The CEO's Regret: Too Late To Beg

The Randolph Anniversary Gala was a suffocating sea of black ties and diamonds, a glittering monument to wealth and pretense.

I stood anchored by the champagne tower, nursing a glass of tepid sparkling water, forced to watch my husband parade his mistress around the ballroom.

Technically, Elia wasn't his mistress. In the sanitized language of our arrangement, she was our "angel."

But the way she clung to his arm, the way she whispered in his ear, told a different story. She was glowing, draped in a gown that deliberately accentuated the proud swell of her stomach.

She looked like the queen of the ball.

I was just the fading scenery, a ghost in my own life.

"They look so close, don't they?" a woman next to me whispered. It was Mrs. Gable, a woman whose smile was as sharp as her gossip. "It's wonderful how involved Bennett is with the process."

"Wonderful," I echoed, the word tasting like ash.

I needed air. The walls felt like they were closing in. I slipped away from the main hall and headed toward the powder room. The corridor was quiet, the muffled sound of the orchestra fading behind me.

I pushed open the heavy door to the restroom and froze.

Elia was standing by the mirrors, under the unforgiving glare of the vanity lights, touching up her lipstick. She wasn't alone. She was holding court with a group of young socialites, girls fresh out of debutante balls.

"Oh, Ben and I go way back," Elia was saying, her voice echoing off the marble tiles. "Since prep school. We were practically inseparable."

I stepped into a stall and locked the door, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Really?" one of the girls asked. "I thought he met Kelsey in college."

Elia laughed. It was a sharp, brittle sound. "Kelsey came later. Ben and I... we have history. Fifteen years of it. He paid for my art school in Florence, you know. Even when his father tried to cut him off for it. He said he'd burn the whole legacy down before he let me struggle."

I pressed my hand over my mouth. The tiles seemed to spin.

Fifteen years.

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

Every time Bennett had missed a birthday because of "work." Every time he had flown to Europe for "conferences."

Every time he had told me we couldn't afford a vacation because the company was tight, yet money had quietly siphoned from our accounts.

It was her. It had always been her.

"So why didn't you marry him?" another girl asked.

"Timing," Elia sighed, checking her reflection with a satisfied smirk. "And family pressure. He needed a wife who looked the part on paper. Someone safe. But look where we are now. I'm the one giving him the heir. I'm the one fulfilling his dreams. He told me last night that this baby is our second chance."

Our second chance.

I wasn't the wife. I was the placeholder. I was the beard.

The door to the restroom opened. Heavy, urgent footsteps broke the sanctuary.

"Elia? Are you in here?"

It was Bennett. He had crossed the line into the ladies' room without a second thought.

"I'm here, Ben," Elia cooed.

I peered through the crack in the stall door. Bennett walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. He looked at her reflection with a hunger he had never, not once, shown me.

"Are you okay?" he whispered. "Do you need to leave? I can get the car."

"I'm fine," she said, leaning back into him. "Just telling the girls about us."

Bennett stiffened slightly. "Elia, be careful."

"Why?" She turned in his arms, running a hand down his lapel. "Everyone knows, Ben. Everyone can see it. Except maybe her."

Her.

Bennett didn't defend me. He didn't pull away. He just sighed, a sound of surrender, and kissed her forehead.

"Let's go," he said. "I don't want you on your feet too long."

They left together.

I waited until the door clicked shut. I waited until I could breathe without feeling like my lungs were full of glass.

I walked out of the stall. I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes dark holes. I looked like a stranger.

I washed my hands. The water was freezing.

I remembered the vows Bennett had made to me. To love and cherish. To be faithful.

Lies. All of it.

I dried my hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the bin.

I wasn't going to cry. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of a scene.

I walked back out to the party. The music was louder now, a jarring counterpoint to the silence in my head.

I saw them across the room. Bennett was hand-feeding Elia a strawberry.

I watched them, feeling a strange, cold calm settle over me.

The puzzle pieces had finally snapped into place. The picture they formed was grotesque, but at least it was real.

I wasn't confused anymore. I wasn't hoping anymore.

I was done.