The Billionaire's Regret: Too Late to Love
He betrayed his wife.
He buried her memory.
And he never knew she carried his sons.
Allen Hale had everything-power, wealth, and a woman who loved him without conditions. Until he chose another woman and signed away his marriage without regret.
Mia Hale vanished the night their divorce was finalized. The world said she died. Allen believed it-and moved on.
But Mia lived.
Reborn as Iris Morris, the sole heiress of a legendary billionaire dynasty, she returns years later with unimaginable power... and two twin boys Allen never knew existed. Boys with their eyes. His blood. His past.
As Iris quietly dismantles Allen's empire, he's forced to face the truth: the woman he destroyed is the one holding his future-and the sons he never deserved.
Now regret is no longer a feeling.
It's a reckoning.
Mia must decide if the man who broke her heart deserves a place in her sons' lives... or if some betrayals come with no second chances.
Because some loves are realized too late- and some regrets last forever.
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Chapter 7
The lights hummed.
Not loud. Not soft. Just there-constant, buzzing, wrong.
They pressed against her skull, vibrating through bone and thought alike, like they were trying to keep her awake even as her body fought to disappear. Somewhere, far away, a machine beeped in uneven intervals. Too fast. Then too slow. Then fast again.
Someone was speaking.
A woman's voice. Controlled, but threaded with strain.
"Blood pressure's falling again."
Another voice followed, deeper, clipped, professional. "She's not responding to fluids."
A third voice-sharper this time. Urgent. "We need to move faster."
Move faster.
The words drifted toward her, bumping into one another without meaning. She tried to grab onto them, but they slid through her mind like water through open fingers.
Her body felt... heavy. Anchored. As if gravity had increased without warning and pinned her down from the inside.
Something twisted low in her abdomen.
Pain flared-hot, sudden, terrifying.
A breath tore out of her chest, sharp and involuntary, and her fingers curled weakly against the sheets.
"There-did you see that?"
"She moved."
Gloved hands pressed against her stomach. Not rough, but firm enough to make her want to cry out. Cold seeped into her skin. Antiseptic. Plastic. Latex.
"Miss," someone said gently, close to her ear. "Can you hear me?"
Miss.
The word echoed.
Miss what?
Her name hovered just out of reach, like it was waiting on the tip of her tongue but refused to be spoken. She knew she had one. She knew it mattered. But every time she reached for it, pain pulled her back under.
Another cramp ripped through her, stronger this time, dragging a sob from deep in her chest.
"She's bleeding."
The room seemed to freeze around that single word.
Bleeding.
A pressure built inside her, heavy and wrong, as if her body was trying to rid itself of something it couldn't protect. Fear surged-not sharp, not clear, but deep and instinctive.
No.
The thought came unbidden, raw and desperate.
No, no, no-
"She's pregnant."
The voice was quieter now. Careful.
The air shifted.
"What?" someone asked.
"There's a fetal heartbeat," the voice continued. "Faint. But it's there."
Heartbeat.
Something in her chest clenched painfully, as if her body recognized the word before her mind did.
"How far along?"
"Six weeks. Maybe seven."
Silence stretched-thick, heavy, loaded.
"And the bleeding?"
"Significant."
Her breath came shallow now, uneven, like her lungs had forgotten how to do their job properly. Darkness pressed in from the edges of her vision, curling inward.
"Miss," the nurse said again, firmer now. "Stay with us. Please."
Stay.
She wanted to.
God, she wanted to.
But the pain surged again, white-hot and relentless, and her body arched weakly off the bed before hands restrained her gently but firmly.
"No-don't let her move."
"She's hypotensive."
"We're losing her pressure."
The words blurred together, stacking on top of each other until they became noise-too much, too fast.
Then-
Nothing.
"Her pressure's unstable."
"And the pregnancy?"
"If we don't stabilize her, there won't be anything left to save."
The truth of it sat heavily in the room, ugly and unavoidable.
A shoe scuffed against the floor near the doorway.
"I can tell you her name."
The voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Just steady.
Everyone turned.
He stood just inside the doorway, tall enough that his head nearly brushed the frame. He looked out of place in the sterile brightness of the emergency room-too solid, too real. His skin was a deep, rich brown, stretched tight over a body held rigid with restraint. He wore dark clothes that looked slept in, wrinkled from hours spent pacing or driving or waiting for something that refused to come.
His eyes were what held them.
Dark. Almost black. Rimmed red, like he hadn't slept in days-or like sleep had abandoned him entirely. They were locked on the bed, on the woman lying motionless beneath the tangle of wires and tubes.
"Iris," he said. "Her name is Iris Morris."
The nurse frowned slightly. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
The doctor studied him more closely now-the clenched fists at his sides, the tension pulling his shoulders forward, the way his chest barely rose when he breathed.
"And you are to her?" the doctor asked.
A pause.
Long enough to be noticed.
"I'm family."
The word settled into the room, unanswered questions trailing behind it.
