The CEO's Regret: Too Late To Beg

I went straight to the hospital-not for medical attention, but for the final signature.

My lawyer had texted me the update: Bennett was there again. Apparently, Elia had "fainted" from the excitement of the party.

I found them in the VIP wing.

Bennett sat in a chair beside Elia's bed, his shirt sleeve rolled up. A clear tube ran from his arm into a machine, which then fed directly into her.

He was giving her blood. Literally draining himself to keep her glowing.

Elia spotted me standing in the doorway. She smiled, weak yet victorious. She lifted Bennett's hand and kissed his knuckles, her eyes locked on mine.

"Look, Ben," she whispered. "She came to say goodbye."

Bennett turned. He looked shattered. His skin was an ashen gray.

"Kelsey," he rasped. "Elia needs blood. Her iron is critically low."

"Of course she does," I said. "She's a parasite. That's what they do."

"Don't start," he warned, though his voice lacked the energy to carry any real threat.

I walked into the room, refusing to look at Elia. I reached into my bag and pulled out the divorce papers I had printed at the hotel.

"Sign them," I said. "Now."

"Can't this wait?" Bennett asked. "I'm hooked up to a machine."

"Your right hand is free," I pointed out.

I slapped the papers onto the overbed table hovering above Elia's legs and tossed a pen on top of them.

"If you don't sign them, I will sell my story to the press tomorrow morning," I said calmly. "I will tell them about the fake miscarriage scares. I will tell them about the illegal leverage you used for the takeover. I have the files, Bennett. I copied them before I left."

Bennett's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

He looked at me, then down at the papers. He picked up the pen. His hand shook as he scrawled his signature.

"There," he spat. "Are you happy? You're walking away from millions."

"I'm walking away from a disaster," I said.

I took the papers and finally looked at Elia.

"He's all yours," I said. "I hope you have enough blood to keep him alive, because once the money runs out, he's going to be very heavy to carry."

"Get out," Elia hissed.

"Gladly."

I walked out of the room. Moments later, a nurse came rushing down the hall.

"Code Blue in room 304!" she shouted.

Room 304. That was Bennett's room.

I paused. I heard the alarms start to blare. I heard shouting.

"His heart rate is dropping! He's bottoming out! The strain was too much!"

I stood there for a second. My instinct-the ingrained reflex of a wife-screamed at me to run back. To check on him.

Then, I looked at the signed papers in my hand.

I turned my back on the alarms and walked to the elevator. I pressed the button for the ground floor.

"Goodbye, Bennett," I whispered.

I walked out of the hospital and hailed a cab.

"JFK Airport," I told the driver. "International terminal."