Mr billionaire's regret chasing his irresistible wife by Gabby Emmanuel

A different her.

(JARED'S POV)

I blinked and went over the headline again, ensuring I was not reading wrong. But the words did not go away. They were there, as bold as ever.

Then I swallowed hard, forcing my gaze down to the picture below, and my breath hitched. It was her. Arielle.

The same lady at the airport.

The same lady in Ashley's car. Little wonder I was drawn to her earlier in the traffic.

How could I be so blind?

Twice, in just a few days. At the airport, where I had felt that strange pull but brushed it off. In the car, where I tried to catch a glimpse, but she vanished before I could truly see her. Both times, I had let her slip away.

The realization hit me like a ton of hot breaks, shattering my heart. How could tease fate trade me like this?

I had thought I'd never see her again. But here she was.

I stared at her picture, my heart pounding. Arielle. Back in town. Successful. Famous, even.

splashed across the article, announcing her as the new ambassador chef for Italy's most prestigious restaurant chain, with a branch in New York. I felt an odd surge

once so warm and open, now carried a fierce intensity that sent a chill through me. What had happened to her? What had turned the woman I once knew into this... unstoppable force? I couldn't stop the

I grabbed my phone and dialed my investigator. He picked up almost immediately, as if waiting for my

need everything you can dig up on her,"

as I figured you'd ask for information on that. But what specifically are

I reiterated. "Hee life since she left, her

send you a comprehensive

hung up, but the restlessness didn't leave me. My heart raced, caught between fear and something I couldn't define. What if she

my chest, trying to stifle the dull throb, but it only intensified as I remembered the boy at the airport. That boy with her same eyes. I hadn't thought much of him at first, but now... the pieces began to fit together with a cruel kind of logic. Was he

to ask her not to, not after everything, but the idea of her with another man sent a

kept drifting back to Arielle. I found myself opening her alma mater's website, searching for any information about

mostly just photos and accolades. There was no tangible insight into her personal life, no hint of what had shaped

mind kept

her-those eyes, the fierce

woman she had become. There was something proud in me, too. Arielle had fought her way to the top, made a name for herself. She had built her life, found success without me. And somehow, that pride only deepened the

like an eternity. I refreshed my inbox every few minutes to see if he had sent a mail, and with each empty inbox, my anxiety grew. Finally, it arrived.

Subject: Arielle -Comprehensive Report.

report, digesting

Meyers," I