Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Savior

Charlotte walked through the sliding glass doors of St. Jude Hospice Care. She was shivering violently. Puddles of rainwater dripped from her clothes onto the pristine linoleum floor. Her bare feet left wet, muddy prints. Blood trickled down her forearm from her torn elbow. The nurses at the front desk stared at her in shock, but Charlotte ignored them. She limped straight to the elevator bank and slammed her hand against the button for the top floor-the critical care unit. At the exact same moment, three miles away in the emergency room of Manhattan General, Daxton Gomez stood in a brightly lit hallway. An ER doctor holding a tablet walked up to him. "Mr. Gomez," the doctor said, his voice serious. "Your grandfather is stable. But I need to be clear. If someone hadn't administered his pills and performed textbook CPR out there, he would have been dead before the ambulance arrived." Daxton's jaw tightened. An image flashed in his mind. The barefoot woman in the rain, pressing her hands into his grandfather's chest. The way he had grabbed her by the collar and thrown her onto the asphalt. Daxton looked down at his right hand. Smeared across his knuckles was a streak of dried blood. It wasn't his. It was hers, from when she scraped her elbow on the street. A heavy, unfamiliar weight of guilt settled in his stomach. He turned to the massive bodyguard standing behind him. "Pull the street cameras from that intersection. Find out who that woman is. Now." The bodyguard nodded, tapping his earpiece. A moment later, he looked up. "Sir, we ran her facial recognition through the city grid. Her name is Charlotte Guthrie. And sir... she just entered St. Jude Hospice Care. The hospital just issued a critical condition alert for her grandmother." Daxton's jaw tightened as the pieces clicked into place. "Get the car ready. We're going to St. Jude. Now." Charlotte stepped out of the elevator onto the quiet, sterile floor of the hospice. She hurried down the hallway, her wet clothes slapping against her skin. When she reached Room 412, she stopped. The heavy wooden door was cracked open. Loud, aggressive voices spilled out into the hallway. Charlotte pressed her back against the wall and peeked through the gap in the door. Her stomach dropped. Inside the room, her father Vernon, her mother Brenda, and her younger brother Ricky were surrounding the hospital bed. The only one missing was her younger sister, Harper, who never bothered to show up for anything that didn't benefit her directly. Eleanor lay on the mattress, a clear oxygen mask strapped over her pale face. She looked incredibly fragile, her chest barely rising. Ricky had his hands under Eleanor's armpits, roughly pulling the dying woman up into a sitting position. Vernon was shoving a thick stack of papers and a black pen toward Eleanor's trembling hand. "Sign the paper, Mom," Vernon demanded, his voice harsh. "Just sign it and we'll let you rest." Brenda leaned over the bed. "If you don't sign this, Eleanor, I swear to God I will find the plug to these machines and pull it myself." The sheer evil of the threat snapped the last thread of Charlotte's sanity. She raised her bare foot and kicked the wooden door with all her strength. The door slammed open, crashing against the wall with a deafening bang. The three of them jumped, spinning around to face the doorway. Charlotte charged into the room like a wild animal. She shoved Ricky hard in the chest, knocking him backward into a medical cart. She stood in front of the bed, shielding Eleanor with her body. Her hands shook as she gently laid her grandmother back onto the pillows and adjusted the oxygen tube. Vernon recovered from his shock. His face twisted into an ugly snarl. "You little bitch," Vernon spat. He raised his heavy fist, stepping forward to strike her in the back of the head. Heavy, measured footsteps echoed in the hallway. Daxton had tracked her down. He appeared in the doorway just as Vernon swung his arm. Daxton's eyes locked onto the scene. He moved with terrifying speed. He stepped into the room, reached out, and caught Vernon's wrist in mid-air. His large hand wrapped around Vernon's arm like a steel vice. Daxton twisted his wrist sharply. A loud, sickening crack echoed in the small room. Vernon dropped to his knees, letting out a high-pitched scream of agony. Daxton shoved Vernon away in disgust. He stepped forward, his broad shoulders completely blocking Charlotte from the rest of her family. Charlotte turned around, her eyes wide. She stared at the man from the rainstorm. Daxton looked down at her bleeding elbow. He adjusted his pristine cuffs, his face unreadable. "I apologize for my actions on the street," Daxton said. His voice was deep, calm, and completely out of place in the chaotic room. Charlotte blinked, stunned into silence. Ricky pointed a shaking finger at Daxton. "Who the hell are you? Get out of our family business!" Daxton didn't even look at him. He simply raised two fingers in the air. Two massive men in black suits stepped into the doorway, crossing their arms. They blocked the exit completely. The temperature in the room plummeted. Daxton looked at the Guthrie family as if he were looking at trash on the bottom of his shoe.