Too Late For Regret, Mr. Billionaire.

The first thing Chloe noticed was the smell. Antiseptic. Clean and sharp and sterile. The second was the blinding white light on the ceiling above her. A hospital. She saw the plastic ID bracelet around her wrist and knew.

The door to her room burst open and her best friend Kelsi Charles rushed in, her eyes red and puffy.

"Chloe! Oh my god, you're awake." Kelsi's voice was thick with tears she was holding back. She grabbed Chloe's hand, squeezing hard.

Chloe's first thought, her only thought, pushed through the fog of pain and confusion. Her free hand flew to her belly. It felt... empty.

"The baby," she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. "My baby..."

Kelsi didn't say anything. The silence was the answer. A crushing, soul-destroying silence that confirmed her deepest fear. A sob tore from Chloe's chest, raw and animal, a sound of pure loss. The tears came then, not gentle drops but a silent, violent flood, soaking the stiff white pillowcase. She was crying for a life she'd never get to hold, a secret she'd never get to share.

"That bastard," Kelsi said through her teeth, her voice shaking with rage. "That absolute bastard Cole Rutledge. I called him a hundred times. A hundred. He didn't pick up once. A passing driver called 911, Chloe. He never even showed up."

The pain of those words cut sharper than anything physical. He hadn't come. He'd left her bleeding on the side of the road.

The grief pulled back, replaced by a cold, hollow numbness. She had to know. She had to see.

She struggled to sit up, shoving the thin blanket aside.

"Whoa, hey, what are you doing?" Kelsi tried to push her back down gently. "You need to rest."

"No." Chloe's voice came out eerily calm, flat of all feeling. "I need to see her. I need to see the woman who matters more than my child."

The look in her eyes was solid, unbreakable. Kelsi saw it and let out a defeated sigh, then helped her out of bed. Leaning heavily on her friend, Chloe shuffled down the quiet, sterile hallway of the VIP wing. They stopped at the end of the corridor, in front of a room with a large glass window.

And there he was. Cole.

He sat by the bedside, carefully spooning soup into a woman's mouth. The look on his face—tender, focused concern—was one Chloe had craved for three years and never once received.

Then the woman lifted her head, and Chloe's breath caught in her throat.

The face was pale, the features finer, the whole look of her screaming fragility. But it was, without a doubt, a face that could have been her own. Like looking at a warped reflection in a mirror. Seven parts her, three parts a stranger.

In that single, horrifying moment, everything clicked into place. The way he sometimes stared at her, like he was seeing something far away. The exact shade of lipstick he always preferred. The way he liked her to wear her hair. It all made a sick kind of sense now.

She wasn't loved. She was a stand-in. A substitute. A breathing ghost of another woman.

The sharp ache in her chest faded into a vast, empty coldness. The last scraps of her love for Cole Rutledge died right there in that hallway, right alongside the child they'd made.

"Let's go," she said to Kelsi, her voice flat. "There's nothing to see here."

Back in her room, she lay in silence, staring at the ceiling for hours. The next afternoon, he finally showed up.

Cole Rutledge walked in looking tired and annoyed, like he was dealing with a tedious business problem. He frowned at her pale face.

"Are you done making a scene? It was a car accident, Chloe. Did you really need to cause all this drama?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black credit card, setting it on the bedside table. "I'll cover the medical bills. Take this. The PIN is your birthday."

She didn't even glance at the card. He thought money could fix this. He thought money could replace a life.

A hollow, mirthless laugh slipped out of her mouth. She turned her head slowly, looking at him, really looking, like she was seeing him for the first time. He was a stranger. A handsome, cruel stranger.

"Cole," she asked, her voice quiet and clear. "For the past three years, when you looked at me... who were you really seeing?"