All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The office smelled like cold coffee and rain-damp wool.Chris noticed it first—the way the scent clung to the air, stale and unfinished, like a conversation that had been interrupted and never properly ended. London rain had followed them in on their coats, soaking into the carpet near the door. Derek hadn’t bothered to take his off. He was standing by the window, phone pressed to his ear, shoulders tight, jaw set.Chris sat at the long table, fingers wrapped around a mug he’d reheated twice and still hadn’t drunk. The screen of his laptop glowed softly, a list of names open but untouched.He watched Derek’s reflection in the glass instead of the city beyond it.“Yes,” Derek said quietly. A pause. “No, that’s exactly why.” Another pause. Longer this time. “I understand. Completely.”Chris knew that tone. Calm on the surface. Careful, like stepping around broken glass barefoot.Derek ended the call and stayed where he was for a moment, forehead resting lightly against the window. He di

Allen’s office hummed with a quiet tension, the kind that makes walls feel like they’re leaning in. The board sat stiffly around the polished mahogany table, papers shuffled nervously, fingers tapping, and eyes darting between Allen and Chris. Allen leaned forward, fingertips pressed together, gaze sharp. “Tell me this isn’t happening,” he said, voice low but edged with steel. “Tell me someone isn’t… interfering with our stocks.” Chris stayed seated, calm, letting Allen’s fury sweep past him. “Market fluctuations happen, sir,” he said evenly. “Some movement is normal. Nothing unusual.” Allen’s eyes narrowed. “Normal?” He snapped a folder onto the table. “Look at this. Volume spikes in the last two days. Minor shareholders suddenly acting like they know something. This isn’t normal.” A soft murmur ran through the board, and Chris noticed the slight tremble in the assistant’s hand as she took notes. Allen ignored it. “I want answers,” Allen said, voice rising. “Do you know who is b

Chris leaned back in the hotel room chair, the leather creaking beneath him. The city lights flickered through the wide window, yellow and cold, catching the edge of his jaw. Derek sat opposite, laptop open, fingers drumming on the keyboard in a rhythm that felt impatient, nervous, alive. The hum of the air conditioning filled the quiet spaces between them, the spaces where thoughts became heavy.“So… that’s it?” Chris said finally, voice low. He rubbed at his temples. “We’re in?”Derek glanced up, eyebrows raised. “We’re in. Not fully, but…” He tapped a few keys, bringing up a spreadsheet on the screen. Lines, percentages, staggered acquisitions, small moves that would never appear on Allen’s radar. “Enough to slow him. Enough to make him pause.”Chris exhaled slowly, letting it linger. “Enough to slow him, but not enough to stop him. We need more.” He leaned forward, hands on the table. “Every decision he tries to make now, every major move… We’ll have influence. But influence only

Allen noticed the silence first. Not the quiet of the office—Hale Tower was never quiet—but the kind that settled inside him when numbers stopped behaving the way they were supposed to. He stood by the glass wall of his office, city spread beneath him like a living map, and felt it hum against his skin. He turned back to the desk. The reports waited. Patient and innocent-looking. He picked one up and read it again. Then again. His fingers tightened slightly at the edge of the page. “These aren’t random,” he said to the empty room. He sat down slowly, as if sudden movement might scatter the thought forming in his head. He didn’t rush. Allen never rushed when something felt wrong. Rushing made people sloppy. This—this was deliberate. Small purchases. Clean shells, no spikes, no panic. Just… presence. Quiet weight accumulating where it shouldn’t. Someone was buying. Not loudly, not greedily. Someone careful. Allen leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. He r

Allen didn’t think it was betrayal. That would have been easier. Betrayal had a smell to it. A rhythm. People got sloppy when they were guilty. They rushed, or overreached. Or froze. This wasn’t that. This was resistance. He felt it the way you felt a shift in a room before a storm—no sound, no proof. Just the sense that something had changed weight. He stood at the glass wall of his office, hands folded behind his back, watching the city stretch beneath him. Hale Tower reflected the sky like it owned it. For years, that had been enough. Now it wasn’t. “Bring me the Q3 projections again,” he said without turning. The assistant hesitated. “You… already signed off on them, sir.” “I want the raw version.” A pause. Papers shuffled. “Yes, sir.” Allen waited. He didn’t check his watch. He didn’t need to. Control wasn’t loud. It was patient. When the documents were placed on his desk, he sat slowly, deliberately, as if every movement was being recorded. He scanned the numbers.