After Prison, My Billionaire Ex Begs for My Forgiveness

The day Mason cheated on me, I took the Swiss Army knife he had gifted me and slashed my stepsisters face open.

After I went to prison, our marriage was automatically annulled. He finally gave my stepsister the grand, lavish wedding of her dreams.

Three years later, I was released.

Mason hired twenty security guards to keep a constant, paranoid watch on her.

He set up fifty traps, desperate to throw me back behind bars.

He even used a hundred middle managers to pass along a message: I could name any price, as long as I promised never to hurt Amber again.

But he was overthinking it.

Like a single drop of water merging into the ocean, I simply vanished from his life.

Our next meeting was at my auto repair shop.

I spit out the gum I was chewing, popped open the hood of his car with grease-stained fingers, and asked calmly,

"How old is this ride?"

He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear it. He squeezed the words out of his throat:

"Valerie, this car was the very first gift you ever bought me."

My hand holding the wrench paused for a fraction of a second.

"Oh. Then its been a while. Its due for a major overhaul."

My tone was too flat, completely devoid of emotion. Mason froze, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out.

I tapped and checked every single bolt with my wrench, meticulous and focused.

It was as if the dazzling yellow sports car in front of me was no different from the thousands of other beat-up sedans I had repaired.

Perhaps the sharp clink of metal against metal grated on his nerves. Masons expression shifted several times before he finally forced a mocking sneer:

"Valerie, if youre short on cash, you can just call me directly."

"Theres no need to scatter nails on the road just to lure me to this godforsaken place to watch you perform."

I chuckled, chatting as casually as I would with any random customer.

"If I were a good actress, Id be in Hollywood by now."

"You came from 3rd Avenue, right? The local news mentioned this morning that a hardware truck spilled its cargo of steel nails there yesterday. You have to be careful."

As I spoke, I grabbed a rag from the counter and wiped the black grease from my hands.

Masons eyes locked onto the rag. It was once pink, but now it was washed out to a dingy gray, the edges frayed and threadbare. He finally lost his temper, his voice rising:

"Valerie, you used to be as proud as a swan."

"Claustrophobia, OCD, germaphobiayou had every single symptom of a spoiled rich girl. If a speck of dust landed on your high heels, youd spend half an hour cleaning it. If there was a single oil spot on the dining table, youd fire the maid on the spot..."

"And look at you now..."

"Hey, Val! Can you check my car? The AC is blowing hot air!"

With a loud, cheerful shout, the glass door of the shop swung open. Mrs. Higgins, wearing a bright floral shirt, walked in and tossed her car keys into my hand.

"You got it, Mrs. Higgins. Leave it here, Ill check it out in a bit," I said, catching the keys. "It probably just needs a freon recharge. Easy fix."

"Great, Ill leave you to it." She patted my shoulder warmly, then glanced at Mason. She lowered her voice. "You have a customer? Ill get out of your hair then. Talk to you later!"

After waving goodbye to Mrs. Higgins, I realized I still had a client waiting. I offered Mason a polite, professional smile.

"Right, Mr. Miller. Your car is good to go. Thatll be twenty bucks."

"You..."

Mason stared at me blankly. It took him a long time to utter that single word, as if he lacked the strength to say anything else.

Instead, he hurriedly pulled out his phone, searching for a QR code to scan.

When I saw the $500 notification on my screen, I waved my hands immediately.

"Mr. Miller, you overpaid. Let me send the change back to you."

As I spoke, I instinctively opened Snapchat to find his contact.

Then I remembered. The day I was sent to prison, he had blocked me on everything.

Slightly embarrassed, I scratched my head. "Well, this is awkward. Mr. Miller, could you show me your Venmo QR code instead?"

"Didnt you... didnt you say the car needed a major overhaul?" Masons expression was incredibly complex. "Check the other parts for me. Is this enough?"

I smiled, genuinely pleased.

"More than enough. Its plenty. Please, have a seat while you wait."

I grabbed a small, folding camp stool from the corner and pushed it toward him.

