Billionaire's Regret, Chasing Love

Today was my one-year wedding anniversary with David.

Once we were home, David's lips eagerly found mine, his warm hands caressing my waist, then moving upward. His body heat penetrated through the fabric, scorching hot against my skin.

"You look stunning tonight," he whispered between kisses. I smiled as I returned his kiss, feeling his hands slide down to my hips, becoming more daring. His fingers pressed slightly, pulling me closer to his body, letting me feel his urgency.

My breathing quickened as my hands instinctively loosened his tie and slipped inside his shirt collar, feeling the warmth of his skin.

A harsh ringtone shattered the moment.

David reluctantly released me, looking annoyed as he retrieved his phone from his pocket. His expression immediately turned serious. "Sorry, I need to take this. It's work."

My throat tightened, but I nodded in understanding, trying to hide my disappointment. "Go ahead. I'll wait here."

He promised, "I'll make it up to you, buy you anything you want." With that, he hurried toward his study.

I collapsed onto the sofa, overwhelmed by frustration and disappointment. Today was our anniversary. And he thought material gifts could compensate for lost intimacy?

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Men never seemed to understand that gifts couldn't replace genuine companionship and attention.

Later, he told me that he needed to leave.

Another sigh escaped me. Would he even remember today's significance once he finished working? The heart-racing touch we shared moments ago was now just fading. Our anniversary, ruined by a work call.

I smoothed the dress David had wrinkled and decided to wait for him in the living room, flipping through fashion magazines to pass the time.

I must have fallen asleep waiting for David. Hours later, I jolted awake. Rubbing my sleepy eyes, I found I was still alone on the sofa.

Glancing at the wall clock, my heart sank. It was past midnight.

The bitter realization washed over me like a tide: our anniversary was officially over. Anger and disappointment intertwined as David hadn't returned.

I dragged my tired feet to the dining room, which still bore my careful preparations—the ice in the bucket completely melted, the once-chilled champagne now warm and flat. I thought sarcastically that this must be the price of marrying a man who always put work first.

I cleared the table and placed the tulip bouquet on the windowsill. I loved these flowers, but tonight they only brought a twinge of heartache.

Next morning, I arrived early at the high-end clothing store where I worked.

"Morning, Olivia!" Mia cheerfully called out. She was an experienced sales consultant. "You look tired. Anniversary didn't go well?"

I forced a smile, not wanting to reveal personal emotions at work. "It was fine," I answered briefly, starting to organize my section.

As a junior sales assistant, I wasn't yet qualified to attend to important customers, though my colleagues already recognized my sensitivity to fashion coordination.

As I was adjusting a row of silk blouses, Daniel, the store manager, approached me. He was tall and sturdy, but always wore a gentle smile.

"Got a minute?" he asked.

"Of course," I set aside my work, feeling slightly nervous.

"There's a fashion training opportunity in Paris, lasting two years. It's an excellent path to advance your design skills. When you return, you could become a full-fledged designer. Are you interested?"

I fell into contemplation, unsure how to respond.

Paris was every fashion enthusiast's dream, offering opportunities I'd longed for. But what about David and me? Our marriage was only a year old, still needing nurturing. How would our relationship survive such a long separation? Would he wait for me? Could I bear not seeing him for so long?

"It's certainly a rare opportunity," I said softly, "but David and I have only been married a year. I'm not sure I could handle such a long separation."

Daniel understood my hesitation and patted my shoulder. "Don't rush your decision. Think it over carefully and discuss it with your husband. This concerns your future, so take your time."

I sighed, my mind filled with possibilities. This was a moment of choice—my marriage or my career development?

By afternoon, I was organizing a row of new dresses when a pregnant woman entered my section. Her belly was visibly prominent, at least six months along, yet she headed straight for the fitted evening gowns area.

"Can I help you?" I approached her, noticing she was eyeing a silver sequined body-con dress.

"I want to try this one," she said bluntly, pointing at a gown with virtually no stretch. It was a limited edition piece, extremely form-fitting and quite expensive.

"Ma'am," I began diplomatically, "this gown is designed to be very tight, and the fabric has almost no give. Considering your current condition, it might not be appropriate. We have several elegant dresses designed for expectant mothers that might suit you better."

She looked me up and down, displeasure flashing in her eyes. "Are you discriminating against me because I'm pregnant?"

"Not at all," I quickly explained. "I'm just offering advice. This fabric is very delicate, and excessive stretching could damage the structure."

"I don't need your advice," she snapped. "I want to try this one. Now."

Reluctantly, I took down the dress and led her to the fitting room, already sensing trouble.

About ten minutes later, there was a distinct ripping sound from the fitting room, followed by a curse.

"Is everything alright?" I knocked gently on the door.

The fitting room door flew open, and the woman stood there, fuming. The exquisite gown had a long tear along the waist, tiny sequins scattered on the floor.

"This dress is poorly made!" she shouted. "It's clearly a manufacturing defect!"

"Ma'am," I tried to stay calm, "as I mentioned earlier, this design isn't suitable for maternity wear. Now that it's damaged, store policy requires compensation for the loss."

"What?" she was practically screaming. "You should be apologizing to me! Your discriminatory attitude and this inferior garment have insulted me!"

I took a deep breath. "This is a limited edition piece with significant value. Store policy states customers are responsible for damages."

"How dare you speak to me like that?" Her face reddened with anger. "My husband is very influential in this city. I'm calling him right now to get you fired!"

I insisted, "You're welcome to contact your husband, but store policies apply equally to everyone."

She made a call, speaking too quietly for me to hear. After hanging up, she smirked. "Just wait. He'll be here soon. You'll pay for your arrogance today."

I returned to the counter and briefly explained the situation to Daniel. He sighed, saying we'll handle it when this "influential" person arrives.

Twenty minutes later, the store door opened, and a tall figure entered. The woman immediately rushed to greet him, pointing in my direction.

My heart skipped a beat as I stared at the man who had shared countless passionate nights with me.

It was my husband!