Chapter 633 Regret Came After the Ink Dried
Regret gnawed at Samuel.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined tearing up the divorce papers, as if that could undo everything and make Taylor his wife again. But deep down, he knew it was over. She didn't want him anymore—that was why she had leaked the video.
The devoted look on his face only made her sick. Without a flicker of hesitation, she rose from her chair. "The papers are signed. We can attend the press conference now."
Her coldness cut deeper than any blade.
And yet, when Taylor stood before the cameras and announced they had been divorced for some time, Samuel caught the glint of tears at the corner of her eye. That sight twisted something inside him.
Regret came crashing back, over and over, until he could no longer tell if what he felt for her was love… or hate.
The press conference did its job—SamZen Tech's stock price stabilized.
Taylor received the court's final decree. As she walked away, her back straight and unyielding, Samuel called after her.
"Taylor, have dinner with me."
Taylor almost laughed.
Standing in the elevator, she watched the red numbers descend. She flicked her hair back and said, "We're divorced. What's the point of dinner?"
He caught her arm, eyes dark. "You promised that if we divorced, you'd treat Thalassa."
She turned to him, voice cool. "Samuel, if I truly lacked ethics, do you think Thalassa would still be in that hospital? In a private suite? If I were as heartless as her mother, they'd be sleeping on the street tonight."
His jaw tightened.
She didn't bother to argue. She didn't waste her breath arguing. Life had its own way of settling scores—and Zenobia would make sure the bill came due. All she felt was a hollow weight in her chest, the ghost of a love already buried.
Then he asked, "Did you sleep with Julian? Is he better than me?"
Her reply was a dagger wrapped in silk. "Every man is better than you. Satisfied?"
He was furious.
Taylor walked out without a backward glance, unlocked her car, and drove away—without a goodbye, without mercy.
Samuel stood on the steps long after she was gone, wondering why, with the crisis over and Zenobia his for the taking, he felt no joy at all.
Taylor didn't return to the hospital. Instead, she pulled up outside a small bar, ordered a cocktail, and drank alone.
She told herself it was a celebration—freedom, at last. But the memories still lingered. One drink tonight, she decided. Tomorrow, she would forget everything.
By midnight, she was drunk.
Stumbling toward her car, the divorce decree clutched in her hand, she collapsed into the driver's seat, door still open. The night wind brushed her face, carrying away the tears she didn't realize she'd shed.
She almost never let herself come undone like this. In her line of work, you learned to lock your feelings away, to keep a steady hand no matter the storm.
But Samuel never saw that—he only saw a cold woman who had turned her back on her own blood.
A tall figure stepped out from beneath a tree, eyes soft with something dangerously close to tenderness. He bent down, brushed her hair from her forehead, and whispered, "Taylor."
Julian.
Her gaze slid to him through heavy lids. How was it that he kept appearing, as if he'd been written into every corner of her life?
She was drunk enough to say anything. "Samuel asked if I'd slept with you. If you were better than him."
Julian's mouth twitched, caught between laughter and something far more primal. He was, after all, still a man.
His fingers traced her cheek. His voice was low, velvet over steel. "When the time's right, I'll let you find out."
Then, without waiting for permission, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his car.
She didn't resist. Sleep claimed her quickly.
As he buckled her in, he gently slipped the decree from her grasp. In the dim light, he studied her face—so deceptively innocent for someone who ran the largest hospital in Evergreen City and was one of the world's top surgeons.
Samuel's bitterness needed no explanation.
Seven years with Taylor would make any man reluctant to let go. But love faltered when a man's pride could not stand as tall as the woman beside him.
"Julian…" she murmured in her sleep.
It broke his restraint. He pressed his lips to hers, slow and reverent, as if she were something rare and fragile.
He didn't linger. She was free now, and he was no man to take shortcuts—he believed in beginnings, in flowers and gifts, in respect. But he still let her hear the truth, whispered against her dreams.
"I like you, Taylor."
When she woke, she was in a bed she didn't recognize. White curtains drifted in the morning light, soft and serene. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this relaxed.
Then she looked down. A two-piece pajama set. Her pulse quickened.
The door opened. Julian stepped in with a glass of water and a pill. "You're awake," he said, smiling.
Her eyes flicked to the pajamas.
"Lyra changed you," he said casually, setting the tray down. "Problem?"
"Thank you… for last night," she said softly.
He stood by the bed, sunlight catching in his hair. Then, as if reading her thoughts, he opened the nightstand drawer and took out the divorce decree.
She ran her fingers over the paper. She'd fought hard for this—her parents had wanted Samuel punished, Avery had wanted to hit him. But she'd stopped them. She was done wasting herself on him.
Julian gave her a moment, then took the decree back.
"Julian—" she began, but he cut her off gently, handing her the pill. "It'll help with the hangover."
She coughed lightly, trying to defuse the tension. "Didn't think you were the caring type."
He moved to the window, pulling the curtains wide. "My furture wife will be happy," he said simply. "My work's stable, I have time. I can take care of two kids, even drive them to school. She won't have to worry about a thing."
Taylor caught the meaning but stayed silent. Before she could reply, Luna burst into the room, breaking the moment.
Julian was careful, never pushing too hard, never too soft. Still, it felt too fast.
By eight-thirty, he was driving her to the hospital. The Rolls-Royce eased to a stop outside the outpatient building.
"We're here," he said.
She didn't move. "Julian… I just got divorced. I'm not ready for anything new."
"Then we'll take it slow," he said, meeting her gaze. "But I won't risk losing you. You shine too brightly, Taylor—someone else could take you away in a heartbeat. I'd rather spend the time and energy to keep you close, even if it means waiting. Unless… you don't want me around?"
His directness rattled her. She didn't answer.
He lifted a hand toward her face, then stopped midway and smiled. "You can tell me later."
Taylor escaped into the building, muttering to herself that Julian must have studied acting, not management—no woman could resist that kind of performance.
She didn't see Samuel until his hand closed around her arm.
"Where were you last night?" His voice was sharp, almost unhinged. "Did you sleep with Julian?"
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