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 icecold 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 oncestern 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.”

A year ago, after vanishing for three years, I returned to my home country with my son, Paul. Once a highsociety princess, I suddenly found myself as a bankrupt and destitute woman.

The night before my parents took their lives, they gave me some money and kept everything from me. Their only piece of advice was to never show weakness towards Alexander, even though he was Paul’s biological father.

After managing my parents’ funeral, I still couldn’t fully understand their warning until Alexander showed up uninvited.

At the funeral, he wore an unusually flashy suit, completely out of character for him. He sat on the sofa, his long legs crossed, tapping a hard object rhythmically with his fingers, showing his dwindling patience.

When I mentioned Paul, his tapping stopped. Clearly irritated, he looked at me with a smirk. “If you hadn’t had a child with that loser, the Louis Group wouldn’t have gone under, your parents wouldn’t have died, and I would’ve married you.”

His words squashed any intention I had of revealing Paul’s real father. So, did Alexander have a hand in my parents’ deaths?

“Mr. Watson, everything has consequences. People have to face the fallout of their actions,” I responded.

I dismissed him, hoping we wouldn’t cross paths again before I managed to rebuild my life. Alexander left quietly, his dark eyes hiding emotions I couldn’t quite read.

The next time we met, he was in the spotlight as Summerville’s richest man, backing his new star, Bella, on the set. Bella’s claim to fame was her resemblance to me.

I’d been acting since childhood, moving from web dramas to the big screen. Bella, labeled by the media as my “successor,” hadn’t become a sensation, but her resemblance to me earned her a supporting role in the show I was working on.

Before starting, everyone signed confidentiality agreements to keep the show a secret. Bella, however, breached the agreement, leaking scenes and twisting my image in videos, spreading stories that I was past my prime and that Bella had outshined me.

But I was only twentysix, just three years older than Bella. Besides, this show wasn’t about beauty; my role had nothing to do with being glamorous.

Alexander showed up just as I was warning Bella with the director about her breach of the agreement. Bella, however, had gone live, crying that the director and I were trying to kick her out of the show.

“Mollie, you’re not that impressive,” Alexander said, visiting as an investor but staying out of production matters. He looked me over with a shake of his head and turned to Bella, speaking softly to the director, “Bella is the better actress.”

With just a few words, he had me removed from the show.

“Mollie, tell me who that loser is, and I’ll let you go,” he cornered me privately, gripping my wrist. His eyes held a rare softness as he whispered, “Forget that loser and discard the child you had with him. I won’t hold your mistakes against you, okay?”

I laughed bitterly at his audacity. What gave him the right to make such demands?

My family and his had been enemies for generations, and countless barriers separated us. If not for a moment of weakness on my part, we would never have been involved.

I wrenched his hand away and sneered, “That ‘loser’ is dead, and I’ll never forget him. Not until I’ve avenged my parents.”

“Fine, Mollie. Let’s see how long you and that child last!” His brief softness vanished, replaced by cold menace. He pinched my chin and threatened me with fierce eyes.

Overnight, my reputation shifted from a serious actress to a “washedup star.” No matter how hard I worked or how many awards I won, the media always focused on my scandalous headlines.

All of this was Alexander’s doing.

Now, he finally figured out who the “loser” was—himself. After Paul’s identity was revealed, I had no fear. I gathered Paul in my arms, pushed through the crowd, and headed home.

Using his connections, Alexander bought the house I was renting, had the property management open the door, and chased me down.

“Moll, how could Paul be my son?” He knelt in front of me and Paul, desperation clear in his voice.

Alexander glanced around the room before his eyes landed back on me. “Where’s Paul?”

One small blessing in these past few days was that Linda had just returned to the country today. As soon as she landed, she came over to help me take Paul away.

Ignoring Alexander’s broad shoulders and narrow waist, I focused on the candelabrum behind him. A square box, surrounded by smoke from the burning incense, was set in the middle of it—completely out of place with the sleek, modern decor.

