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Chapter Thirteen: No Records
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2026-01-05 17:11:45
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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
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Sixteen: Fifty-Fifty
The pen lay where it had fallen.On its side. Still.Chris stared at it like it might move on its own, like it might roll back toward him and demand a decision he wasn’t ready to make. The room felt smaller now. The walls closer. The air thinner.“Mr. Argent,” the surgeon said again, voice controlled but tight. “We need an answer.”Chris didn’t look up.He bent slowly, the movement stiff, deliberate, and picked the pen up from the floor. His fingers closed around it—not trembling this time. Firm. Certain in a way that surprised even him.“No,” he said.The word landed flat. Heavy. It didn’t echo. It didn’t need to.The second doctor frowned. “I don’t think you understand—”“I understand perfectly,” Chris cut in, finally lifting his head. His eyes were red now, rimmed and burning, but steady. Too steady. “You’re telling me the easiest way to save her is to take something from her she hasn’t even been allowed to want yet.”“That’s not—”“And I’m telling you,” he continued, voice low but
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Fifteen: Terminate It
The waiting room didn’t feel like a room at all. It felt like a held breath. Chris had counted the tiles on the floor twice. The light panels on the ceiling once, then again, just to make sure they hadn’t shifted while he wasn’t looking. He’d sat. He’d stood. He’d leaned against the wall until the cold crept through his jacket and into his bones. Nothing settled. The air smelled sharp—clean in the way hospitals always were, a smell that never quite masked what it existed to cover. Fear. Blood. The quiet knowledge that some people walked out of places like this changed forever. The doors at the end of the corridor slid open. Then closed. Then opened again. Each time, his chest tightened on reflex, his body preparing for news it didn’t know how to take. He checked his watch. 4:18 p.m. The surgery was supposed to have started at four. “She’ll be fine,” a voice said nearby. Chris didn’t look. People said things like that to convince themselves, not because they believed it.
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Fourteen: Complications
The wheels touched the ground with a muted thud, not loud enough to announce anything, just firm enough to make Mia’s body jolt in protest.Her hand tightened around the blanket.“Easy,” Chris murmured beside her, already leaning in, already reaching without thinking. His fingers brushed the edge of the stretcher, stopped short of touching her skin. He pulled back, as he remembered himself at the last second.She breathed out slowly. The cabin lights were too white. The air is too dry. Everything smelled faintly of antiseptic and recycled air and something metallic she couldn’t name.England.She let the word settle. It didn’t feel real yet. Nothing had happened since the accident. Since the papers. Since the name she’d signed and unsaid and signed again.A nurse spoke in a calm accent, clipped and efficient. Chris answered questions automatically—passport details, medical history, allergies. He sounded steady. She watched his jaw tighten with every response, the muscle flicking like
The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love Chapter Thirteen: No Records
The television was on, but no one was really watching it. Muted. A ticker crawled along the bottom. A woman’s voice moves her mouth in a practiced rhythm, hands folded neatly at her waist. Allen stood by the window of his apartment, phone pressed to his ear, half-listening to a conference call he’d already stopped caring about. “Yes,” he said absently. “That’s fine. Push it to next week.” Glass reflected his own image at him—shirt sleeves rolled, tie loosened, jaw tight with the kind of focus that had nothing to do with work. Behind him, the city stretched out, grey and orderly. Predictable. A laugh came from the couch. Soft. “You’re not even pretending to listen,” Lydia said, legs tucked beneath her, wine glass balanced lazily in one hand. She didn’t look annoyed. She rarely did. That was one of the things he liked. “I’m multitasking,” Allen replied, ending the call without waiting for a response. He turned slightly, giving her a half-smile. “You knew what you were getting in
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