Too Late For Regret, Mr. Preston

The inside of the Bentley was silent and cold, the thick windows muting the chaos outside to a distant hum. Emilia pressed herself against the door, trying to put as much space as possible between herself and Knox. He sat on the opposite side, a portrait of cold fury, staring out the window at the city blurring past.

The silence was a living thing, heavy and suffocating. She had to break it. She had to try.

"Knox," she began, her voice trembling. "It wasn't like that. Sterling... he attacked me. He tried to force himself on me. I was defending myself."

He didn't even turn his head. His profile was sharp and unforgiving. It was as if she hadn't spoken at all, as if she were just a ghost whispering in his car.

Tears of frustration and fear streamed down her face. She couldn't let it end like this. She slid across the seat, grabbing the sleeve of his expensive suit jacket. The fabric was smooth and cool beneath her desperate fingers.

"The baby is yours," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "We can do a test. I swear to you, Knox, I never betrayed you. I never would."

This time, he reacted. His head snapped around, and he ripped his arm from her grasp with such violence that she fell back against the seat.

"Betrayal?" he hissed, his eyes blazing.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a sleek manila folder. He threw it into her lap. The folder fell open, and several glossy 8x10 photographs spilled out onto her dress.

Her breath hitched.

The photos were of her and Attorney Sullivan. One showed him draping his coat over her shoulders on a cold day outside the courthouse. Another showed them leaning close together over a table in a coffee shop, deep in discussion. The last, a grainy, long-lens shot, captured two figures vaguely resembling them in the hallway of a hotel.

Individually, they were nothing. But together, shot from deliberately misleading angles, they painted a damning, intimate picture.

"These are fake," she gasped, her heart pounding against her ribs. "This is just... it's the angle! We were working on the case!"

A sudden, terrifying stillness fell over Knox. The fury in his eyes didn't diminish—it sharpened, crystallized into something even more dangerous. Without a word, he drew back his hand and struck her across the face with the back of it, a brutal, backhanded slap.

The force of the blow snapped her head sideways. Her temple cracked against the cold glass of the window with a sickening thud. A sharp, searing pain exploded in her skull, and for a moment, her vision swam in a blur of stars and shadows. Her cheek blazed as if it had been seared by a hot iron. She tasted blood where her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek. The world tilted, a high-pitched ringing filling her ears.

"Fake?" Knox's voice cut through the ringing, dangerously low. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. "Are the photos fake? Or is the bastard in your belly fake?"

Before she could process the words, his rage exploded. It wasn't a shout. It was a sudden, brutal movement. He lifted his leg and kicked, the hard toe of his dress shoe slamming into her lower abdomen.

A scream of pure agony was torn from her throat. The world went white with pain. She curled into a tight ball, her arms wrapping around her stomach as a fire of unbearable torment spread through her. It was a pain so profound, so absolute, it eclipsed everything else.

Through the haze of agony, she felt a sickening, warm wetness spread between her legs.

A sob of pure terror escaped her. "No... no, please..."

She looked down. A dark stain was blooming on the light fabric of her dress. Blood.

"My baby," she wailed, the words garbled by pain and fear. "Oh god, my baby..."

Knox saw the blood. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his eyes-a brief, momentary stillness. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by an even deeper, more profound revulsion. He looked at her, at the blood, as if she were something utterly spoiled and corrupt.

He leaned forward and spoke into the intercom. "To the clinic. Now." His voice was clipped, devoid of any emotion, let alone concern.

The car sped up, throwing her against the seat. Each bump in the road sent a fresh wave of agony through her. She was losing her baby. He was letting her lose their baby. The man she had loved, the man she had planned to spend her life with, was watching her bleed out in the back of his car and doing nothing.

The Bentley pulled into a discreet underground garage and stopped behind an unmarked door. Knox got out and yanked her door open, hauling her out of the car with no regard for her condition. She stumbled, her legs barely able to support her.

Just before they reached the door to the clinic, he stopped. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box.

Emilia stared at it, her mind foggy with pain. She knew that box.

He flipped it open. Inside, nestled on a bed of black satin, was the diamond ring they had chosen together. A flawless, cushion-cut diamond that had once represented all of her hopes and dreams.

He took the ring from the box. His face was twisted into a grotesque parody of a smile.

"You wanted to be Mrs. Preston so badly, didn't you?" he said, his voice a cruel purr. "Fine. I'll grant your wish."

He grabbed her left hand and began to force the ring onto her ring finger. The act was so perverse, so utterly humiliating, that it snapped something inside her.

A primal, desperate rage surged through her, overriding the pain.

She lunged at him, sinking her teeth into the back of the hand that held hers. She tasted blood, coppery and hot.

He grunted in pain but didn't let go. His grip tightened, the ring cutting into her flesh. He was going to break her finger.

With her free hand, she clawed at his face, her nails seeking purchase. She felt them connect, tearing through skin. A raw, red scratch appeared on his perfect, stony cheek.

Her defiance finally broke through his cold control. The last vestiges of the man she knew vanished, replaced by a monster. A murderous light flared in his eyes, and she knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that he was capable of killing her right here.