The CEO’s Regret: Please Stay, My Wife

"You need to be hospitalized immediately! This is stage-four stomach cancer. If you keep delaying treatment, you won't last three months! How can any job be more important than your life? You can find another job, but once you're gone, you're gone for good!"

Jessica Watson froze for a moment, then slowly shook her head at the doctor standing before her.

She couldn't quit.

Dr. Chris Scott couldn't understand why she insisted on keeping this job—it was all for him.

For that man, she was willing to sacrifice everything, even her life.

He was her direct superior, her husband, and the man she had treasured in her heart for years: Stanley Smith.

Though they were married, Stanley had never publicly acknowledged their relationship. Everyone at the company thought he was an eligible bachelor. No one knew she was his wife.

"Dr. Scott," Jessica said, her face deathly pale, her voice weak. "I'll finish this last assignment, then I won't come back."

"Are you listening to yourself?!" Chris was both furious and worried, but he knew he couldn't change her mind. He pulled out his phone, added her on WhatsApp, and sent her his personal number. "If you need help, contact me anytime—day or night."

"Thank you." Jessica nodded gratefully, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'll take care of myself. If I'm still alive in three months, I'll go abroad with you for treatment."

Just as she was about to put her phone away, it rang.

Caller ID: Mr. Smith.

Chris noticed the flicker of light in Jessica's lifeless eyes.

"Mr. Smith, what can I do for you?" She answered quickly, her tone filled with anticipation.

"Where are you?" The voice on the other end was cold, devoid of emotion.

Jessica flinched at the icy tone. "I... I took some personal time off."

"Cancel it. Get to the Weiss Resort Hotel within the hour." His voice was detached, businesslike to the point of cruelty. "Lydia and I are surrounded by paparazzi."

Chris didn't know what the man on the phone had said, but he saw the light in Jessica's eyes die out.

A moment later, she hurriedly changed out of her hospital gown and left.

On the way to the hotel, Jessica called the office first, instructing her assistant to activate emergency crisis management and have the PR team meet her at the hotel. Then she quickly contacted the media outlets she had cultivated relationships with, telling them to stand by.

In less than 45 minutes, she arrived. Stanley's executive assistant was waiting in the lobby with a keycard.

She took it without expression and strode toward the elevator, her heart numb with pain.

Room 6908. The Honeymoon Presidential Suite.

She stood outside the door for a full minute, steeling herself, then knocked formally.

"Mr. Smith, it's me. The PR team is ready."

Her voice sounded steady and professional, even to her own ears.

The pain and bitterness were buried deep inside.

After a moment, the door swung inward.

It was Lydia Moore who opened it. She looked like she'd just gotten out of bed—her silk robe hung half-open, revealing a sexy camisole underneath.

Seeing Jessica, she tucked a strand of messy hair behind her ear and smiled shyly. "Sorry, he's still in the shower. Come on in."

Jessica forced down the churning emotions in her chest and asked politely, "Is this a good time?"

Before Lydia could answer, an impatient, husky voice came from inside. "Are you going to stand in the doorway so the paparazzi can get a clear shot of the room?"

It was Stanley Smith.

Jessica looked up, and what she saw felt like slow torture to her heart.

Stanley's lower half was wrapped in a towel. His bare torso was sculpted with clean, defined muscles, his skin glistening with water droplets from the shower—and red scratch marks.

The entire room reeked of intimacy.

Jessica thought absently: So chemotherapy isn't the most painful thing after all.

She walked into the room mechanically, locked the door behind her, and kept her eyes down, refusing to look at the source of her agony. Numbly, she pulled the PR props her assistant had prepared from her bag.

"Ms. Moore," she began, her voice slightly hoarse. "Given your high profile, negative press is something we want to avoid. Our PR strategy is to announce that Smith Entertainment will be entering into a comprehensive partnership with you. The story is that you and Mr. Smith met at the hotel to discuss a film project. Your agent, along with the producer and director, are on standby in the room next door. Once you and Mr. Smith are... ready, you'll move to the adjoining suite, and I'll have my media contacts come up for photos."

"Sounds perfect. I trust your judgment." Lydia seemed to be in an excellent mood, smiling constantly. "I've heard him mention you before. It's just that he's been so busy, he hasn't had time to introduce us properly."

Before Jessica could respond, Stanley let out a soft snort, his tone casual. "There's no need for a formal introduction. She's the head of corporate PR. You'll see plenty of each other in the future."

Jessica's eyes fell, her heart sinking.

He was right. There was no need for a special introduction—because to Stanley, she was no longer anyone special.

She had been only three years old when her parents died in a plane crash. Her relatives, eager for the inheritance, took her in temporarily, shuffling her from house to house like an unwanted burden. By the time the estate paperwork was finalized, little Jessica had been stripped of everything and dumped at an orphanage.

At six years old, penniless and alone, she endured unspeakable abuse. One beating landed her in the hospital—where she happened to cross paths with Stanley.

The Smith family took her in after that.

To her, they were a light in the darkness. Her salvation.

At first, she had no expectations. She only wanted to live quietly and repay the Smiths for saving her life.

But as she grew up alongside Stanley, she fell in love with him. She wanted to hold onto that light with everything she had, to claim all of his love for herself.

When she finally confessed her feelings, she learned the cruelest lesson of her life.

Stanley married her, but his attitude toward her remained ice-cold.

"Okay, okay," Lydia said playfully. "Go get dressed. I'll change too, and then we can head out."

Stanley seemed to listen to her without question. As soon as she finished speaking, he disappeared into the walk-in closet.

Jessica was silent for a moment, then turned to Lydia. "Ms. Moore, since there are paparazzi outside, to avoid you and Mr. Smith being photographed together, we need you to leave separately. We'll have you exit the room first, and fifteen minutes later, Mr. Smith will follow."

"No problem," Lydia said with a smile, then added thoughtfully, "But I still need to touch up my makeup. How about Stanley leaves first, and I'll go fifteen minutes after him? Would that work?"

Jessica thought the reasoning made sense, so she agreed.

An hour later, Smith Entertainment issued a statement with an attached photo of the meeting. Stanley and Lydia stood at opposite ends of the frame, with several staff members between them. Lydia's studio reposted the statement shortly after. Crisis averted.

To maintain appearances, Stanley and Lydia left separately. As they headed to the parking garage, Jessica quickened her pace to catch up with Stanley.

"Mr. Smith, are you coming home tonight?" she asked softly, as if afraid he wouldn't. She quickly added, "Your grandmother knows about tonight. She called me earlier and said—"

"Mind your own business." Stanley shot her a cold glance, his tone a warning. "I'll handle Grandma myself."

Elizabeth Smith didn't approve of Lydia. She believed an actress wasn't good enough for Stanley and often asked Jessica to pass along messages. Stanley, however, assumed Jessica was bad-mouthing Lydia behind his back.

"But today is my—"

Before she could finish, Stanley shut the car door and drove off, leaving her behind.

Jessica stood alone in the empty parking garage, her voice barely a whisper.

"My birthday."

The day that used to require a month of preparation had become something he no longer remembered.