Looking at his perfectly tailored designer suit, I found a relatively clean cloth and laid it over the stool for him.

Mason remained silent for a long time before gingerly sitting down. He sat elegantly, hands resting on his knees, looking entirely out of place.

A second later, the squeak of the glass door startled him.

"Hey, Val! Still working during lunch? Business must be booming! No wonder you ordered the double-entree lunch special today."

"Whoa, a luxury sports car. Weve got a VIP client today!"

It was Toby, the delivery guy who brought me lunch every day.

I laughed and traded a few jokes with him before taking the paper bag from his hands.

Hearing himself called a "VIP," Mason shifted uncomfortably, turning his head slightly and letting out a quiet sigh.

But there was nothing I could do about it. The neighborhood was just like this.

Chloe, who owned the nail salon next door, ran in to ask if I wanted to grab hotpot with her tonight.

A young guy from the upstairs apartment came down dragging a heavy suitcase, asking if he could leave it in my shop until he got back tonight.

A high school girl rushed in, frantically asking if I had a portable charger she could borrow.

Their eyes were full of curiosity, lingering on Masons expensive suit and striking looks.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Mason crossed his legs and shifted on the tiny stool.

"Valerie, have you really degraded yourself to this point? Hanging out with... these lowlifes?"

His eyes looked slightly red, though I might have been mistaken.

After sewing uniforms in a federal prison for three years, my eyes tended to play tricks on me.

"The car is in great shape," I said, straightening up and wiping the sweat from my forehead with my elbow. "But the brake pads are a bit worn. You should get them replaced. My shop is too small to carry OEM parts, so youll have to go to an authorized dealership."

I pointed him in the direction of the nearest dealership and immediately opened my lunchbox.

Orange chicken, beef stir-fry, and some greasy veggiesall my favorites.

But even as I snapped my wooden chopsticks apart, Mason made no move to leave.

Confused, I thought about it for a second and pushed the takeout box toward him.

"Are you hungry, Mr. Miller? If you dont mind, you can have some."

Masons gaze flickered. His eyes lingered on the black grease permanently stained under my fingernails, then drifted to the shiny, oily food in the box.

When he spoke, his voice was raspy:

"This is all cheap, processed microwave food. Its unhealthy... You never used to eat this."

In his memory, I was a picky eater who only ate organic salads and fresh sashimi.

If the food was even slightly un-fresh, I would spend the night throwing up in the bathroom.

I smiled.

"Well, prison food doesnt have much flavor, and now I do manual labor all day. It cured all my spoiled habits."

"Every takeout place uses pre-made ingredients nowadays. Their spicy chicken is actually really good. You should try some, Mr. Miller."

"Oh, look! They even threw in an extra packet of chili oil today. What a steal!"

I happily took the chili oil packet and tossed it into a plastic storage bin behind me.

The bin was already half-full of free condiment packets. On tight days, buying a loaf of bread and using these was enough to get by.

Mason suddenly stood up, his voice thick with emotion:

"Stop it!"

I froze, startled by his sudden outburst.

In the next second, he threw a black card onto the counter.

"This is my secondary card. Take it."

He moved so abruptly that he knocked over the small camp stool and almost flipped my lunchbox.

Fortunately, my reflexes were quick. I leaned to the side and shielded my precious orange chicken.

"Mr. Miller," I said, feeling a bit helpless. "If youre not going to eat, Id like to finish my lunch..."

"Valerie!" Mason growled, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Im serious!"

"This card is linked to my platinum account. It has a five-million-dollar limit. Use it however you want."

"Buy a nice storefront. Start a real, clean business. Be your own boss. Stop staying in this filthy hole working as a grease monkey!"

"You used to be an elite skier from a wealthy family! Have you forgotten who you are?!"

His roaring words echoed in the small shop, instantly dragging me back into the past.

My family indeed used to be incredibly wealthy. My father was one of the top venture capitalists in Seattle.

I was the pampered, only daughter of a billionaire family until I was seven, when my mother got pregnant with twin girls.

But just as we were happily anticipating the arrival of my baby sisters, my fathers affair came to light.