“What do you think of that box?” I asked calmly, as Alexander followed my gaze.

He blinked and then squinted at the box. “The design is thoughtful enough, but the material.”

“Moll, if you want, I can immediately arrange to find the best urn and cemetery for your parents,” he said, holding my hand and trying to sound sincere.

At that moment, I could see why he would shamelessly pursue me. Maybe he had forgotten our longstanding feud.

I let out a cold laugh, speaking each word with intent. “Alexander, that’s an urn I made myself. And thank you for making me realize there’s no urn better than this one.”

When my parents took their own lives, they left me enough money to handle their affairs. Despite knowing the funds were sufficient, Alexander reported the money to the authorities, leading to it being frozen for investigation and leaving me briefly in financial trouble.

At the time, I had just enough to cover the cremation but was short on funds for the urn and burial. After spending a night with nothing but a plastic box, I reluctantly turned to Alexander for help.

I could endure any hardship myself, but I couldn’t let my parents suffer. They had done so much for me in their lives.

When my parents discovered that Paul was Alexander’s child, they reluctantly accepted him, the son of their family’s longtime enemy. They even considered reconciling and arranging a marriage between our families. Our families had been bitter rivals for generations, with many lives lost in our conflicts.

My parents went against our ancestors’ wishes to help me. They were so concerned for me that they wanted to give Alexander one final test by keeping Paul’s identity a secret.

The day Alexander was invited to our home, I listened from the shadows. My parents first asked Alexander about his feelings for me. After he expressed his affection, they inquired about the possibility of me marrying him with Paul. Alexander’s response, without hesitation, deeply moved my parents.

They let their guard down and eagerly pursued cooperation with Alexander, not realizing it was a trap set to take over the Louis family.

Back then, I was naive enough to think he was the same Alex I knew. So when I went to ask for his help, I had put aside all unrealistic hopes.

Alexander lounged on the leather sofa, his long legs crossed, and his slender fingers rhythmically tapping a glass of red wine on the side table. I was pleading with him to spare the Louis family and unfreeze the money I desperately needed.

He remained silent, not dismissing me or making any move to send me away. I bit my lip and knelt before him, trying to show just how desperate and humble I was.

Alexander had expertly positioned himself within the Louis family, creating a false front and then systematically dismantling their resources, all to force them into submission to the Watsons.

The tapping stopped, and I could sense his patience running out. It was clear he was ready to make a decision.

I clenched my fists, my eyes catching the shine of his polished black shoes as he approached, hoping this time would be different.

“Alright,” he said finally.

Alexander knelt in front of me, his fingers intertwining with mine as he helped me up. He then guided me toward the sofa, his hand resting on my waist. He placed the wine glass in my hand and, leaning in close, said softly, “Have a drink with me.”

Seeing that I didn’t move, he made a call, instructing someone to cancel the hold on my money.

I sighed with relief as I took a sip of the wine. It had been a long time since I’d tasted anything this good after the bankruptcy, but now it seemed flavorless.

“Mr. Watson, I’ve been waiting forever,” came Bella’s sultry voice. I looked up to see her standing on the stairs, wearing a silk nightgown that had slipped off one shoulder, her gaze fixed on us.

At that moment, I didn’t know who she was, so I glanced at Alexander instinctively. He just watched me with an indifferent calmness.

He certainly had a talent for humiliation. But I had long separated Alex from the man before me, so I was more numb to his insults than anything else.

“I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Watson,” I said, gently placing my wine glass on the table. I adjusted my clothes and prepared to leave.

My mission was accomplished, and there was no reason to stay.

But as soon as I got home, Alexander’s call came through.

His voice dripped with cold disdain. “Mollie, you really don’t know what’s good for you.”

The moment I tried to access my money, it was blocked and frozen again. Despite the scorching weather, my heart felt frozen.

