Page 129 of Jealous Billionaire's Endless Regret

An hour later, the house was still again. Michael had wandered off. Larry was in the kitchen, arguing with the housekeeper over whether Coke counted as hydrating. And Lorenzo remained in the same position on the couch, brows furrowed, scrolling.

One headline caught his attention: ‘Apologize Like a Grown Man, Not a Caveman’

He huffed a laugh, surprised and amused. “What the hell…”

Another title popped up:

‘If You Think You’re Right, You’re Probably Single’

He blinked, clicking into it briefly, then backed out. His lips twitched at the next one:

‘Flowers Are Good. So Is Actually Listening’

He read a few lines, and something in his chest tightened.

More titles flashed across the screen:

‘Learn Her Coffee Order—And Her Triggers’

‘Apology Language: When “My Bad” Just Won’t Cut It’

‘Apologizing for Dummies: Because Apparently “Calm Down” Was the Wrong Answer’

Lorenzo let out a quiet snort. “Yeah... I said that once. Didn’t go well”

He kept scrolling.

‘Don’t Have Any Clue What You Did Wrong? Good. Say You’re Sorry Anyway’

‘How to Look Sorry Without Looking Pathetic’

‘She’s Not “Overreacting”—You’re Under-Understanding’

‘Yes, She Remembers What You Said in 2019. Apologize for That Too’

He leaned back into the couch with a long, heavy exhale, the tablet resting on his stomach now.

Maybe he’d been a fool. No—he was a fool. He thought pushing Krystal away had been noble. He thought silence was protection. Distance was safety. But the woman he loved had spent two years being married to a man who couldn’t even say I love you without choking on his own pride.

No wonder she left.

And now? He was learning how to apologize from blog articles written for clueless men.

***

The next morning, Krystal sat at her small breakfast table, lazily poking at her scrambled eggs. A faint breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the hum of morning traffic.

She raised her coffee mug and took a slow sip.

That’s when a loud knock rattled her front door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

She shut her eyes, groaned, and muttered under her breath, “There’s only one man who bangs on my door at ungodly hours like he owns the building.”

-She didn’t even have to check the peephole.

Dragging her feet to the door, she walked over.

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