My CEO Ex-Husband's Regret

The cold wind of late autumn cut into Stella Carter's body like countless tiny blades of ice.

She stood outside the magnificent villa complex, wearing the old coat given to her when she was discharged from the mental hospital.

Everything from three years ago felt like a nightmare sealed inside this luxurious cage, and she was the only survivor who had escaped it.

The coat had been washed until it faded, with frayed cuffs that clashed sharply with the refined landscaping around her.

Cold wind seeped through the thin fabric, but she felt no cold—only a numbness that seeped from deep within her bones.

Three years ago, she was still Stella, Miles Hudson's fiancée, a rising star in the business world.

Until Ella Thomas appeared with tears of innocence on her face, and everything came crashing down.

Business fraud, leaking confidential information—one accusation after another was thrown at her.

The most fatal blow was that forged "mental illness" diagnosis.

Miles, her fiancé, stood by Ella's side from beginning to end.

He ignored her calls for help and personally sent her to that living hell.

She still remembered the heartbreaking cries of her newborn son when she was taken away.

That was the only pillar that sustained her through more than a thousand days and nights.

Now, she was finally out.

She pressed the doorbell, feeling the cold metal against her fingertip.

A slightly hesitant male voice came through the intercom, "Hello, who are you looking for?"

"I'm Stella."

She nervously gave her long-unused name.

After a long silence, static crackled through the intercom, and the heavy carved iron gate let out a dull boom as it slowly opened to both sides.

Inside the villa, voices buzzed loudly—music and laughter reached her ears from far away.

Today was Ella's birthday party.

Stella's nails dug deep into her flesh, the pain keeping her barely conscious.

Step by step, she walked with unusual steadiness toward the cage that had once promised her a home.

The moment she pushed open the heavy oak door, all the noise inside the villa stopped abruptly.

Under the crystal chandelier, elegant figures mingled, glasses clinked.

Everyone's gaze, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, fixed on her in unison.

There was surprise, contempt, but more than anything, a sense of watching a good show.

She was like a monster that had stumbled into a fairy tale world.

In the center of the crowd, Miles wore a perfectly tailored designer suit, kneeling on one knee, tenderly adjusting Ella's expensive mermaid gown.

That image stung Stella's eyes.

"Stella? What are you doing here?"

Ella was the first to react. Like a startled deer, she weakly hid behind Miles, one hand clutching his arm tightly while the other subtly moved to her flat stomach.

This gesture struck precisely at Stella's heart.

Miles stood up, his handsome face showing not a trace of joy at their reunion, only the anger and impatience of being interrupted.

He protected Ella behind him, his gaze toward Stella bone-chillingly cold.

"Stella, what are you doing here? Who let you in?"

His scolding echoed particularly loudly in the silent ballroom.

Suppressed snickers came from among the guests.

"Didn't she go crazy three years ago? Why did they let her out?"

"Look at what she's wearing—did she pick it from some garbage dump?"

"Mr. Hudson is so unfortunate, being pestered by a woman like her."

Those comments were like countless tiny needles, piercing her body all over.

Stella's body trembled slightly as she forcefully suppressed the surging hatred and grievance in her heart.

She didn't come here to argue with these people, much less to beg for Miles to change his mind.

Only one thought filled her mind: the thought that had sustained her climb back from hell.

"Where is my son?"

Her voice was not loud, but it clearly carried to everyone present.

"I want to see my son."

She repeated, her gaze passing over everyone, fixed deadly on Miles.

Miles frowned. He seemed not to have expected this request.

He looked at her as if looking at an unreasonable lunatic.

"You still remember you have a son? Hand him over to you, so you can drive him crazy too?"

Ella timely tugged at his sleeve, softly persuading, "Miles, don't be like this... Stella just got out; her emotions might still be unstable. The child... the child is born from her after all."

Her words seemed to be mediating, but they actually added fuel to the fire, reminding everyone of Stella's identity as a "mental patient."

A jewel-bedecked noblewoman chimed in, "Ella is just too kind. How can you trust this kind of woman? What if she goes crazy and hurts the child?"

"Exactly, for the child's safety, better keep her away."

Stella ignored those noisy voices.

She didn't argue or make a scene; just stubbornly stood there, looking at him with those empty yet persistent eyes.

"I want to see him."

Her calmness was more powerful than any hysterical questioning.

Miles felt irritated by her gaze, as if looking at her one more second was torture.

He didn't want Stella's appearance to ruin Ella's birthday party on this wonderful day.

He impatiently waved his hand, instructing a nearby servant, "Dorinda, take her to the attic."

The attic?

Her heart sank sharply.

She had imagined her son's living environment countless times—a refined nursery with soft carpets, filled with imported toys.

She had thought of countless possibilities, but never "the attic."

At Hudson Villa, the attic was used to store junk and trash.

Dark, damp, never seeing daylight.

Miles kept her son, their only son, in the attic?

The surrounding guests exchanged knowing glances.

So that child was so neglected, raised in the attic, no different from a servant.

It seemed Miles was determined to cut ties with the past, and Ella was the future mistress of the Hudson family.

Stella no longer felt the gazes around her, or heard those comments.

Her entire world contained only the enormous shock brought by "the attic."

"Mrs. Hudson, please follow me."

Dorinda walked to her side, her face showing some reluctant sympathy.

Stella numbly turned around, following behind Dorinda.

From the magnificent ballroom, through the long corridor, past luxuriously decorated guest rooms, finally arriving at a secluded corner in the northernmost part of the villa.

Dorinda pulled out a bunch of keys from her pocket, fumbling for a while before finding a rusted key and inserting it into the lock.

A soft click, and the door opened.

A stale smell mixed with dust hit her face.

Behind the door was a narrow, steep wooden staircase extending upward, disappearing into darkness.

Dorinda stopped at the bottom of the stairs, not going up.

"Jared is up there."