All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Mia had forgotten what it felt like to cook for people she trusted. The kitchen was too small for three adults, especially three adults who had just dismantled a man’s empire before lunch, but none of them seemed willing to leave. The windows were cracked open despite the cold, letting in a thin blade of night air that carried the distant hum of traffic. Garlic sizzled in the pan. Olive oil popped against the stovetop. Chris leaned against the counter with a glass of wine, watching her move between burners. Derek stood at the sink, sleeves rolled, drying plates she hadn’t even used yet. “You didn’t have to do all this,” Derek said for the third time, softer now. “We could have ordered something.” Mia didn’t look at him. She flipped the salmon carefully, pressing it down with the spatula as if it might try to escape. “I wanted to cook,” she said. “It helps.” “Helps what?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Remind me that I’m still a person.” Chris huffed a quiet laugh into his glass.

Derek was the first to leave.He lingered by the door longer than necessary, his hand resting on the handle while his eyes moved between Mia and Chris as though committing the room to memory. The apartment still carried the warmth of the meal she had cooked earlier. The faint scent of garlic and roasted peppers hung in the air, softened by the quiet hum of the city outside the windows.Mia walked him to the door. “Thank you,” she said quietly.Derek gave a small shake of his head, the corner of his mouth lifting as if the gratitude embarrassed him.“You’ve said that already.”“I mean it this time,” she replied.Her fingers closed around his hand before he could respond. She held it firmly, both of hers wrapped around his, her eyes steady on his face.“You stood in the middle of a battlefield for me,” she said. “You let me hate you. You let everyone think you sold us out.”Derek’s shoulders shifted slightly, like a man adjusting to the weight of something he had been carrying for a lon

Morning arrived without ceremony. The city had already been awake for hours by the time Mia’s car pulled to the curb outside headquarters. The glass tower stood exactly as it had the day she last walked out of it—tall, reflective, indifferent to the years and damage that had unfolded inside its walls. Nothing about the building suggested anything had changed. That felt strangely appropriate. Mia sat for a moment before opening the door. Through the windshield, she could see employees filtering through the revolving entrance. Coffee cups in hand. Phones pressed to ears. Familiar routines stitched into the start of another workday. Some of them had once worked under her. Some of them had watched her leave. Some had believed the story that followed. Her fingers tightened slightly around the leather strap of her bag. Chris stepped out of the car beside her. He glanced toward the building, then back at her. There was no urgency in the way he moved. “You ready?” he asked. Mia

The auditorium had not been used in months.Rows of chairs stretched toward the stage, their dark upholstery absorbing the low hum of conversation spreading through the room. Employees filled the seats in clusters—finance teams beside marketing, analysts leaning close to whisper, assistants glancing toward the stage with quiet curiosity.Word had traveled quickly that morning.Mia Hale had called a company-wide meeting.No one had needed further explanation.By the time the lights dimmed slightly, nearly every seat was taken.Mia stood behind the curtain, fingers curled loosely around a stack of note cards she hadn’t looked at once.The fabric muffled the sounds of the room beyond it—chairs shifting, hushed speculation, the occasional nervous laugh.Chris stood beside her, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.Derek stood a few feet away, scrolling through something on his phone.Mia exhaled slowly.Chris glanced sideways at her. “You’re doing that thing again.”“What thing?”

Mia’s office carried the quiet tension of a place waiting for something important to happen. Morning light filtered through the tall windows behind her desk, soft and pale against the polished wood floor. The city stretched beyond the glass—traffic sliding through intersections, buildings glowing faintly under the late-morning sun—but Mia barely noticed any of it. Her attention remained fixed on the documents spread across the desk. Investor reports. Revised financial summaries. A thin folder containing the short speech she had written the night before and then rewritten twice before sunrise. Her fingers rested lightly against the paper. The clock on the wall ticked toward eleven. A soft knock interrupted the quiet. “Come in,” she said. The door opened, and Chris stepped inside, already halfway through speaking. “They’re all here.” He closed the door behind him and walked toward the desk. “Investors. Shareholders. Partners. Every person who has ever worried about the futur