Too Late For Regret: My Dying Breath

Harlow Aguilar pushed her frozen, blistered fingers against the heavy glass side door of the Plaza Hotel. The biting November wind howled behind her, slicing straight through her thin, washed-out gray coat. She shoved her body weight against the glass. The door yielded. The sudden blast of the hotel's central heating hit her face. It didn't bring relief. It triggered a violent, tearing spasm deep inside her chest. A sharp pain ripped through her lungs. Harlow stopped in the gilded entryway. She clamped her mouth shut. The hot, metallic taste of blood coated her tongue. She swallowed hard, forcing the copper liquid back down her raw throat. She looked down. Clementine stood pressed against her leg. The four-year-old's tiny fingers gripped the frayed hem of Harlow's coat. Clementine's pale blue eyes darted around the luxurious, marble-floored hallway. Panic radiated from her small, shivering frame. Harlow crouched. Her knees popped. Her muscles trembled from sheer exhaustion. She reached out and gently pushed a strand of blonde hair behind Clementine's ear, adjusting the cheap, plastic hearing aid resting there. Harlow tried to force a reassuring smile. Her facial muscles twitched. The smile failed. Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble. Two security guards in custom black suits marched toward them. Their eyes locked on Harlow's threadbare coat and Clementine's scuffed sneakers. "Ma'am, you can't be here," the taller guard barked, reaching out to grab Harlow's shoulder. Harlow shoved Clementine behind her back. She dug her trembling hand into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper-a printed floor plan of the hotel. "I'm the replacement," Harlow lied. Her voice rasped. "For the backstage cleaning crew. They called me in ten minutes ago." The guard stopped. He stared at her hollow cheeks and the dark, bruised circles under her eyes. He reached for the radio clipped to his shoulder. Before he could press the button, the heavy mahogany double doors to the main ballroom swung open from the inside. A waiter in a crisp white uniform hurried out. Blinding light spilled into the hallway. The glare of a massive crystal chandelier stabbed Harlow's eyes. She squinted. Through the gap in the doors, her gaze locked onto a figure standing beside a towering champagne pyramid. Ezra Bray. He wore a tailored black tuxedo. He stood tall, his broad shoulders relaxed. His long fingers casually swirled the amber liquid in a crystal glass. The harsh light caught the sharp angles of his jaw. There was no trace of the devastation Harlow had left behind five years ago. Harlow's heart violently contracted. Her chest tightened so hard she couldn't pull in a breath. Her vision blurred. Then, she saw the woman standing next to him. Katherine Aguilar. Katherine wore a pure white, custom lace gown. She tilted her head up at Ezra, her lips curved into a soft, adoring smile. She reached out. Her manicured fingers gently adjusted Ezra's black bowtie. Ezra didn't pull away. He looked down at Katherine. His dark eyes held a quiet, steady tolerance. Harlow's stomach cramped. Acid rose in her throat. She remembered Katherine sitting in the witness box. She remembered Katherine's fake tears. She remembered Katherine swearing under oath, sending Harlow to Rikers Island. The guards turned their heads, distracted by the sudden noise from the ballroom. Harlow didn't think. She grabbed Clementine's hand. She lunged forward, slipping past the guards' blind spot, and pushed through the heavy doors. The thick, expensive wool carpet instantly swallowed the sound of their footsteps. Harlow stood inside the ballroom. Her cheap gray coat screamed against the sea of designer gowns and tailored suits. The conversations around them died. Guests turned. Their eyes raked over Harlow and Clementine. They looked at them like they were trash left on the pristine carpet. The low, mocking whispers crawled through the air like physical blades scraping against Harlow's skin. Clementine shrank back. The hostile stares terrified her. Her cheap hearing aid couldn't process the overlapping whispers. It only fed her a wall of distorted static. Clementine squeezed her eyes shut. She buried her face into Harlow's thigh and let out a high, panicked whimper. The whimper was small. But it cut straight through the low hum of the ballroom. Ezra's head snapped up. His bored gaze swept across the room. His eyes landed on Harlow. The casual indifference vanished from his face. His jaw locked. His dark eyes turned into absolute ice. Ezra slammed his crystal glass down onto a passing waiter's tray. The glass hit the metal so hard it cracked. Golden champagne splashed out, staining the pristine white lace of Katherine's dress. Ezra didn't look at Katherine. He stared at the woman he hadn't seen in five years. Katherine followed his gaze. When she saw Harlow, her perfect smile twisted. For a fraction of a second, pure hatred distorted her features. But she blinked, and the hatred vanished. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with manufactured shock. Ezra moved. He shoved past a wealthy investor blocking his path. He strode across the room. He stopped inches from Harlow. His towering frame completely blocked the light of the chandelier above her. He looked down at her. His eyes stripped away her humanity. "Who let you in?" Ezra's voice was a flat, dead monotone. It held pure, concentrated disgust. Harlow stumbled back half a step. The oppressive weight of his aura crushed her lungs. Her breath came in short, painful gasps. "Ezra," she whispered. Her voice shook. Ezra's lips curled into a vicious sneer. "Couldn't wait, could you?" he mocked. "Fresh out of a prison cell and you rush straight here to ruin my fiancée's charity gala." Katherine materialized at Ezra's side. She slipped her arm through his. "Harlow," Katherine said. Her voice dripped with sickening pity. "Why would you bring a child to a place like this? You're scaring the guests." Harlow ignored her sister. She kept her eyes locked on Ezra. She sucked in a sharp breath. The air burned her throat. "Ezra, please," Harlow begged. She stripped every ounce of pride from her voice. "Ten minutes. Just give me ten minutes alone with you. We need to talk." Ezra let out a harsh, barking laugh. He shifted his gaze down. He looked at the small girl hiding behind Harlow's legs. For a split second, a complex emotion flashed in his eyes. But it was instantly swallowed by revulsion. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you," Ezra stated coldly. "Or to your bastard." He turned his head. He snapped his fingers at the head of security. "Get these two out of here," Ezra commanded. "Now." Two guards lunged forward. One of them grabbed Harlow's upper arm. His thick fingers dug into her fragile bicep. He yanked her backward with brutal force. A muffled groan of pain ripped from Harlow's throat. Her knees buckled. Clementine saw the man hurt her mother. The little girl let out a piercing scream. She threw herself forward. Her tiny fists hammered against the guard's thick thigh. The guard grunted in annoyance. He shoved his hand out and pushed the little girl's shoulder. Clementine flew backward. She hit the thick carpet hard. The impact knocked the cheap hearing aid from her ear. It skittered across the floor, stopping at the tip of Ezra's polished leather shoe. Ezra looked down at the plastic device. His hands curled into fists. He squeezed his fingers so tight his knuckles turned bone-white. Harlow looked up at him, her eyes wide, waiting for him to stop the guards. Ezra unclinched his fists. He turned his back to them. "If she bleeds on the carpet," Ezra said to the guards, his voice devoid of all human warmth, "you're fired."