He threw the pen across the mahogany table and laughed in her face. You are nothing without me, Elena. Just a poor gardener's daughter lucky enough to breathe my air. Marcus Sterling thought he had just secured the deal of a lifetime, divorcing his boring wife to marry his glamorous mistress and save his crumbling business empire. He thought Elena was walking away with nothing but the clothes on her back.

But he didn't check the one document that mattered more than the divorce papers. He didn't know that the poor gardener she buried last week wasn't just planting flowers. He was planting a legacy. When the judge opened Silas Vance's will, Marcus didn't just lose his composure. He lost his entire world.

This is the story of the ultimate regret.

The air conditioning in the conference room on the 45th floor of Sterling Enterprises was always set to a chilling 65 degrees, but today it felt colder than a morgue. Elena Vance sat on the edge of the plush leather chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a simple gray cardigan, one that had seen better days, and a pair of faded jeans. Across from her sat Marcus Sterling, the man she had loved for three years, and the man who was currently looking at her as if she were a stain on his pristine Italian marble floor. Well, Marcus barked, checking his platinum Rolex for the third time in a minute.

Are you going to sign it or are you going to sit there counting the dust motes? I have a merger meeting at 2:00, Elena. Real business. Something you wouldn't understand.

Standing next to Marcus was Arthur Pendleton, his high-priced corporate attorney. Pendleton slid the thick stack of documents across the table toward Elena. The paper made a harsh scraping sound against the wood. "Mrs. Sterling," Pendleton said, his voice dripping with faux sympathy.

"As discussed, this is a clean break. You receive no alimony, no claim to the Sterling properties in the Hamptons or Aspen, and no stock options. In exchange, Mr. Sterling agrees to absorb the debt accrued on your shared credit cards, which I might add is minimal since you rarely spent money."

Marcus scoffed, leaning back and putting his feet up on the table. She didn't spend money because she didn't know how to be a Sterling. I gave her a black card and she bought groceries at the discount market. It was embarrassing, Arthur. Truly embarrassing.

Elena didn't look up. Her eyes were fixed on the bold letters at the top of the page. Decree of dissolution of marriage.

I just want my maiden name back, Elena said softly. Her voice was steady, though her heart was pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. Take it. Marcus laughed. A cruel barking sound.

Vance. God, it even sounds poor. It smells like fertilizer. How is your father, by the way, still pruning hedges for the neighbors in Queens? Elena's hand tightened around the cheap ballpoint pen she had brought from her purse.

Marcus didn't know. She hadn't told him. When she had tried to call him last week, sobbing to tell him that Silas Vance had passed away in his sleep, Marcus had declined the call. He had texted her back in a meeting. "Stop bothering me."

"He's gone, Marcus," Elena whispered, signing her name on the dotted line. "Elena Vance." Marcus stopped laughing for a split second, an awkward silence filling the room. Then he shrugged, adjusting his silk tie. Well, saved me a sympathy card.

He was a strange old man anyway, always looking at me with those judging eyes, like he knew something I didn't. Turns out he knew nothing except how to dig dirt.

Elena finished the last signature. She pushed the papers back. She stood up, smoothing down her cardigan. She looked small in the vast glass-walled office that overlooked the Manhattan skyline, a skyline Marcus claimed he owned. "It's done," she said.

Marcus snatched the papers, flipping to the back page to ensure her signature was there. A grin spread across his face, predatory and relieved. "Finally," he breathed out. "Arthur, file these immediately. I want the record to show I am a single man by happy hour."

He looked up at Elena, his eyes narrowing. You know I should feel bad. I'm kicking you out onto the street with nothing. But honestly, Elena, you were dead weight. You were a passenger in a Ferrari.

It's time you learned to take the bus. Elena walked to the door. She paused, her hand on the cold steel handle. She turned back, her brown eyes locking onto his. For the first time in three years, she didn't look submissive.

She looked pitying. "Be careful, Marcus," she said quietly. "The view from the top is beautiful, but the fall is fatal." "Get out," he sneered.

She left. The heavy door clicked shut, sealing her out of his life forever, or so he thought. two hours later, the atmosphere was drastically different. Marcus was seated at the best table in La Couronne, the most exclusive French restaurant in downtown Manhattan. Across from him sat Jessica Thorne. Jessica was everything Elena wasn't.

She was loud, vibrant, draped in designer silk, and wore diamonds that caught the light of the chandeliers. She was also Marcus's executive assistant. A cliche that Marcus didn't mind one bit.

To freedom, Jessica squealed, clinking her champagne flute against his. I can't believe you actually did it. I thought she'd cry. Did she cry? Please tell me she begged.

Marcus took a long sip of the vintage Dom Perignon. She didn't say a word. She just signed and left. It was pathetic, really. No fight, no backbone.

That's why I had to get rid of her. Jess, Sterling Enterprises is facing a liquidity crisis. We need the merger with Omni Group. And the CEO of Omni doesn't respect men with simple wives. He wants power couples.

You and me, babe. We're the power couple.

Jessica purred, running a manicured hand down his arm. And the money the prenup held ironclad. Marcus smirked. She gets nothing. I keep the penthouse, the portfolio, and the company.

And more importantly, now that I'm divorced, I can liquidate the old assets without her consent. He lowered his voice, leaning in. The real issue has been the land for the new Sterling Mega Mall. That project is going to save the company from bankruptcy. We've been trying to buy the plot of land in upstate New York for five years.

The lease is expiring next week. The owner was some anonymous trust, the Vance Trust, or something generic like that. My lawyers tell me the owner died last week. With the owner dead, the land goes to probate, and I can snatch it up for pennies on the dollar.

Jessica giggled. Vance? Wasn't that Elena's last name? Marcus waved his hand dismissively. Common name like Smith or Jones.

Elena's father was a nobody, a gardener who lived in a shack. This Vance Trust owns thousands of acres of prime real estate. It's just a coincidence. His phone buzzed on the table. It was Arthur Pendleton.

Ignore it, Jessica purred. I can't. It's the lawyer. Maybe the filing is done. Marcus picked up.