Between Ruin And Revenge: Her Regret

Finn Briggs POV: I pushed my shoulder against the heavy brass doors of the Manhattan private club. The cold winter wind died the second I stepped past the velvet curtain. I stood in the foyer, looking down at my damp coat, and used my free hand to brush the New York rain off my shoulders. My other arm was wrapped tightly around a velvet-textured Lady M cake box. I held it against my chest like a fragile organ, making sure not a single drop of dirty rain had touched the pristine packaging. A bouncer in a tailored suit stepped into my path. The man looked at my cheap wet boots and worn jacket, raising a hand to stop me. "Members only tonight." I did not argue. I reached into my pocket, my cold fingers fumbling for a second, and pulled out the sleek black credit card with Arleen's name stamped on the front. I held it up. The bouncer looked at the card, then back at me. The disdain vanished, replaced by a practiced, hollow smile. He stepped aside and gestured down the hall. I put the card away and walked past him. I stepped onto the thick Persian carpet that lined the corridor. The fabric absorbed the sound of my wet boots. A sharp burst of jazz music drifted from the main lounge, making the dull ache in my temples throb. I had worked three double shifts at the garage this week just to afford the cake, and my body was running on fumes. A group of Wall Street men in expensive suits walked toward me, their faces flushed with expensive liquor. I pressed my back against the silk-lined wallpaper, pulling the cake box closer to my chest, and let them pass. I continued down the hall until I reached the heavy mahogany door marked VIP-3. I stopped. I took a deep breath, letting the air fill my tired lungs, trying to force a warm smile onto my face. Arleen had been so distant lately, her memory still fractured from the accident. The doctors said patience was key. I just wanted to see her smile. I raised my knuckles to knock. My hand stopped in mid-air. The door was not shut. It was cracked open about two inches. The sharp clink of crystal glasses touching came from inside. I lowered my hand. "How much longer are you going to keep up this pathetic amnesia act?" The voice belonged to Jaquez Ross. It was low, thick with amusement. My lungs forgot how to pull in air. My heart missed a beat, leaving a hollow vacuum in my chest. I held my breath and shifted my weight, leaning closer to the crack in the door. I peered into the dim light of the private room. Arleen was sitting on the center of the leather sofa. She wore a silk slip dress that clung to her body. She did not look confused. She did not look like a woman recovering from trauma. She looked entirely relaxed. Jaquez was kneeling on the floor right at her feet. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her bare calf. The visual hit me like a physical blow to the stomach. My pupils contracted so hard my vision blurred at the edges. Arleen did not push Jaquez away. She tilted her head back and let out a soft laugh, swirling the clear liquid in her martini glass. "I'll keep it up as long as I need to," Arleen said, her voice completely steady. "It gets my family off my back about the marriage arrangements. They treat me like glass now. It is perfect." Jaquez moved his hands up her leg. "And forgetting the boyfriend? Was that just a bonus?" "I only forgot Finn because I knew he would stay," Arleen said casually, taking a sip of her drink. "He is a poor boy from Queens. He has nothing else. I can do whatever I want, and he will just sit there waiting for me to remember him. He will never leave." Jaquez let out a loud, mocking laugh. "He follows you around like a loyal dog." Arleen laughed with him. "Exactly." The sound of her laughter sliced through my eardrums. A violent wave of nausea surged up my throat. The taste of bile flooded my mouth. I clamped my jaw shut, my teeth grinding together so hard my jawline ached, and forced the sickness back down. I needed to get away. I took a step back. The rubber sole of my wet boot caught the edge of the marble border next to the carpet. It made a short, dull squeak. The laughter inside the room stopped instantly. "Did you hear that?" Arleen asked, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. She turned her head toward the door. I threw my body backward, pressing my spine flat against the wall outside the room. I slid into the shadow cast by a broken wall sconce, making myself as small as possible. I heard the rustle of clothing inside. Jaquez was standing up. Footsteps approached the door. I closed my eyes. My fingers dug into the cardboard of the cake box. I braced myself for the door to swing open, preparing for the most humiliating confrontation of my life. "Hey! Get back here with my drink!" a loud, slurred voice echoed from the far end of the hallway. A drunk patron stumbled out of the restroom, shouting at a waiter. The footsteps inside the VIP room paused. "It is just some drunk idiot," Jaquez muttered. The sound of his footsteps retreated. The leather sofa groaned as he sat back down. "This club needs better security." The crisis passed. I opened my eyes. The warm, anxious love that had filled my chest just five minutes ago was gone. In its place was a freezing, dead silence. The blood drained from my face, leaving my skin cold and tight. I looked down at my hands. I was still holding the velvet cake box. It was a symbol of my pathetic, blind devotion. The corner of my mouth twitched upward in a slow, self-deprecating smile. I did not feel angry anymore. I just felt stupid. I turned away from the door. I did not look back. I walked down the long corridor, my legs moving with stiff, mechanical precision. I passed the lounge, passed the bouncer, and pushed the heavy brass doors open. I stepped back out into the freezing New York rain. The bouncer held out a large black umbrella. I ignored it. I walked straight past the awning and into the downpour. The cold water soaked through my hair and ran down my neck, but I did not shiver. I walked to the corner of the street and stopped in front of a metal trash can. I looked at the cake box one last time. I opened my hands and let it drop. The expensive box hit the garbage inside with a wet thud. I stood under the glow of a flickering neon sign. I reached into my wet pocket and pulled out my phone. I wiped the rainwater off the screen with my thumb. I opened the browser, my fingers completely steady, and typed a single phrase into the search bar. New York State legal name change process. I hit search, staring at the results as the rain washed over me.