Too Late For Regret, Mister Moss

The heavy office door clicked shut.

August stared at the empty space where Ada had just stood. The muscle in his jaw twitched hard.

He grabbed the divorce agreement, ready to rip it in half. He wanted to punish her for this ridiculous stunt.

His fingers gripped the thick paper. As he pulled, his eyes caught the property division clause on the second page. His hands stopped moving.

He read the words twice. Ada was giving up everything. No alimony. No shares in the Moss-Sterling group. No claim to the trust fund.

August let out a short, cold laugh. He tossed the papers back onto the desk.

Nathaniel rushed into the office, looking terrified.

"Ignore this," August told his secretary, pointing at the papers. "It is a trick. She will be crying at the front gate in three days when she realizes she has no money."

Down on the street, Ada sat in the passenger seat of the Koenigsegg. The car merged into the heavy Manhattan traffic.

Her shoulders slumped. The tight knot in her stomach finally loosened.

Sloane handed her a bottle of water. "Where are we going? Do you want to hide out at my place in Beverly Hills?"

Ada opened the bottle and took a sip. The cold water felt good on her dry throat.

"Take me to Tribeca," Ada said. She gave Sloane a specific address.

Sloane slammed on the brakes, throwing them forward against the seatbelts. "Are you crazy? That is the billionaire row. You cannot even get into the lobby there."

Ada smiled. It was a small, tired smile. "Just take me to the private underground entrance."

Twenty minutes later, the red car pulled into a hidden, heavily guarded garage. Ada hugged Sloane goodbye and pulled her old canvas bag out of the trunk.

She walked to a private elevator hidden behind a concrete pillar. She stood in front of a small black panel. A green laser scanned her eyes. The heavy metal doors slid open silently.

The elevator shot up to the top floor. Ada stepped out into a six-thousand-square-foot penthouse. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a complete, unobstructed view of the Manhattan skyline.

"Welcome home, Ma'am," a smooth, mechanical voice said from the ceiling. The AI assistant, Coda, dimmed the lights to a soft glow.

It's time to go back to my old life!

Ada dropped her bag on the floor. She kicked off her high heels. Her bare feet sank into the thick, expensive Persian rug.

She walked to the massive windows and looked down at the tiny cars moving on the streets below. A sudden, crushing weight pressed down on her chest.

She walked over to a hidden bar behind a wood panel. She poured a glass of pure malt whiskey over a single large ice cube. The glass clinked loudly in her shaking hand.

Ada drank the whiskey in one swallow. It burned her throat, but it did not stop the sharp pain tearing through her heart.

Ten years. She had loved August Moss for ten years, ever since he pulled her out of the snow when she was a teenager with nothing. She had paid for that debt with three years of a cold, miserable marriage.

Ada slid down the glass window until she sat on the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest. Her throat tightened. The first tear fell hot against her skin.

She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook violently as she sobbed. In this secure fortress, she finally let the pain out.

"Playing soothing sounds," Coda announced softly. White noise filled the large room.

Ada cried until her lungs ached and her eyes burned. She lay on the rug, exhausted.

Her phone buzzed on the floor next to her. The screen lit up. It was a text from August.

Stop playing games. Come back when you are done throwing a tantrum. I do not have time for this.

Ada stared at the words. A fresh, violent sting of betrayal pierced her heart, making her breath hitch. But as she read his dismissive tone again, that sharp pain slowly began to numb. She realized how pathetic she must look, crying over a man who viewed her genuine pain as nothing more than an annoyance. For this man, her tears were just a joke. Enough was enough. The lingering heat of sorrow in her chest vanished, replaced by freezing ice.

She picked up the phone. She tapped his name and hit 'Block'. She deleted his contact.

Ada stood up. She walked into the massive marble bathroom and turned on the shower. The freezing cold water hit her skin, washing away the tears and the weakness.

She stepped into her walk-in closet. It was filled with the latest designer clothes and limited-edition bags.

She reached out and pulled a deep-V neck, bright red dress from the rack. Her eyes were hard and sharp in the mirror. Tomorrow, she would end this for good.