He fell head over heels for a mixed-race model, loving her with a passion that defied all logic.

It got so bad that the mistress literally showed up at our house, demanding my mother sign the divorce papers.

My mother was a proud, fiery woman. A fierce argument broke out. In the chaos, I saw with my own eyes that woman extending her long, red manicured nails, grabbing my mother by the throat, and shoving her down the grand spiral staircase.

One mother, two unborn babies. Dead on impact.

Afterward, to force me to change my police statement, my father locked me in the basement and beat me for a day and a night. His abuse eventually bought his mistresss acquittal.

They got married. The mistress brought her own daughter from a previous marriagemy stepsister, Amber.

And so, my living nightmare began.

The beatings, the verbal abuse, the false accusations, the non-stop bullying.

To survive, I fled to Switzerland. I trained like a madwoman, became a competitive skier, and took the sports world by storm.

Back then, Mason was studying at a prestigious business school in Zurich.

After catching a glimpse of me on a live broadcast, he became my most devoted fan.

Every time I crossed the finish line, he would be in the front row of the stands, holding a giant banner with my name, screaming at the top of his lungs.

When a corrupt referee unfairly disqualified me, he led a protest with his classmates through the Swiss streets just to demand justice for me.

He was there to comfort me through my injuries, and he encouraged me through my darkest lows.

Finally, when I crossed the finish line in first place at the championships, I unbuckled my skis and ran straight toward him in the stands.

Amidst the swirling confetti and the roaring crowd, under the gaze of thousands, I hugged him tightly.

The dynamic of idol and fan ended there. He became my publicly acknowledged boyfriend.

But I never could have imagined that on the night of my victory, as we strolled down a quiet Swiss street, two armed muggers would jump us from the shadows.

They wanted our money and watches. To protect me, Mason immediately lunged at them, getting into a brutal fight.

I was terrified. Fearing he would get hurt, I threw myself into the scuffle without a second thought.

In the chaotic frenzy, a gunshot echoed. A bullet pierced my chest.

It didnt kill me, but it collapsed my lung and scraped past my heart.

From that day on, I could never participate in any extreme sports again.

Including skiing.

But I never regretted it.

Mason was the love of my life. His safety was far more important than any trophy.

I could have won a hundred gold medals, but I only had one Mason.

As I lay in the hospital bed, weakly holding his hand and whispering those words to him, he wept uncontrollably, burying his face in my chest.

"Valerie, lets go back to the States. My family has deep connections in both politics and business. No matter what you want to do next, I will back you up to the end!"

Mason was that kind of man. He wasnt good with sweet words, but he showed his love through action.

Filled with hope and joy, I held his hand as we flew back home.

At the airport, we were met by Amber.

The moment she saw the wealthy young heir standing next to me, her eyes widened in shock, but she quickly masked it with a brilliant, sweet smile.

It reminded me so much of her gold-digging mother standing next to my father. Their smiles had the exact same, calculating curve.

And that dark premonition quickly became reality.

I dont know when it started, but Mason began mentioning Amber more and more.

At first, he said she was sweet and obedient. Then, he said she was pitiful, living under another familys roof. Eventually, it became: "Valerie, stop bullying Amber all the time."

I wanted to have a serious talk with him, but it coincided with the anniversary of my mother and sisters' deaths. I had to focus on the memorial service first.

But when I returned home from the cemetery, I witnessed a scene that would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Mason and Amber, those two disgusting hypocrites, were lying naked on my white bedsheets, tangled together in passion.

"Hehe, Mason, why didn't you go to your future mother-in-law's memorial today?"

"What mother-in-law?... A dead woman from the countryside doesn't deserve that title... If I had to choose a mother-in-law, Id choose yours..."

A loud buzzing filled my ears. I completely lost my mind. I charged into the room like a feral animal, grabbing the knife on the nightstand and swinging.

The blade sliced right across Amber's beautiful, flawless face. Her blood-curdling screams still echo in my mind. Honestly, it was incredibly satisfying.

