I Died and Became His Regret

Isabella Laurent’s fingers traced the cold steel of the scalpel.

The blade reflected her icy composure.

She was the youngest forensic pathologist at the New York City Bureau.

Her husband, Alexander Roscente, was a titan of industry who commanded storms with a flick of his wrist.

Their wedding three years ago had been the social event of the century.

Alexander had pursued her for two years.

He sent her nine hundred and ninety-nine bouquets of white roses.

He waited outside her autopsy room through countless late nights.

Finally, he made the cold, beautiful pathologist his wife.

Now, their marriage lay in ruins.

Alexander’s heart no longer belonged to her.

It had been given entirely to that intern, Olivia Evans.

Isabella clenched the autopsy report.

The edges of the paper dug deep into her palm.

Her younger sister, Sophia Laurent, lay on the stainless steel table.

Her body was a canvas of bruises.

Those eyes, once bright with starlight, would never open again.

The crime was committed by Olivia’s brother.

Isabella would personally send him to the execution chamber.

But the evidence kept vanishing.

Her legal petitions sank without a trace.

She should have realized sooner.

In all of New York, who else had that kind of power?

Besides Alexander, who?

A black sedan roared with a piercing screech.

For the ninth time, it crushed over her mother’s frail body.

"Mom—!"

Isabella struggled violently.

The bodyguard’s grip was immovable, like iron.

Alexander stood in the shadows.

His suit impeccably tailored.

His eyes distant and detached.

"Isabella."

His voice was calm, as if discussing the weather.

"You're a forensic pathologist."

"You know how many bones are in the human body."

"Mom won't survive the next one."

A document was placed before her.

The words "Plea Agreement" burned her eyes.

From downstairs, her mother’s weak cries echoed.

"Don't sign... Isabella..."

Blood trickled from her mother’s mouth.

Staining the gray concrete crimson.

Isabella’s eyes turned bloodshot.

"Alexander."

"Are you trying to kill me?"

The man frowned.

"You're the one pushing Olivia."

"He's all she has left."

"Sophia is already dead."

"Why make the living suffer?"

Why?

Isabella’s mind drifted to the past.

Alexander would brave the rain to buy her favorite desserts.

He would wait all night outside the autopsy room.

He would abandon billion-dollar deals if she so much as frowned.

When did it all change?

The day Olivia appeared.

The girl knelt weeping beside the autopsy table.

"Dr. Laurent, please stop the autopsy."

"The killer's family has elders and children."

"Isn't the living more important than the dead?"

Alexander stood by the door then.

His expression unreadable.

Later, a girl’s hair tie appeared on his wrist.

His pockets held lemon candies.

He even asked her how to brew ginger tea for cramps.

At the height of his love for her.

He had never been so attentive.

Olivia, who ranked at the bottom of her class, miraculously passed the exam.

Her supervisor hinted delicately.

Mr. Roscente had donated seven buildings.

She confronted him.

And found Alexander guiding Olivia’s hands.

Teaching her to drive in the sunset.