Too Late For Regret, Mr. Harper

The next morning, Stella dragged her exhausted body into the towering glass headquarters of Harper Industries. She needed this job. It was her only source of income, her only shred of independence.

She had caked on concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes, but she could still feel the sideways glances from her colleagues. Last night's news had spread like wildfire. She was the pathetic wife, the public fool.

Stella pretended not to notice, slipping into her cubicle in the administrative assistant pool. The documents on her desk blurred together. All she could think about was her mother's medical bills and the divorce. She had to find a better-paying job.

Quietly, she opened a browser tab and began scrolling through listings for jewelry designers. It was her major in college, the dream she had shelved for a loveless marriage.

Just before lunch, she went to the breakroom for a cup of coffee, desperate for a jolt of caffeine. The room was empty. She leaned against the counter, inhaling the rich aroma, and for a moment, the knot in her chest loosened.

Then she heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by familiar voices.

Bryant and his best friend, Gray Paul.

Her heart leaped into her throat. She ducked behind a tall bank of storage lockers, pressing herself into the shadows.

They walked in, oblivious to her presence.

Gray leaned against the counter, his tone laced with amusement. "You made the headlines again last night, Bryant. Aren't you worried the little woman at home is going to throw a fit?"

Bryant poured himself a glass of water, his voice flat. "She wouldn't dare."

Gray chuckled. "True. She and the Kanes need you too much. But seriously, what's the plan? Sienna's back for good. You can't keep Stella in the Mrs. Harper slot forever."

Stella held her breath, her feet feeling nailed to the floor.

Bryant walked to the window, staring down at the city below. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his sharp profile.

"The marriage to Stella," he said, his voice as cold as the glass he looked through, "is a habit."

A habit.

How ironic. All these three years—every night she pretended to sleep soundly, every lamp she left on for his late returns, every time she deflected media inquiries for him—all of it had been reduced to a mindless, disposable routine.

"So how long are you planning on keeping this 'habit'?" Gray pressed.

Bryant took a long drag from his cigarette. "Until my grandfather stops watching so closely. Or until the right time comes to end it."

"The right time?" Gray raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like when Sienna wins her Oscar and can marry you without looking like a homewrecker?"

Bryant didn't answer. His silence was all the confirmation she needed.

The strength drained from Stella's body. She sagged against the cold metal of the lockers, the world turning gray at the edges. She had told herself there was no love, but she had clung to the idea of respect, of a partnership.

Now she knew the truth. She was just a placeholder. An object to be discarded when it was no longer convenient.

Gray and Bryant left, their footsteps fading down the hall.

Stella emerged from her hiding place, her face ashen. She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, again and again.

The icy shock brought a new kind of clarity. She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her pale reflection in the mirror.

"The day Sienna wins her Oscar is the day I exit?" she repeated under her breath, her stomach churning.

No. She straightened up abruptly.

Why should she wait for them to set her exit time? She would tear down this stage herself.

Even if it left her bloodied and bruised, she would accept it.