Too Late For My CEOs Regret

My fiancé Brett and I were building a design empire. When he broke his leg, he hired a temporary housekeeper, Glenda, while I was away on business. I thought she was there to help; I didn't realize she was there to replace me.

She systematically took over my home, turning Brett against me piece by piece. The final straw was finding my cat, Apollo, locked in a cage, bruised and starving.

When I confronted them, Brett defended her. He called me a monster and told me to get rid of my cat for the sake of the baby I was secretly carrying.

The shock of his betrayal was so profound that I miscarried that night.

He never knew. He just screamed that I was a cold, calculating bitch and that Glenda was a "good woman" who truly loved him.

So I left. I took my cat, liquidated my half of our company, and disappeared. Three years later, I walked into an industry gala and saw him across the room-a broken man. He looked at me with desperate regret, but I just smiled. My revenge wouldn't be loud; it would be my success.

Chapter 1

I knew the moment Glenda Woods stepped through our front door, she was trouble. What I didn't know then was that she wouldn't just break my heart; she' d dismantle my entire life, piece by agonizing piece. But back then, I was too busy building an empire to see the quiet, insidious rot beginning at home.

It all started with Brett' s leg. A basketball game, a clumsy fall, and suddenly, my fiancé and business partner, the charismatic 'face' of Parker-Hardy Designs, was confined to our meticulously designed home. Our live-in housekeeper, Maria, had been with us for years, practically family. But her sister's sudden illness in Mexico meant Maria had to leave immediately, without warning. It was a chaotic, unexpected exit.

Brett, ever the smooth talker, reassured me. "Don't worry, Alex. I' ve found someone. Maria's cousin, Glenda. She needs the work, and Maria vouched for her. Says she' s a gem."

I was already halfway out the door, my mind consumed by the skyscraper project in Chicago. A critical phase, long hours, no time for domestic drama. "Temporary, right?" I' d asked, my voice tight with a mix of concern for Brett and the usual stress of launching a new design.

"Of course, temporary," Brett had said, blowing me a kiss. "Just until I'm back on my feet."

Two weeks later, the Chicago launch was a resounding success. Exhausted but exhilarated, I booked the first flight home. My phone, usually a constant buzz of work emails, had been filled with Brett's messages. He raved about Glenda.

"She' s amazing, Alex! So attentive. The food she cooks is incredible. You won't believe how much better I feel."

My eyebrow had lifted. Better than Maria's cooking? Maria, who' d perfected his favorite dishes over years? Still, relief washed over me. At least he was being cared for. I pictured someone older, perhaps a bit frumpy, kind and efficient. A motherly type. Someone who would blend into the background, a temporary fixture until life returned to normal.

The moment my car pulled into the driveway, Apollo, my ginger tabby, was at the window, a furry sentinel. He blinked slowly at me, a silent welcome. I missed him fiercely. The house felt warm, a soft glow emanating from the living room. It smelled faintly of something savory simmering.

I pushed open the front door, my suitcases trundling behind me. My heels clicked on the polished hardwood floors. No one was in the living room, but I heard low voices from the kitchen. Brett' s distinctive laugh, a little too loud, then a softer, feminine giggle.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet house.

A woman emerged from the kitchen. She wasn' t what I expected. Not old, not frumpy. She was in her late thirties, with dark, lustrous hair pulled back in a neat bun, soft features, and eyes that were a shade too knowing for someone meant to be temporary help. Her uniform, a simple apron over sensible clothes, somehow managed to highlight her figure rather than conceal it. She carried herself with a quiet confidence that bordered on composure.

"You must be Alexa," she said, her voice surprisingly calm, almost serene. No welcoming smile, no effusive greeting like Maria' s would have been. Just a cool assessment. She didn't offer to help with my bags.

"That's me," I said, a slight tremor of unease starting in my stomach. "And you're Glenda."

"Yes. Welcome home." She didn't sound particularly welcoming.

I offered a polite smile, pushing down the odd feeling. "Thank you. Listen, I brought you something." I reached into my carry-on and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped box. It was a designer scarf I' d picked up in Chicago, something I often did for Maria or other staff as a small gesture of appreciation. My habit. My way of showing I valued them.

Glenda looked at the box, then back at me, her expression unreadable. "Oh, you shouldn't have."

"It's just a little something to say thank you for looking after Brett while I was away. I always bring back small gifts for anyone who helps out around the house." My words were meant to be gracious, but they felt stilted in the sudden, strange silence.