Too Late For Regret: My Ex-Husband's Downfall

Colette woke to the soft, rhythmic beep of a machine. The light was gentle, diffused, not the harsh glare of a typical hospital. The air smelled clean, faintly of lavender, not the usual chemical sterility.

She was in a private room. An incredibly luxurious one. Her arm was connected to an IV drip, the clear fluid slowly seeping into her vein. She instinctively touched her nose; it was clean, no trace of the blood.

Her pocket. Her phone.

Panic flared in her chest. She sat up, her head swimming, and fumbled for her dress pocket. It was empty.

"Looking for this?"

The voice was low and resonant, a quiet rumble from the corner of the room. She looked up, her heart lurching.

A man was sitting in a chair in the shadows by the window. He held her phone in his hand. As he stood and walked into the light, she saw the figure from the garage. He was tall, dressed in the same black trench coat. His face was starkly handsome, all sharp angles and shadows, but a thin, pale scar cut through his left eyebrow, giving him a dangerous, broken quality.

He held the phone out to her. "You collapsed. I called an ambulance. They brought you here. The Ward Institute."

She snatched the phone, her fingers immediately flying across the screen. The video was still there. Not just there, but moved into a new, password-protected folder. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Her eyes narrowed, her fear replaced by suspicion. "Who are you? Why did you help me?"

"Kash Ewing," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "I was passing by. As for why... let's just say I don't like watching people die on my property."

Her gaze flickered to his wrist. He was wearing a simple, plastic-looking bracelet, the same kind she had. An identification band for a clinical trial participant. A small measure of her tension eased. He was a patient, like her.

His eyes, a startlingly dark gray, dropped to the medical file on her bedside table-the one the paramedics must have brought. "Acute Myeloid Leukemia, M5 subtype. Nasty."

He could read a diagnosis. She was surprised.

"Your primary physician is Edwardo Lucas?" he continued, his tone still unnervingly calm. He gestured to her phone. "He doesn't seem very concerned about your well-being."

The shame and pain washed over her again. She said nothing.

"You won't survive if you rely on him," Kash stated, not as a question, but as a fact.

Her fists clenched at her sides. "That's none of your business."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It wasn't. But you collapsed in the Ward Institute's parking garage. And I happen to know there's a clinical trial here. For your specific condition."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, unassuming white box. He placed it on her nightstand.

"This is Asidancanmab. The newest compound from the VX-7 project. It's not on the market. I had to pull a lot of strings to get this one dose."

Colette stared at the box. She knew that name. Edwardo had mentioned it once, calling it a miracle drug, a theoretical game-changer. He said it could halt the disease's progression, buying precious time. It was a phantom, a myth in the oncology world.

"Where did you get this?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.

He ignored the question. "Consider it a welcome gift. If you want to live, you'll enroll in the VX-7 trial." He paused, his gaze intense. "But I need something from you in return."

"What?"

"I need you to survive. And to do that, you need to keep your eyes open. This place isn't always what it seems. Just... watch for irregularities. Things that don't add up."

Her mind reeled. "Why me?"

"Because you're smart," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "And you're desperate. A woman who has just been abandoned by her husband and her family will do anything to survive."

His words were brutal, a scalpel slicing away her pride, but they were true. And in their brutal honesty, they ignited something within her. A flicker of defiance. A desperate, clawing will to live.

She looked from the small white box-her only hope-to the face of the mysterious man offering it. He was right. She had nothing left to lose. And everything to fight for.

She met his gaze, her own eyes clear and hard for the first time in days.

"Okay," she said, her voice steady. "I'll do it."

Kash Ewing gave a single, sharp nod of approval. He turned to leave, his trench coat swirling around him.

"Someone will be here tomorrow to handle your admission," he said over his shoulder. "Stop relying on other people, Colette. From now on, the only person you can count on is yourself."