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Chapter 7: Ghost From The Past
تاريخ النشر:
2026-04-28 18:59:02
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The Billionaire Baseball Star's Regret Chapter 8: The Firing Squad
Dr. Carrie VanceThe 5:00 PM sun over Los Angeles was a bruised, angry orange, bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse. It was the kind of light that revealed every crack in the porcelain, every microscopic flaw in a person’s armor.I stood in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting the lapels of a cream-colored blazer that fit me like a second skin. Underneath, I wore a silk camisole and tailored trousers—professional, yet soft enough to sell the "fiancée" narrative. I looked like a woman who was in control. I looked like a woman who didn't have a million-dollar blackmail check floating in a douchebag’s pocket or a bigamy scandal hanging over her head.The rhythmic thump-click sounded behind me.Jake emerged from his suite. He had traded the walker for a silver-headed cane, but he was still favoring his left side. He wore a charcoal suit that cost more than a mid-sized house, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked like the king of the world, provided
The Billionaire Baseball Star's Regret Chapter 7: Ghost From The Past
Dr. Carrie VanceThe elevator in Mark’s apartment building smelled exactly the same: a stale cocktail of industrial lemon cleaner, burnt garlic, and the lingering dampness of a recurring leak in the basement. It was the smell of a life I had clawed my way out of, a life where I had spent three years paying the bills while a douchebag told me I was "lucky" to be his support system.Coming back here felt like a regression, a glitch in the timeline. I stood in the small, flickering box of the elevator, my hands gloved in black leather, gripping my medical bag. I wasn't wearing liquid gold today. I was wearing a sharp, tailored navy coat and a pair of heels that cost more than Mark’s annual car insurance. I looked like a woman who could buy the building and have it demolished by noon.But inside, my pulse was a frantic rhythm against my ribs.The elevator doors groaned open. I walked down the hall, the carpet threadbare under my feet. I didn't need to check the door numbers. I remembered
The Billionaire Baseball Star's Regret Chapter 6: The Cracks.
Dr. Carrie VanceThe interior of the limousine was a dark, leather-lined vacuum. Outside, the neon lights of the Sunset Strip smeared across the tinted glass in streaks of violent violet and predatory yellow, but inside, the air was static.Jake was slumped in the far corner of the seat, his head back, his eyes closed. In the dim glow of the floor lights, his face looked like it had been carved from grey stone. The midnight-blue tuxedo jacket was unbuttoned, his silk tie pulled loose and hanging like a noose. He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a man who had been dismantled and put back together with rusty wire.I sat opposite him, my back rigid. The gold silk of my gown felt heavy now, a metallic weight that chafed against my skin. My heart was still hammering a jagged rhythm against my ribs—a leftover high from the roar of the crowd.But mostly, it was the kiss.The phantom pressure of his lips was still there, a burning brand on my mouth that I couldn't scrub away. It wasn't
The Billionaire Baseball Star's Regret Chapter 5: The Glass Armor
CarrieHis hands were a fever.I could feel the heat of them through the thin cotton of my scrubs, his fingers dragging a slow, heavy line from my waist to the small of my back. The scent of the sandalwood oil was suffocating, thick and sweet in the dim light of the room. In that moment, Jake wasn't just another patient anymore. He was a 6 foot plus embodiment of immense pleasure that I couldn’t get enough of. He pinned me against the edge of the treatment table, the cold metal biting into my hips."Carrie," he whispered, his warm breath smelling of Irish whiskey . "Give into me, stop holding back." He said. He pulled me closer, his chest a solid, thudding wall against mine. I should have pushed him away. I should have resisted with every fibre of my being, but my will power betrayed me. My hands were tangled in the dark silk of his hair, my heart a frantic bird trapped in my ribs. When he kissed me, it sent shivers down my spine. I couldn’t help but wonder to myself, how could one m
The Billionaire Baseball Star's Regret Chapter 4: The Art Of Coupling
Dr. Carrie VanceThe interior of Jake’s matte-black SUV was a tomb of high-end leather and cold technology. The engine purred with a low-frequency hum that I could feel in the soles of my feet as I navigated the winding, darkened streets of the Hollywood Hills.Jake was a silent weight in the passenger seat. He had his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed, his jaw so tight I could see the muscle jumping in his cheek. He looked like a man trying to outrun his own shadow.I flicked my eyes toward the rearview mirror, checking for the silver sedan from the garage. Nothing but the red glow of taillights and the hazy L.A. fog."Where’s your driver, Jake?" I asked, breaking the oppressive silence. "A man with a multi-million-dollar leg usually doesn't leave his transportation to chance."He didn't open his eyes. "I fired him.""You fired him? Tonight?""Two days ago," he rasped. "Every time he looked at me in the mirror, I could see it. That pathetic, wet-dog look. Pity. I don't
The Billionaire Baseball Star's Regret Chapter 3: The First Touch
Dr. Carrie VanceThe clinic was silent—the kind of heavy, pressurized quiet that only exists in buildings designed to keep the world out. It was 8:00 PM. The staff had gone home, and my luxurious office space was enveloped in pin drop silence. I should have been home. I should have been sipping a glass of chilled white wine in my quiet apartment, celebrating the fact that I finally had the lion in my cage. Instead, I was standing in the dim light of Therapy Room Three, staring at the padded table where Jake Slater would soon be lying.I hadn't expected him to show up tonight. I’d told him, two weeks. It was a test, a way to see how much of the "Legend" was left under the desperation.He had lasted exactly six hours.The elevator chimed down the hall. And in a matter of seconds, I was face to face with Jake Slater again. He was exhausted. Good. An exhausted man was a man who let his guard down. I straightened my white coat, checked my reflection in the polished steel of a cryo-tank, a
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