverick could mount another weak protest, his companion continued his analysis with obvious relish. "Ever since Niall appeared in our social circle, half the men here have developed some level of infatuation with her. Some are completely obsessed. Unfortunately for all of them, she belongs entirely to Cullen. I have to give the man credit though, he certainly knows how to pick them."

The color drained from Whitney's face as the cruel words sank in. Her expression transformed from confusion to barely contained fury, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She took a step forward, clearly intending to march over and confront both men directly, but Veronica's gentle but firm grip on her arm stopped her advance.

"Don't," Veronica whispered, her voice remarkably steady despite the circumstances. "It doesn't matter."

Perhaps she truly wasn't the type of woman who commanded attention or inspired passion. Perhaps she lacked the mysterious allure that made men lose their minds with desire. But those were simply facts about who she was as a person, not flaws that required correction or defense. She understood herself well enough to know her own worth, and the opinions of virtual strangers held no power to diminish that understanding.

After finishing their drinks and exhausting their commentary on the evening's romantic possibilities, Maverick and his friends wandered back toward the main ballroom, leaving the lounge area considerably quieter.

Whitney remained visibly agitated, pacing back and forth across the plush carpet. "I used to think Maverick had excellent taste and genuine charm, but apparently he's just another man who's fallen under Niall's spell like all the rest."

Before Veronica could offer any response or comfort, an unwelcome figure approached their secluded corner. A middle-aged man with bloodshot eyes and the soft, pampered look of inherited wealth made his way over, his gaze fixed on Veronica with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

"Whitney, darling," he began with false charm, "won't you introduce me to your lovely companion here?"

The question never reached completion. Whitney whirled around with fire in her eyes, cutting him off with surgical precision.

"You think you have any chance with my friend?" Her voice dripped with contempt. "What absolute garbage. Remove yourself from our presence immediately."

The man's face flushed an ugly shade of red, his entitled confidence crumbling under Whitney's withering assault. "Now see here, Whitney, you can't just—"

One look at Whitney's expression silenced whatever protest he'd been preparing. The Marcus family wielded considerable influence in their social sphere, and even someone as obtuse as him understood the foolishness of making a genuine enemy of her. With wounded pride and muttered complaints, he retreated to find easier targets elsewhere.

Whitney grabbed her champagne glass and drained it in one angry gulp, her frustration reaching a boiling point. "How many disgusting men have approached you tonight? And why does it seem like every decent man here only has eyes for Niall?"

Veronica reached out to rub Whitney's back in gentle circles, trying to ease her friend's obvious distress. The answer to that question seemed painfully obvious. Niall possessed qualities that naturally drew people to her, a magnetic combination of beauty and confidence that few could ignore. But before Veronica could voice any of these thoughts, Whitney's entire demeanor shifted into something cold and dangerous.

Following her friend's steely gaze, Veronica turned to discover Niall standing near the lounge entrance, two crystal glasses of water balanced carefully in her hands. Her elegant black dress seemed to absorb the soft lighting, making her appear almost ethereal against the warm background.

Neither woman could determine exactly when Niall had arrived or how much of the evening's conversations she might have overheard. But the subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth suggested she'd been present long enough to catch Maverick's unflattering assessment, and possibly much more.

As their eyes met across the space, Niall's smile deepened into something that looked almost predatory. She offered no words, no acknowledgment of what had transpired. Instead, she simply fixed Veronica with a look of cool, calculated disdain that seemed to confirm every cruel word that had been spoken. Then, with the grace of someone completely secure in her position, she turned on her heel and glided back toward the ballroom, leaving only the faint scent of expensive perfume in her wake.