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Too Late For Regret, My Love Novel Cover

Too Late For Regret, My Love

My fiancé Brett and I were building a design empire. When he broke his leg, he hired a temporary housekeeper, Glenda, while I was away on business. I thought she was there to help; I didn't realize she was there to replace me. She systematically took over my home, turning Brett against me piece by piece. The final straw was finding my cat, Apollo, locked in a cage, bruised and starving. When I confronted them, Brett defended her. He called me a monster and told me to get rid of my cat for the sake of the baby I was secretly carrying. The shock of his betrayal was so profound that I miscarried that night. He never knew. He just screamed that I was a cold, calculating bitch and that Glenda was a "good woman" who truly loved him. So I left. I took my cat, liquidated my half of our company, and disappeared. Three years later, I walked into an industry gala and saw him across the room-a broken man. He looked at me with desperate regret, but I just smiled. My revenge wouldn't be loud; it would be my success.
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Chapter 6

My palm connected with Brett's cheek with a sharp, echoing crack. The sound ricocheted through the sudden silence of the patio. It wasn't a gentle slap. It was the sound of everything I had held back, everything I had rationalized, everything I had believed in, finally shattering.

Glenda shrieked, a high-pitched, exaggerated cry. "Mr. Parker! Are you alright?!" She rushed to his side, her hands fluttering over his reddening cheek.

Brett stared at me, his eyes wide with shock and fury. He clutched his cheek, his face contorted. "Alex! You bitch! How dare you?!"

I ignored him. Completely. His anger, his pain, meant nothing to me. It was a faint buzzing in the background of my own, roaring inferno. I turned, scooped up Apollo, who was still trembling, and clutched him to my chest. He pressed his small, bony body against me, his faint purr a desperate plea.

"Pack your things, Alex," Brett snarled, his voice thick with unadulterated hatred. "Get out of my house! Get out and never come back!"

"Oh, I'm going," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Believe me, I'm going."

Glenda, her eyes wide with triumphant disbelief, watched me. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected me to leave. She thought she had won.

Brett, still fuming, saw the suitcases I had just brought back in the hallway. "And take your damn cat with you! I don't want either of you in my life!"

I walked past him, past Glenda, past the crumpled wedding invitations in the bin. My mind was clear, focused. There was no more pain, no more indecision. Just resolution.

Apollo whimpered, burying his head against my shoulder. I felt his small heart thumping against my ribs. My poor, sweet boy.

I marched into our bedroom. Our bedroom. A room that now felt like a stranger's. I grabbed the smallest carry-on bag I owned. I didn't need much. Clothes, toiletries, my passport, my essential work hard drive. The rest, the memories, the shared life, it was all tainted. It was all poison.

I pulled off the engagement ring. The heavy diamond, a symbol of forever, now felt like a lead weight, burning my skin. I walked back into the living room, past Brett, past Glenda, who were now engaged in a hushed, urgent conversation, their eyes still occasionally darting to me.

I placed the ring on the coffee table, directly in front of Brett, next to his injured leg. It glittered under the soft lamplight, a silent, eloquent declaration.

"It's over, Brett," I said, my voice steady, betraying none of the earthquake raging inside me. "Everything. The engagement. The partnership. Us."

Brett stared at the ring, his face draining of all color. "Alex, wait! No! You can't just-"

"I can," I cut him off, my voice sharp and final. "And I am." I walked to the front door, Apollo still cradled in my arms.

The hallway light flickered as I stepped out, then plunged into darkness behind me. I didn't hesitate. I didn't look back. My footsteps were firm, resolute.

I reached for my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. First, a call to my lawyer. "I need to liquidate my shares in Parker-Hardy Designs. Effective immediately. And I need to revoke all of Brett Parker's access to our joint accounts." Then, a message to my assistant: "Book me the earliest possible flight to London. And contact the European division of Sterling & Stone. Tell them I'm accepting their offer."

I then called a moving company. "I need everything out of my former residence by tomorrow morning. Every single personal item. Do not leave a single trace."

Later that night, curled up in my small apartment, Apollo purring softly beside me, I typed a single, curt message to Brett. An email, not a text.

Consider us dissolved. Both personally and professionally. My lawyers will be in touch.

I pressed send. The email vanished into the digital ether, a final, irrevocable severance.

Apollo, still a little shaky, nudged his head against my arm. I stroked his soft fur, feeling his warmth, his vulnerability. He was the only thing I was taking with me from that life. The only thing worth saving.

I tightened my grip on him. My heart, though shattered, was no longer bleeding. It was hardening. And for the first time in a very long time, I felt a strange sense of clarity, a quiet resolve. I was free. And I would never, ever look back.

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