The Rich Wife's Regret novel Chapter 1

My mom drained her life savings to bail me out, but my wife made her get down on her knees and apologize before she’d even consider it. On the way home, Mom had a heart attack – the stress was too much. Then she got hit by a car and ended up in a coma.

It wasn't until Zoe Aston saw that I was suffering the same fate as her – A loved one is lying in the hospital – that she finally relented and let me go.

The first thing I did was sign the divorce papers. I never wanted to see Zoe Miller again.

To pay for Mom’s medical bills, I took on two dead-end jobs – anything to make ends meet.

I thought I’d paid my dues. Then I saw Zoe at a swanky bar. She was surrounded by her entourage, her eyes cold, filled with the arrogance of the wealthy.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our famous artist, Gavin. What are you doing in a dive like this?” she sneered. “I thought you looked down on places like this.”

She pulled out a stack of cash, slapping it across my face. “Keep my friends entertained, and there’s plenty more where that came from.”

My jaw clenched, my voice trembling as I forced the words out. “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m a bartender, not a male escort.”

The laughter around me intensified.

Zoe’s face hardened. She tossed a wad of bills on the floor in front of me. “You could be.”

She rattled off the names of a few top-shelf drinks, each word a blow to my already shattered pride. Those drinks, worth more than my life, would cover Mom’s medication for a month if I could sell them.

I bent down to prepare the drinks. My hand, broken in prison and never properly healed, shook as I carried the tray. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

The tray hovered, untouched.

Zoe raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know how to hustle drinks unless you’re drinking them yourself? Don’t you know the rules here?”

I tightened my grip on the tray. After five years of marriage, she knew damn well I was allergic to alcohol.

If it weren’t for the scar on my face and the mangled tendons in my wrist, I wouldn’t be stuck in this hellhole.

I grabbed a bottle, pretending to take a swig.

She snatched it away, the expensive liquor splashing onto the floor.

“What’s with his face? It’s hideous! How did that happen?”

They knew, they all knew, but they pretended to be shocked, adding insult to injury.

Zoe smirked, tracing the scar with her heel. “Is that our famous artist? I almost didn’t recognize you.” She stomped on my hand, grinding her heel into the broken bones. “This hand, Gavin. Is this the hand you used to tamper with my father’s car?”

She picked up the scattered bills and slapped them across my face. “Still not drinking? Waiting for me to pour it down your throat?”

The manager snapped out of his daze, kicking me hard. “Drink! This is a VIP customer! Screw this up, and you’re fired!” He grabbed my head, forcing my face into the carpet.

My skin burned as the alcohol seeped into the cuts on my face.

With both hands useless, I was trapped.

Zoe leaned close, her voice a venomous whisper. “That’s for hurting my dad.”