Holding the plastic box containing my parents’ ashes, I struggled to keep my tears in check. I remembered the happy times with them while trying to create a perfect urn. The result was the urn Alexander had just criticized—carefully made but lacking real substance.

After arranging my parents' ashes, I needed to make money to bring Paul back. I had graduated from film school without any connections or fame, relying on a mentor’s recommendation to land a few theater roles.

Theater work didn’t pay much, but it was the best way to hone my acting skills. I worked tirelessly every day, memorizing lines and perfecting every detail. My mentor said I was lucky and hardworking, which led to an opportunity in film.

That bit of luck continued when the movie was released. Even though I wasn’t the lead, I became the most talkedabout actress, achieving fame comparable to Bella, the top TV star at the time.

With fame came controversy. Photos surfaced of me and Bella entering Alexander’s residence on the same day—the epicenter of power in Summerville. The internet buzzed with speculation about who was Alexander’s real girlfriend and who was the mistress.

There could only be one official girlfriend, leaving the other as the mistress. Alexander publicly acknowledged Bella as his only girlfriend, making me the latter.

The rumors tainted all my hard work. Despite having no boyfriend and avoiding social events, I became one of the most controversial figures in the industry.

The harsh online comments damaged my reputation, affecting my awards and national successes. Bella offered me a highpaying role in a travel reality show that Alexander was investing in, with the condition that I play a nasty character.

I knew accepting the role would be a setup to showcase Bella. But the paycheck was tempting—it was enough to buy back the Louis family’s old mansion.

To ensure Bella wasn’t deceiving me, I went directly to Alexander to confirm he would indeed sell me the house. He agreed, which eased my mind. I threw myself into the show, playing the cruel character with enthusiasm, making Bella look like the innocent victim, and gaining numerous fans as the nation’s purest beauty.

Meanwhile, I faced even more controversy and criticism. No matter how hard I tried, the negativity persisted, but that was secondary. What mattered was that they promised to transfer the mansion to me, and I was satisfied!

On the day of the transfer, I knelt before my parents' ashes, so excited I couldn’t sleep. The next morning, I carefully packed the urn I’d made and drove to the Louis family’s old mansion.

The place where I had grown up, filled with generations of family memories, was also one of my parents’ last regrets. Everything seemed the same as before, except for the new butler and staff.

I was led to the living room. On the sofa, Alexander and Bella were lost in a passionate kiss, while the butler turned away, not daring to interrupt.

Even though they had promised to transfer the house to me, I couldn’t shake the fear they might change their minds. I stayed calm, patiently waiting until they finished.

Alexander, with his unpredictable temper, was especially volatile around me. He finally pulled away from Bella, glared at me coldly, and ripped up the mansion transfer contract.

Then he said that baffling phrase again: “Mollie, you really don’t know what’s good for you.”

Realizing Alexander had played me once more, I gave a selfdeprecating laugh, swearing never to trust such a scoundrel again, and fled.

As I left, a heavy rain began to fall. The mansion was a distance from the parking area, and the butler, who looked about my age and might have a daughter like me, offered me an umbrella.

I took it, feeling a bit of warmth amidst the cold wind and rain.

“Give the umbrella back. She doesn’t deserve it,” Alexander ordered. Despite having taken everything from me, he remained petty, quibbling over small matters with someone like me, who had already been defeated.

The umbrella was withdrawn. I wrapped the small urn tightly in my clothes and walked away without looking back.

Back home, I came down with a fever that lasted three days and nights. Fortunately, Linda returned with Paul and took me to the hospital.

After that incident, I kept a close watch on Alexander, waiting for the right moment to take him down.

When we met again, it was because Paul’s news had leaked.

“Moll, you can hit me or yell at me all you want, but just don’t stay silent.”

“Moll, do you want to go home? I’ll transfer the house to your name immediately.”

“Moll.” Alexander’s face was despondent, his voice hoarse, and he seemed utterly humble.

It was the second time I had seen him like this.