After the incident, considering I was the victim of a betrayal, the judge initially wanted to give me a suspended sentence.

But Mason hired the most expensive legal team in the country, even bribing witnesses to commit perjury, just to ensure I received a solid three-year prison sentence.

Time flies. It has been seven years since I was released from prison.

I exhaled slowly, quietly studying the man standing before me.

It must be nice to be rich. Time hadnt left a single mark on this handsome man's face.

But it had gifted me with cracked skin on my hands, a chin-length haircut for convenience, and grease permanently embedded under my nails.

I gently pushed the black card back to him.

"There's no need, Mr. Miller. Im doing quite well now."

"I have food, shelter, and my freedom. Im not stealing or begging. I earn my living with my own two hands."

"Im just an ordinary citizen. No great wealth, but no great tragedies either."

But Mason stubbornly kept his hand extended.

"Just take it... as my compensation to you. Once you take the money, let go of your resentment. Well be even."

I looked at him, slightly amused.

The arrogant young master of the Miller family had actually learned how to compensate someone.

In the past, he never bowed his head to anyone.

"Thats even less necessary. I saved your life because you were my boyfriend at the time, and I went to prison because I voluntarily assaulted someone. Thats just justice."

"Neither of us owes the other anything."

Mason clenched his fists, his eyes locking onto mine.

It was as if he was trying to confirm, over and over again, that the woman standing in front of him was indeed Valerie.

Finally, his head dropped slowly, and a faint glint of moisture appeared in the corners of his eyes.

"Valerie... youve become such a stranger."

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

"We haven't seen each other in years. Its only natural."

"Back then... I just lost control of my emotions for a moment," he stammered, his voice cracking. "For all these years, Ive been thinking... if you hadn't impulsively committed that crime, I would have married you out of guilt. I would have treated you a thousand times better..."

I remained silent, letting the ticking of the clock stretch the quiet into infinity.

"Everyone has their own path to walk." I pulled a lollipop from my pocket, peeled off the wrapper, and popped it into my mouth. "Never regret what youve done, and never look back."

"You"

Mason was choked up by my simple words. After a long pause, he said half-angrily:

"One thing about you hasn't changed. Youre still as stubborn as a rock!"

I nodded cheerfully. "My neighbors say the same thing. They call it persistence."

"Valerie!"

Mason clenched his fists. After hesitating for a long time, he suddenly called me by my old nickname.

I dazed for a moment. The way he pronounced those syllables was exactly the same as before.

Seeing me space out, his voice softened:

"If you won't accept my money, I can talk to your father for you. You probably don't know, but Arthur has late-stage pancreatic cancer. The doctors say he doesn't have much time left."

"If you ask for his forgiveness now, you can still get a share of the inheritance. Itll be enough for you to live luxuriously for the rest of your life..."

"Really?" I smiled genuinely. "Karma finally caught up to him."

Having his suggestions shut down repeatedly, Mason finally snapped. He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me toward his sports car.

"Valerie, how long are you going to keep up this stubborn act?!"

"Look at yourself! Look at what youve become!"

"Renting a tiny, dark apartment, doing this filthy, exhausting manual labor!"

"Eating greasy, cheap takeout, getting excited over a thirty-cent condiment packet!"

"Do you think living like this makes you look cool? Or unique? Do you think its attractive?"

"Youre just a low-class mechanic! The absolute bottom of society!"

I looked down at myselfmy overalls were covered in grease, my hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and there was probably dirt on my face. I argued back honestly:

"Its not that bad. At least I still have a clean, scar-free face. Unlike some people..."

As if his tail had been stepped on, Masons face flushed red, and he practically jumped:

"Amber has had reconstructive surgery! Its completely fixed! Even though there are scars, she can cover them with makeup!"

"But you? You smell like motor oil, and your hands are as rough as sandpaper! What man could ever stand you?!"

Getting increasingly emotional, he started swinging his expensive Herms bag at me as if to beat some sense into me.

Right then, the glass door creaked open again.

A boy and a girl, like two little rockets, came bursting into the shop...