The doctor nodded once. "She's pregnant. There's been heavy bleeding. We're trying to stabilize her, but she's at risk of miscarriage."
The man's jaw tightened. His eyes flickered-just once-to her abdomen, then back to her face.
"Can I see her?" he asked.
"She's unconscious."
"I know."
"She may not-"
"I know," he repeated, softer now. "Please."
The nurse hesitated, then stepped aside. "Just for a minute."
The curtain rustled softly.
He didn't move at first.
Seeing her like this-so still, so pale-hit him harder than he'd expected. Harder than the news. Harder than the fear that had clawed at him the entire drive here.
She looked... breakable.
Tubes ran from her arms, machines blinking steadily beside her. Her hair was tangled across the pillow, her lashes dark against skin drained of color. Her lips were parted slightly, breath shallow, uneven.
He crossed the space between them in unsteady steps, one hand gripping the edge of the bed as if the ground itself had turned unreliable.
"Iris..."
Her name fractured on his tongue.
He sank into the chair beside her, long frame folding inward, shoulders caving under a weight he'd been holding back for far too long.
"Oh-God."
His hands hovered over her, trembling. He didn't know where it was safe. Didn't know what he was allowed to touch. Didn't know how much she could feel.
Slowly, carefully, he reached for her hand.
Warm.
Still warm.
The relief shattered him.
A sound broke loose from his chest-raw, broken-and tears spilled freely now, streaking down his face as he bowed his head over her knuckles.
"You scared me," he whispered, voice thick. "You always do this. You disappear when things hurt too much."
He let out a shaky breath, something between a laugh and a sob. "And I'm always the one trying to find you."
Her fingers twitched.
Just barely.
His head snapped up. "Iris?"
Nothing.
He swallowed hard, nodding to himself like he understood. Like he wasn't asking for too much.
"I know," he said hoarsely. "You don't have to wake up yet. Just-stay. Stay with me."
His grip tightened, careful not to hurt her.
"I'm here," he whispered. "I've got you. Both of you."
The machines continued their steady rhythm.
Outside the curtain, voices murmured. Plans were being made. Decisions hovering just out of reach.
Inside, the man who walked in as a stranger stayed exactly where he was-holding her hand, anchoring her to the world-refusing to let go.
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7.1
Princess Aurelia Blackwood has spent her entire life learning how to obey.
As the sole heir to a modern royal dynasty, her future has already been written, strategic alliances, a public marriage, and a crown that allows no room for personal desire. Love is a luxury she was never meant to claim.
Everything changes the day she meets Dr. Elara Voss, the academy's newest senior lecturer.
Calm, brilliant, and devastatingly attractive, Elara represents everything Aurelia should avoid. Their connection is immediate, unsettling, and impossible to ignore. What begins as restrained conversation and stolen glances soon deepens into something far more dangerous, an emotional bond that threatens duty, reputation, and the crown itself.
The age gap, the hierarchy, and the rules of the monarchy stand firmly between them. When their forbidden relationship is exposed, Aurelia is forced to choose between the life she was born to live and the woman she was never meant to love.
Because some hearts are not meant to be ruled.
Some crowns are meant to be rewritten.
And some love stories are worth breaking tradition for.
7.5
To save my dying father, I made a deal with the billionaire Christopher Kirkland. I became his secret, a bird in a gilded cage he paraded around when it suited him.
But I was just a pawn in his twisted game to win back his ex-girlfriend.
He proved it when he publicly outbid me for my own mother's heirloom necklace, only to gift it to her right in front of me.
Then he threw me out of the penthouse. My few cherished belongings-my books, a photo of my parents-were tossed out.
"Chaney doesn't like clutter," he told me, erasing my entire existence for her.
A text on his phone confirmed the brutal truth.
"Our little game is working perfectly," she'd written. "She's completely fooled."
Years later, after she betrayed him and his empire nearly crumbled, he came back begging. He thought he could buy my forgiveness. He was about to learn that my freedom had no price tag.
8.6
I thought I was living the dream as the wife of a billionaire, until my husband came home at 2 A.M. reeking of expensive Scotch and "Midnight Rose"—the signature perfume of his ex-lover, Lucinda. While I spent my nights alone in the nursery with our sick twins, William was out in the city, making it clear to everyone that our marriage was nothing more than a cold, calculated business merger.
When I finally confronted him with the evidence of his infidelity, he didn’t offer an apology. He simply looked at me with disgust and told me I was a "liability" who should stay home and play the part of the perfect mother while he lived his real life with someone else.
The humiliation reached its peak at the hospital when his grandfather suffered a massive heart attack. William showed up with Lucinda on his arm, comforting her in front of the entire Sterling clan while his mother publicly mocked me for being a useless gold-digger. Even after William tried to force himself on me in a drunken rage the night before, he had the audacity to treat his mistress like the grieving wife while I was pushed into the shadows.
I felt something inside me finally snap. The man I loved had turned into a monster who saw me as an acquisition rather than a human being. I was ready to sign the divorce papers and disappear with nothing but my pride, just to escape the suffocating weight of his indifference.
