Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Savior

The room smelled of ozone and sterile alcohol.

For ten agonizing minutes, the medical team worked over the bed. The sound of the defibrillator thumping against Eleanor's chest echoed off the walls.

Finally, the lead doctor stepped back. He lowered the paddles. He looked at the monitor, then slowly shook his head.

He pulled his surgical mask down and walked over to Charlotte.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said softly. "Her heart is too weak. We have minutes, maybe less."

Charlotte's knees gave out.

Before she could hit the floor, Daxton stepped up beside her. His large hand gripped her upper arm, holding her steady. His grip was firm, anchoring her to reality.

The doctors and nurses quietly filed out of the room, leaving the family to their final moments.

Charlotte stumbled forward and fell to her knees beside the bed. She grabbed Eleanor's thin, bruised hand and pressed it against her wet cheek. Hot tears spilled onto the white sheets.

Eleanor's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, they opened. Her cloudy eyes darted around the room before finally settling on Charlotte's face.

With a trembling hand, Eleanor reached up and pulled the oxygen mask down to her chin.

"Charlie..." Eleanor whispered. Her voice was as thin as paper.

"I'm here, Grandma. I'm right here," Charlotte choked out, nodding frantically.

Eleanor's gaze drifted past Charlotte. She looked at the tall, imposing man standing silently near the foot of the bed.

Eleanor's brow furrowed slightly. "Is that... is that Bradly?"

Charlotte's breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She couldn't tell her dying grandmother the truth. She couldn't let Eleanor leave this world knowing her granddaughter had been cheated on, abandoned, and left completely alone.

Charlotte opened her mouth to lie, but the words caught in her throat. She was paralyzed by guilt.

A warm, heavy hand rested on Charlotte's shoulder.

Daxton stepped forward. He lowered his massive frame, taking a knee on the hard floor so his eyes were level with the old woman's.

He reached out and gently covered Eleanor's free hand with his own.

"I'm Daxton," he said. His voice was incredibly gentle, stripped of all its previous coldness. "I'm Charlotte's fiancé. Bradly is out of the picture."

Charlotte snapped her head to look at him, her eyes wide with shock.

Daxton didn't look at her. But his fingers squeezed Charlotte's shoulder, a silent command for her to play along.

Eleanor blinked slowly. She studied Daxton's face. She looked at the sharp cut of his jaw, the expensive fabric of his suit, and the deep, steady calm in his dark eyes.

A faint, knowing smile touched the corners of Eleanor's lips. She didn't call out the lie.

She squeezed Daxton's fingers with the last ounce of her strength.

"Take care of my girl," Eleanor whispered. "Promise me."

Daxton looked directly into the dying woman's eyes. He didn't hesitate.

"I promise you," Daxton said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "As long as I am breathing, no one will ever hurt her again."

The words hung in the air, heavy and solid.

Eleanor's eyes softened. A tear slipped down her wrinkled cheek, disappearing into her gray hair. The tension in her face melted away, replaced by total peace.

She turned her head slightly to look at Charlotte.

"Don't be afraid," Eleanor breathed out. "Go live your life."

With a soft sigh, Eleanor's chest stopped moving. Her hand slipped out of Daxton's grip and fell heavily onto the mattress.

The heart monitor emitted a long, unbroken tone. The green line on the screen went completely flat.

Charlotte let out a guttural, heart-wrenching sob. She buried her face in the mattress, her fingers curling into the bedsheets as she cried for the only person in the world who had ever truly loved her.

Daxton stood up slowly. He looked down at the woman weeping on the floor. A strange, tight sensation gripped his chest-a feeling of protectiveness he had never experienced before.

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a pristine white silk handkerchief.

He didn't speak. He didn't interrupt her grief.

He simply crouched down and placed the handkerchief softly on the bed, right next to her trembling hand. Then, he stepped back into the shadows, standing guard in the silence.