My Coldhearted Husband’s Regret

Sabrina's small arms wound tightly around Veronica's neck, her tiny face burrowing deep against the warm curve of her shoulder. The evening air bit sharply, but she found sanctuary in the protective cocoon of Veronica's embrace. The fabric of Veronica's coat felt luxuriously soft against her cheek, and she pressed closer, seeking every ounce of warmth and comfort available to her small frame.

The child's contentment was palpable as she nuzzled against Veronica's neck, her movements resembling those of a kitten seeking the perfect spot to curl up. Each gentle rub of her face against the tender skin brought her deeper satisfaction, and she sighed with pure bliss.

Cullen's reliability had never wavered throughout their complicated relationship. As Veronica made her way across the dimly lit parking garage, her heels clicking rhythmically against the concrete, the familiar purr of his expensive engine echoed through the enclosed space. His sleek black sedan glided smoothly into view, coming to a precise stop directly beside where she stood.

The sight of his father's arrival should have prompted Sabrina to scramble down immediately, but instead, she remained firmly anchored in Veronica's arms. Her voice carried a playful, almost demanding tone as she peered through the lowered window at Cullen's composed features.

"Dad, I want you to carry me too," she announced with the confidence only a cherished child could possess.

Cullen's response came without hesitation or verbal acknowledgment. He simply emerged from the vehicle with fluid grace, his expensive suit perfectly pressed despite the long day. His hands reached out with practiced ease, and Sabrina transferred willingly from one pair of strong arms to another.

The moment her father lifted her, Sabrina's legs began swinging with unrestrained joy, her small body practically vibrating with happiness at being held by both her beloved parents within moments of each other.

But as Cullen leaned in close during the handoff, something unexpected invaded Veronica's senses. The distinctive fragrance that clung to his clothing wasn't his usual cologne. Instead, it was unmistakably Niall's signature perfume—a scent Veronica had grown to recognize and, frankly, despise over the years.

The realization hit her with uncomfortable clarity. When Cullen had been sitting beside her during dinner, when they had shared those brief moments of something resembling normalcy, he hadn't carried this particular scent. The perfume was fresh, recently acquired, which could only mean one thing.

After leaving the restaurant, after saying goodbye to her and their daughter, Cullen had driven straight to the Mack family residence. Straight to Niall.

Cullen's dark eyes met hers with an intensity that seemed to pierce through her thoughts. His voice carried its usual authoritative tone, but underneath lay something that might have been concern.

"The temperature is dropping fast tonight. You should head home soon."

Veronica took a deliberate step backward, creating physical distance that somehow felt necessary. The space between them suddenly seemed charged with unspoken tensions and bitter realizations.

"I intend to," she replied, her voice carefully neutral.

Sabrina, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling between the adults, twisted in her father's arms to face Veronica. Her small hand waved enthusiastically, her face bright with innocent joy.

"Goodbye, Mom! Sweet dreams!"

Veronica managed a nod and a soft hum of acknowledgment, though her throat felt constricted with emotions she couldn't quite name.

Once Cullen had settled Sabrina safely into the backseat and closed the door, Veronica didn't linger to watch their departure. She had no desire to witness their car disappearing into the night, carrying her daughter toward a life that increasingly felt separate from her own.

Instead, she turned on her heel and began walking toward her own vehicle with measured steps.

Behind her, Cullen remained motionless for several long moments, his gaze fixed on her retreating form. Something in her posture, perhaps the set of her shoulders or the determined pace of her stride, held his attention. Only when she had nearly reached her car did he finally tear his eyes away and slide back into his seat.

"Drive," he instructed his chauffeur curtly, and the sedan merged seamlessly into the flowing river of evening traffic.

Veronica had just reached for her car door handle when an unexpected voice called her name from across the parking area.

"Veronica."

She paused, assuming it was merely a case of mistaken identity. Strangers occasionally shared names, after all. But when she turned to investigate, she found Marco emerging from behind his own vehicle, his expression serious and somewhat hesitant.

Her first assumption was coincidence. The hotel hosted numerous events and meetings daily, so Marco's presence here wasn't necessarily connected to her own activities. These things happened in a city where social and business circles frequently overlapped.

She acknowledged him with the briefest possible nod—a gesture that conveyed recognition without warmth—and proceeded to unlock her car door. Her body language clearly indicated her intention to leave without further interaction.

Marco remained rooted to his spot, making no move toward his own vehicle. The weight of his stare was unmistakable, and Veronica could sense his internal struggle as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.

She had successfully opened her car door and was preparing to escape when his continued presence became impossible to ignore. His stillness suggested he had something significant to communicate.

Her expression hardened, taking on the glacial quality she reserved for particularly unwelcome situations. When she spoke, her voice carried the chill of winter air.

"Is there something specific you need?"

Marco's hesitation was visible, a war playing out across his features between impulse and restraint. Whatever he had initially planned to say seemed to die on his lips, replaced by something safer, less controversial.

"Cecelia asked me to give you something. She's been hoping we could arrange a meal together sometime this week."

The mention of Cecelia gave Veronica pause. The young woman had endured tremendous trauma, both physical and emotional, and their previous interactions had revealed a touching vulnerability. Cecelia had once mentioned, with heartbreaking honesty, that Veronica reminded her of her deceased mother.

Understanding that Cecelia had formed an emotional attachment to her, Veronica felt genuine sympathy. The girl deserved kindness, especially given everything she had survived. Under normal circumstances, if they encountered each other naturally, Veronica would gladly set aside her personal conflicts with Marco to spend time with someone who clearly needed maternal comfort.

But arranging a deliberate meeting felt different somehow. It felt like crossing a line she had carefully drawn.

Before she could formulate a response, Marco played another card entirely.

"There's also that development project your uncle has been struggling with. I might be able to provide some assistance there."

The words stopped Veronica cold. He had her attention now, and they both knew it.

Rather than elaborate or apply pressure, Marco simply stepped back slightly, giving her space to process his offer.

"Consider it carefully. When you're ready to discuss either matter, you have my number."

Veronica remained silent, her mind racing through possibilities and potential consequences. Trusting Marco felt inherently dangerous, particularly given his close relationships with both Niall and Cullen. His loyalties were already spoken for, his allegiances clearly established.

Even if his current offer was genuine, even if he could genuinely help her uncle's struggling project succeed, what would happen later? If she and Niall ever found themselves in direct conflict—which seemed increasingly inevitable—what would prevent Marco from weaponizing that same project against her?

Cullen had already demonstrated how easily business relationships could become personal battlegrounds. She had no intention of providing anyone else with similar ammunition.

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