But then, the dying patriarch called me to his bedside and handed me a sword: five percent of the company’s voting shares and a three-month ultimatum. I’m not running away anymore. I’ve decided to stay for ninety days, but not to save a dead marriage. I’m staying to become the one thing William Sterling never saw coming—his most dangerous nightmare.
8.5
After surviving twenty-one years in a brutal orphanage, I finally returned to my billionaire biological family with the silver pocket watch that proved my identity.
But my relatives didn't care about me; they only loved Corie, the fake daughter who had stolen my life after our mothers switched us during a hospital fire.
On my very first day home, the family faced total ruin over a thirty billion dollar debt.
The creditors demanded a Dunlap daughter marry their comatose, vegetative heir to settle the score.
Without a second thought, my grandmother and uncle pointed their fingers at me.
They claimed Corie was too delicate and precious to spend her life nursing a corpse with a heartbeat.
"You're used to hardship and deprivation," my grandmother sneered, demanding I fulfill my so-called family obligation to save them all.
I looked at these strangers who had ignored my existence for two decades, expecting me to sacrifice my future just so a thief could keep enjoying my stolen wealth.
They thought they were tossing an unwanted orphan into a living hell.
But when I saw the medical file of the comatose heir, a cold thrill ran through my veins.
It was Andres Gillespie.
The man who had taken my innocence during a mountain storm four years ago, and the secret father of my hidden twins.
I calmly set down my coffee cup and smiled at my arrogant family.
"I'll do it. I'll marry him."
8.7
My stepmother sold me like a piece of inventory to a man known for breaking people just to plug the financial crater my father left behind. I was delivered to the Morton estate in the middle of a freezing storm, stripped of my phone, and told that if I didn't make myself useful, my senile grandfather would be evicted from his care facility by noon.
The master of the house, Adonis Morton IV, was a monster living in a silent mausoleum, driven to the brink of madness by a sensory condition that turned every sound into a physical assault. When I was forced into his suite to serve him, he didn't see a human being; he saw a source of agony. In a fit of animalistic rage, he pinned me to the wall and nearly strangled me to death just for the sound of a shattering teacup.
I only survived by using my grandfather’s secret herbal blends and pressure-point therapy to force his overactive nervous system into a drugged sleep. But saving him was my greatest mistake. Instead of letting me go, Adonis moved me into a guest suite connected to his own bedroom by a hidden door. He didn't just want me as a servant; he needed me as a human white-noise machine to drown out the demons in his head.
The nightmare deepened when he took the promissory note that defined my freedom and tore it into confetti. By destroying the debt, he destroyed my exit strategy. He replaced my maid’s uniform with a silver silk dress that clung to my skin but did nothing to hide the dark, ugly bruises his fingers had left on my neck. He branded me as his "primary care associate," a title that was nothing more than a gilded cage.
I felt a sickening sense of injustice as he forced me to sign a contract that banned me from contacting other men and required me to sleep wherever he slept. He looked at me with a possessive heat, calling me his "medication" rather than a woman. My family had sold my body, but Adonis Morton was intent on owning my very presence, using my grandfather’s medical bills as a leash to keep me within twenty feet of him at all times.
Standing in a neglected greenhouse with mud staining my expensive silk, I realized I was no longer a victim waiting for rescue. If I was going to be his medication, I would learn how to be his cure—or his undoing. I began clearing the weeds with a cold, calculated frenzy, determined to turn this prison into my laboratory. He thinks he has trapped a helpless girl, but I am going to pry open the cracks in his stone walls until his entire world comes crashing down.
8.2
I was at the peak of my pop music career, breaking box office records while secretly enduring the nightmare of being my Boston family's forced bone marrow donor.
I thought my boyfriend and producer, Caleb, was my only safe haven.
That was until I saw the custom Rolex I bought him on the wrist of his new artist, Isla.
A quick investigation revealed he wasn't just cheating on me; he was siphoning millions from my accounts and forging my signature to steal my luxury endorsements.
To get rid of me without backlash, Caleb leaked a maliciously edited video to TMZ, framing me as a violent psycho.
The hashtag demanding my cancellation trended worldwide within minutes, and my sponsors started dropping me.
At an elite Malibu gala, Caleb paraded Isla around, playing the abused victim and threatening to blacklist me from the industry.
Isla even fake-cried and threw herself to the ground, accusing me of pushing her out of jealousy.
"If you throw a tantrum here, I will make sure you are blacklisted from every studio in this town."
I had given him my heart and my resources, only for him to try and drain me dry before tossing me to the wolves.
Did he really think I was just a fragile pop princess who would cry and beg for mercy?
With the unedited footage handed to me by a terrifying Wall Street billionaire who suddenly took an obsessive interest in me, I put on my blood-red couture gown.
I walked straight into that gala, kicked Caleb into the infinity pool, and threw the felony fraud lawsuit directly at his wet face.