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Chapter Fifteen: Terminate It
Last Updated:
2026-01-06 14:18:23
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The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Twenty-Two: Where Have You Been?
She dressed slowly that morning.Not because she didn’t know what to wear—but because every movement felt weighted, deliberate, as if she rushed, the courage might slip through her fingers.The bedroom was quiet. Too quiet. Sunlight crept through the curtains in thin, uncertain lines, touching the edge of the bed, the chair where her coat waited, the mirror she’d been avoiding.She stood in front of it anyway.The woman looking back at her was composed. Calm, even. Hair brushed smooth. Clothes chosen carefully—not too sharp, not too soft. Neutral. Safe.But her eyes betrayed her.Twelve years lived inside them.She pressed her palms against the dresser, inhaled. Exhaled. Again.“You can do this,” she whispered, though the words sounded like they belonged to someone else.From the hallway, she heard Chris moving. The quiet clink of keys. The low hum of his voice as he answered a call and ended it just as quickly.He didn’t rush her.He never did.When she stepped out, he looked up.And
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Twenty-One: We Go Home
The words stayed with her long after she said them.They didn’t echo. They didn’t soften. They just sat there between them, heavy and undeniable.“We need to go back home.”Chris blinked.The city outside the window kept moving. Cars slid past. Someone laughed somewhere below. Life, careless and uninterrupted.“Home?” he repeated, like the word itself needed clarification.Mia didn’t look at him right away. She stood by the window, one hand braced against the glass, feeling the faint vibration of the world through it.“Yes,” she said. “Home.”He waited.She turned slowly. There was something different in her eyes now. Not anger. Not a strategy.Something older.“I need to go back to being Iris Morris again.”The name landed softly. Deliberately.Chris straightened. “I thought—”“I know what you thought,” she said gently. “I thought it too. That I could just… shed it. That I could become someone else and never look back.”She swallowed.“I was wrong.”He studied her face. The tension i
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Twenty: Your Legacy
The folder hit the table with a dull thud. Not loud enough to echo. Not soft enough to ignore. Mia stared at it like it might move on its own. A week. That was all it had taken. Chris stood across from her, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, dark circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept properly, not because he couldn’t—but because he didn’t think he deserved to. “That’s everything,” he said. His voice was steady. Too steady. “At least… everything I could legally get my hands on without tripping alarms.” Mia didn’t touch the folder. She was seated at the dining table, one hand wrapped around a mug of tea she’d forgotten to drink. It had gone cold. She hadn’t noticed. “Say it,” she said. Chris hesitated. Just a fraction. “Say what?” “Say the part you’re trying to soften.” He exhaled through his nose and pulled out the chair opposite her, sitting slowly. Like sudden movements might break something. “Ninety-five percent of Ha
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Nineteen: Showtime
The discharge papers were thicker than Mia expected. Stapled. Stamped. Signed in blue ink that smelled faintly of disinfectant and finality. “You’ll be coming in regularly,” the doctor said, voice careful, practiced. “Weekly antenatal clinics for now. We’ll monitor the twins closely. Any pain, dizziness, bleeding—” “I know,” Mia said, already nodding. Chris stood beside her, hands clasped together like he was holding something fragile between them. He asked the questions she didn’t have the energy for. Dates. Numbers. Timelines. He listened as it mattered. Like she mattered. When the wheelchair came, she waved it away. “I can walk,” she said. The nurse hesitated, looked at Chris. He met Mia’s eyes. “Slowly,” he said. She smirked. “I don’t do slowly.” “Humor me.” She did. Each step felt deliberate. Claimed. Her body protested quietly, a low ache beneath the surface, but she kept going. Past the doors. Past the smell of antiseptic. Past the version of herself that had almost
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Eighteen: For Us
The room had learned her rhythms. The soft beep of the monitor. The slow sigh of the ventilator down the hall. The muted footsteps of nurses who spoke in half-voices, like the walls themselves were listening. Mia woke and slept in pieces now. Never fully under. Never fully here. Recovery, they called it. She called it waiting. Sunlight crept in through the narrow window every morning, pale and hesitant, touching the edge of the bed before daring to reach her face. Today it warmed her cheek, thin as a promise. She didn’t open her eyes right away. She breathed it in instead. Let it sit on her skin. Let it remind her she was still… here. The door opened softly. She knew it was Chris before she even heard him speak. There was a certain way he paused in the doorway. Like he was checking the room for danger. Like he still didn’t trust the quiet. “You’re awake,” he said. Mia hummed. Not quite a yes. Not quite a no. He crossed the room slowly. Always slowly. Like sudden movem
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Seventeen: Alive
The clock on the wall had stopped meaning nothing. Chris had checked it so many times that the numbers blurred, slipping past him without registering. Minutes stretched. Bent. Curled in on themselves. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee and fear—old fear, the kind that never quite leaves hospitals, no matter how clean they try to make them. He stood when the double doors finally opened. Not all the way. Just enough for the first surgeon to step out. Chris’s breath caught—hard, sharp, almost painful. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He was already moving, already halfway across the waiting area, hands clenched into fists at his sides like if he opened them, something vital might fall out. The surgeon looked… tired. Sweat darkened the collar of his scrubs. His hair, usually neat, stuck slightly to his forehead. He removed his cap slowly, rubbing a hand over his head as if grounding himself before speaking. Chris stopped a foot away from him. He d
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