Too Late For His Regret Now

Aubrey POV: The neon lights of Manhattan blinked against the dark window pane. It was two in the morning. The tiny junk room was illuminated only by the harsh, yellow glare of a cheap desk lamp. I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the sharp ache in my neck. The folding table was completely covered in complex financial reporting models and scratch paper. I had exactly one week left until the final two sections of the CPA exam. I was devouring the material. I read every line like it was oxygen. In the orphanage, only the kids with the highest test scores got the new winter coats. Excellence wasn't an option; it was the only currency that mattered. Outside my door, the floorboards creaked. Kieran was up for a glass of water. He saw the line of light bleeding under my door. The handle turned, and he pushed his way into my cramped sanctuary. Kieran crossed his arms, his eyes scanning the chaotic piles of paper. He let out a harsh, condescending laugh. "What is this?" he mocked, leaning against the doorframe. "Staying up all night reading useless books to prove a point?" I didn't look up. My pen continued to fly across the notepad, balancing a complex corporate ledger. My silence irritated him. He stepped forward and snatched a mock exam packet right out from under my hand. He glanced at the dense paragraphs on advanced financial accounting. He scoffed, tossing the paper back onto the table. "You can't even balance the grocery budget without asking me for extra cash," Kieran sneered. "What makes you think you can pass a top-tier professional exam? You're delusional." I stopped writing. I set my pen down with a sharp click. I raised my head and looked at him. My eyes were dead. I reached out, grabbed the mock exam, and pulled it back to my side of the table. "Get out." Kieran's jaw clenched. The veins in his neck popped. "Stop playing hard to get, Aubrey. It's boring." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his money clip. "Look. If you just go out there tomorrow morning, make breakfast, and apologize to my mother, I'll buy you that designer handbag you've been whining about." He always did this. He used his money like a leash, expecting me to heel the moment he jingled the coins. I listened to his arrogant, suffocating words, and I felt absolutely nothing. No anger. No hurt. Just a profound sense of absurdity. I raised my arm and pointed straight at the door. "Get out. And close the door." Kieran flinched as if I had slapped him. He looked at my cold face, realizing his money wasn't working. He kicked a cardboard box full of winter boots, sending it sliding across the floor. "Ungrateful bitch," he muttered, turning on his heel and storming out. The door slammed shut. I exhaled a long breath, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. I pulled the exam paper back in front of me. We were breathing the same air, but we were living in completely different universes. I was aiming for the skyline; he was guarding a cage. My laptop chimed with a sharp ping. A new email notification popped up in the corner of the screen. I clicked it open. The sender was the American Institute of Certified Public Accountants. It was my Notice to Schedule. My exam confirmation. I dragged my eyes down the screen, verifying my candidate ID and the testing center address in downtown Manhattan. The date was set. Next Wednesday. I hit print. The cheap printer whirred and spat out the crisp white paper. I picked it up and folded it carefully, tucking it inside the front cover of my notebook. I stared at the paper, my blood humming with adrenaline. I picked up my pen and wrote on the top corner of my scratchpad. "One week to freedom."