My Mortal Enemy Regrets It!

After giving birth and returning to my home country, I was devastated to find that my family’s company had gone under, and my parents had both jumped from a building to their deaths.

Alexander's voice was ice-cold as he said, “If you hadn’t had a kid with some loser, your family’s company, the Louis Group, wouldn’t have failed, your parents wouldn’t have died, and I would’ve married you.”

Now, I was a celebrity mired in scandals, with the media hounding me to show my son’s face.

One day, a Bentley pulled up on the street, and Alexander rolled down the window to watch the chaos unfold.

When he saw how much my son looked like him, he realized the truth and was consumed with regret, so much so that he almost fell to his knees. “I’m the real jerk here, aren’t I?”

——

News of me shopping with my son leaked, and suddenly the media was all around me, like an army of cameras trying to capture a glimpse of my son’s face. They were desperate to find some new, juicy scandal in my old news.

They speculated that my son’s father might be some famous director, producer, or actor I’d worked with, but they never considered Alexander, the richest man in Summerville.

Back when the Louis Group was still up and running, it was a fierce rival of the Watson family. Later, when I entered the entertainment industry, I found myself competing with the new star Alexander was backing.

I went up to the Bentley parked discreetly and knocked on the window, pleading, “Alexander, just help me this one time, for old times’ sake.”

He wasn’t usually one to get involved, but today, he seemed to be sticking around.

The window slid down, and Alexander, dressed in a black suit that melted into the car’s shadow, revealed only his sharp, piercing eyes. They seemed to cut through everything.

His fingers drummed on the window edge as he spoke coldly, “I’m dying to see what kind of kid you had with that loser.”

“Alexander, you’ll regret this,” I said with a desperate smile, watching as the car drove off, my fingers clenched in a tight grip.

As soon as Alexander left, the media surged forward, snapping photos of my son’s face.

With a single “click,” the crowd fell silent.

The photo showed a face strikingly similar to Alexander’s.

The once-stern Bentley seemed to slink back in shame after seeing the photo like a child caught misbehaving.

When Alexander stepped out of the car, his suit rumpled and disheveled, he stared at me and my son with eyes full of regret and guilt. “Moll... am I... the father of your child?”

His voice trembled, and he looked at me with the fearful eyes of a dog afraid of being abandoned, waiting for my answer.

I pulled my son close, speaking firmly, “You’re definitely the man you mentioned, but my son is mine alone. I won’t acknowledge you as his father.”