The Ex's Regret: I Became The Billionaire Hockey King's Doctor

For three years, nineteen-year-old Ella Campbell rotted in a freezing psychiatric isolation room. Her billionaire family didn't visit her once, only pulling her out today to force her to publicly apologize to Ashlyn, the perfect sister who had framed her. At Ashlyn's glamorous engagement gala, Ella was treated worse than a stray dog and forced to watch her childhood sweetheart propose to her sister. When Ella showed no jealousy, her brother Ivan dragged her onto a dark balcony and nearly choked her to death. Her mother didn't even check if Ella was breathing, merely ordering a makeup artist to paint thick concealer over the dark purple handprints on Ella's neck so the family's stock price wouldn't drop. Standing under the blinding stage lights in a shapeless gray dress, facing three hundred mocking Wall Street executives, Ella was supposed to be the broken, obedient psycho the Campbells needed. "I am deeply sorry for the pain I caused." She was supposed to end the apology there and bow to her abusers, but Ella didn't shed a single tear. "My only regret is that I didn't insist on waiting for the police to arrive that night. I deeply regret that I didn't demand a full, legal toxicology report to prove to everyone exactly what happened." As the ballroom erupted into suspicious whispers and her paralyzed twin brother finally saw the violent bruises hidden beneath her makeup, Ella's counterattack against the Campbell family officially began.

My husband, Jackson, the Alpha of the Dorsey Pack, was supposed to be my partner, my equal. I paid for everything, from his suits to our private jet. Today, the man I loved told me I wasn't flying with him to the Alpha Summit. Instead, he declared his mistress, Amber, "fragile" and needing my jet, while I got an economy ticket. His mother, Cornelia, added my healing "aura" was too "intense" for Amber. My heart shattered from the public humiliation. Jackson kissed Amber, a tenderness denied me for years, while the pack looked away. He even blocked our mind-link, the ultimate rejection. A searing, cold rage erupted. For five years, I suppressed my royal White Wolf blood, enduring their disdain for a man who now cast me aside like trash. As my jet lifted into the sky, something inside me unleashed. I pulled out my phone, fingers trembling with resolve. "Cancel the Gulfstream's flight. Ground them. Cut everything. The game is over."

I was double-checking the final payments for our upcoming wedding when I saw it. A $50,000 transfer from our joint account to a woman named Alyssia Stuart, labeled "living expenses and Connor's tuition." My fiancé, Jairo, the tech mogul I had spent ten years building from the ground up using my family's hidden resources, was secretly sponsoring another family. I hacked into his laptop and found a hidden social media archive filled with photos of him, Alyssia, and a little boy with his exact eyes. "J says he's going to give me a real home soon, make me his one and only wife." Alyssia's caption glared at me, posted the same week Jairo claimed to be on a business trip. He had even used the anonymous Ivy League scholarship fund I had secretly established for him to pay for his mistress's degree. For a decade, I gave up my name and my powerful family to be his quiet, supportive partner, designing the very tech that made him a Wall Street wunderkind. And to this woman, I was just a "complication" to be handled. Instead of crying, I calmly took photos of every single screenshot and packed my bags. I dialed a number I hadn't called in years. "Mom, we're finished. Is that marriage arrangement with Culver Collins still on the table?" It was time to reclaim my identity as the Montgomery heiress and watch the empire I built for him burn to the ground.

On her wedding dress fitting day, Iris watched her fiancé leave without hesitation—summoned by a single call from his mistress. She walked home through the freezing rain. When a brutal fever left her barely conscious, she begged him for help, only to get his cold dismissal, with the mistress’s soft laugh clearly audible in the background. No one knew the truth behind their glamorous engagement: for years, he’d refused to touch her under hollow excuses, while showering another woman with all his affection. After pouring everything out to her best friend that night, Iris was done. She blocked his number, moved out of the luxury penthouse, and cut off all her parasitic relatives. She was leaving her man-centered life behind, and finally living for herself. What she never saw coming was a reclusive Wall Street billionaire who’d set his sights on her years ago. The second she walked away, he set his plan in motion—ruin the man who wasted her, and make her completely his.

For a whole year, I played the perfect, quiet wife to Julian Carlisle, a billionaire CEO who treated our marriage like a cold business deal. On our first anniversary, which was also my birthday, I went to his hotel suite to surprise him. Instead, I found him tenderly fastening a diamond necklace around the neck of my stepsister, Amber. "Will your wife be angry?" she asked with a smug smile. "She won't know. Don't mention her," Julian replied coldly. I finally realized his emotional distance wasn't because he was a private man. He just never wanted me. While I was trying to build a life with him, he had secretly moved Amber into the penthouse right across the hall from our marital home. He paraded her around, giving her the romance and tenderness he completely denied me. I had buried my award-winning architectural career and my entire identity just to play the role of his obedient wife. I felt completely ridiculous for ever believing my sincerity could warm his heart. The ultimate betrayal and public humiliation twisted my heartbreak into a cold, hard rage. I left my five-carat wedding ring on the table, packed only the cheap clothes I came with, and filed for a no-alimony divorce. The identity of "Mrs. Carlisle" died that night. I am taking back my real name, rebuilding my empire, and making sure he regrets the day he ever underestimated me.

For years, I lived as the meek, invisible orphan taken in by the wealthy Sterling family. But on the night of our class trip, my "sister" Ivy handed me a spiked glass of champagne. I woke up in a hotel bed, paralyzed by drugs, with a greasy man unbuckling his belt and a mob of reporters waiting just outside the door. In my past life, this was the night my reputation was completely destroyed. I was publicly ruined, cast aside by my fiancé Chase, and eventually pushed off a high-rise balcony. As I fell to my death, I learned the horrifying truth. The Sterlings had only kept me around to embezzle my massive inheritance. And my only value to Chase was acting as a living blood bank for his sick true love, Blair. They lived in my house, spent my parents' money, and called it charity. They thought I was just a disposable sacrifice on their altar of greed, completely oblivious to their deceit. "Gisele gets what she deserves," I heard Ivy sneer from the hallway. But as the drug burned in my veins, the memories of my past life awakened, cold and sharp as broken glass. This time, I wasn't going to be the prey. I grabbed the heavy brass lamp cord, wrapped it tight around the man's throat, and waited for Ivy to walk into her own trap.