The CEO’s Regret: Please Stay, My Wife

"You need to be hospitalized immediately! This is stage-four stomach cancer. If you keep delaying treatment, you won't last three months! How can any job be more important than your life? You can find another job, but once you're gone, you're gone for good!"

Jessica Watson went still for a second, then gave a slow shake of her head to the doctor in front of her.

She couldn't quit.

Dr. Chris Scott was baffled by her stubbornness to stay in the role, knowing full well she was doing it entirely for his sake.

For that man, she was willing to sacrifice everything, even her life.

Stanley Smith was everything to her: her boss, her husband, and the man she had loved for a very long time.

Despite their marriage, Stanley kept their relationship a secret, letting everyone at work believe he was a single man while no one suspected she was actually his wife.

"Dr. Scott," Jessica said, her face deathly pale, her voice weak. "I'll finish this last assignment, and then I won't come back."

"Are you listening to yourself?!" Chris was both furious and worried, but he knew he couldn't change her mind. He pulled out his phone, added her on WhatsApp, and sent her his personal number. "If you need help, contact me anytime—day or night."

"Thank you." Jessica nodded gratefully, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'll take care of myself. If I'm still alive in three months, I'll go abroad with you for treatment."

Just as she was about to put her phone away, it rang.

Caller ID: Mr. Smith.

Chris saw a brief spark of hope in Jessica's otherwise dull eyes.

"Mr. Smith, what can I do for you?" She answered quickly, her tone filled with anticipation.

"Where are you?" The voice on the other end was cold, devoid of emotion.

Jessica flinched at the icy tone. "I... I took some personal time off."

"Cancel it. Get to the Weiss Resort Hotel within the hour." His voice was detached and business-like to the point of cruelty. "Lydia and I are surrounded by paparazzi."

Chris had no idea what the person on the phone told her, but he watched as the spark in Jessica's eyes instantly vanished.

A moment later, she hurriedly changed out of her hospital gown and left.

On the way to the hotel, Jessica called the office first, instructing her assistant to activate emergency crisis management and have the PR team meet her at the hotel. Then she quickly contacted the media outlets she had cultivated relationships with, telling them to stand by.

She made it there in under forty-five minutes and found Stanley's assistant waiting in the lobby to hand over a keycard.

She accepted the card blankly and headed for the elevator, her heart heavy with a dull ache.

Room 6908. The Honeymoon Presidential Suite.

She paused at the door for a minute to gather her courage before giving a formal knock.

"Mr. Smith, it's me. The PR team is ready."

Her voice sounded steady and professional, even to her own ears.

The pain and bitterness were buried deep inside.

After a moment, the door swung inward.

Lydia Moore answered the door looking like she’d just woken up, her silk robe draped loosely to show a provocative camisole beneath.

Seeing Jessica, she tucked a strand of messy hair behind her ear and smiled shyly. "Sorry, he's still in the shower. Come on in."

Jessica forced down the churning emotions in her chest and asked politely, "Is this a good time?"

Before Lydia could answer, an impatient, husky voice came from inside. "Are you going to stand in the doorway so the paparazzi can get a clear shot of the room?"

It was Stanley Smith.

Jessica's gaze drifted upward to a scene that felt like a slow, agonizing twist of a knife in her heart.

Stanley's lower half was wrapped in a towel. His bare torso was sculpted with clean, defined muscles, his skin glistening with water droplets from the shower—and red scratch marks.

The entire room reeked of recent intimacy.

Jessica thought absently: So chemotherapy isn't the most painful thing after all.

She entered the room like a machine and bolted the door, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor to avoid seeing the person causing her so much pain. Numb, she reached into her bag and pulled out the promotional materials her assistant had put together.

"Ms. Moore," she began, her voice slightly hoarse. "Given your high profile, negative press is something we want to avoid. Our PR strategy is to announce that Smith Entertainment will be entering into a comprehensive partnership with you. The story is that you and Mr. Smith met at the hotel to discuss a film project. Your agent, along with the producer and director, are on standby in the room next door. Once you and Mr. Smith are... ready, you'll move to the adjoining suite, and I'll have my media contacts come up for photos."

"Sounds perfect. I trust your judgment." Lydia seemed to be in an excellent mood, smiling constantly. "I've heard him mention you before. It's just that he's been so busy that he hasn't had time to introduce us properly."

Before Jessica could respond, Stanley let out a soft snort, his tone casual. "There's no need for a formal introduction. She's the head of corporate PR. You'll see plenty of each other in the future."

Jessica's eyes fell, her heart sinking.

He was correct; no introduction was necessary because, in Stanley's eyes, she had lost all significance.

She was only three years old when her parents died in a plane crash. Her relatives, eager for the inheritance, took her in temporarily, shuffling her from house to house like an unwanted burden. By the time the estate paperwork was finalized, little Jessica had been stripped of everything and dumped at an orphanage.

At the age of six, she was homeless and destitute, suffering through horrific mistreatment. A particularly brutal beating left her hospitalized, which is where she first encountered Stanley.

The Smith family took her in after that.

To her, they were a light in the darkness. Her salvation.

At the beginning, she had no real hopes; her only goals were to live a quiet life and find a way to pay back the Smiths for rescuing her.

But as she grew up alongside Stanley, she fell in love with him. She wanted to hold onto that light with everything she had, to claim all of his love for herself.

When she finally confessed her feelings, she learned the cruelest lesson of her life.

Stanley married her, but his attitude toward her remained ice-cold.

"Okay, okay," Lydia said playfully. "Go get dressed. I'll change too, and then we can head out."

Stanley listened to her in silence, and the moment she stopped talking, he slipped away into the walk-in closet.

Jessica was silent for a moment, then turned to Lydia. "Ms. Moore, since there are paparazzi outside, to avoid you and Mr. Smith being photographed together, we need you to leave separately. We'll have you exit the room first, and fifteen minutes later, Mr. Smith will follow."

"No problem," Lydia said with a smile, then added thoughtfully, "But I still need to touch up my makeup. How about Stanley leaves first, and I'll go fifteen minutes after him? Would that work?"

Jessica thought the reasoning made sense, so she agreed.

An hour later, Smith Entertainment issued a statement with an attached photo of the meeting. Stanley and Lydia stood at opposite ends of the frame, with several staff members between them. Lydia's studio reposted the statement shortly after. Crisis averted.

To keep up appearances, Stanley and Lydia departed individually. Jessica sped up as they walked toward the parking garage, trying to reach Stanley before he left.

"Mr. Smith, are you coming home tonight?" she asked softly, as if afraid he wouldn't. She quickly added, "Your grandmother knows about tonight. She called me earlier and said—"

"Mind your own business." Stanley shot her a cold glance, his tone a warning. "I'll handle Grandma myself."

Elizabeth Smith didn't approve of Lydia. She believed an actress wasn't good enough for Stanley and often asked Jessica to pass along messages. Stanley, however, assumed Jessica was bad-mouthing Lydia behind his back.

"But today is my—"

Before she could finish, Stanley shut the car door and drove off, leaving her behind.

Jessica stood alone in the empty parking garage, her voice barely a whisper.

"My birthday."

The day that used to require a month of preparation had become something he no longer remembered.