Too Late For Regret: My Possessive Billionaire

The heavy wooden door closed with a solid thud behind Alexzander. He stood in the quiet hospital corridor, his chest tight. He reached up and yanked his silk tie loose, dragging in a harsh breath of the antiseptic air.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up with a preliminary report from his assistant regarding the accident outside the clinic.

The text detailed a runaway medical supply cart. Alexzander's eyes narrowed, a dangerous coldness settling over his features. He typed a rapid reply, ordering a full investigation into the clinic's safety protocols and management.

He looked through the small glass window of the hospital door. Ciara was curled on her side, her back facing the door. She looked impossibly small in the center of the large hospital bed. A wave of useless frustration washed over him.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the VIP elevator. He felt a wave of powerless frustration. He could leverage capital to move global markets, but he had no strategy to repair her shattered trust. His mind drew a blank, leaving him to grasp at the only non-capital solution he could remember. He would buy her the organic breakfast she always craved when she was upset. It was a foolish, trivial attempt, but it was the only thing he knew how to do right now.

Alexzander walked out of the hospital lobby. He did not summon his driver. He walked several blocks down the busy avenue until he reached the high-end Whole Foods bakery.

Inside the hospital room, Ciara listened to the sound of his leather shoes fading down the hall. She slowly rolled onto her back. She stared blankly at the white ceiling tiles.

She thought about the last four years. She had lived in a bubble of his creation, believing every sweet moment. Now, the memory of his arms around another woman made her skin crawl.

She used her left hand to reach for her phone on the bedside table. Her thumb swiped open the screen. The wallpaper was a photo of them smiling on a yacht in Monaco. Tears spilled over her cheeks, sliding silently into her ears.

Half an hour later, the door handle clicked. Alexzander walked back in, carrying a brown paper bag.

He set the bag on the bedside table. He carefully pulled out a steaming oat milk latte and a warm whole wheat croissant.

The rich smell of roasted coffee and butter filled the room. Alexzander softened his voice, leaning over the bed.

"Ciara. Sit up and eat something. You need your strength."

Ciara kept her eyes shut. Her breathing remained steady. She pretended to be deep asleep.

Alexzander knew she was awake. He let out a heavy sigh. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. His large frame looked awkward and out of place next to the medical equipment.

He reached out to touch her uninjured left shoulder, intending to guide her up.

Ciara's eyes snapped open. They were as cold as winter ice. She swung her left arm out violently, slapping his hand away.

Her sudden movement caught the edge of the paper cup on the nightstand. The cup tipped over.

The warm oat milk latte spilled over the edge of the table. It splashed directly onto Alexzander's custom suit trousers, leaving a massive, dark brown stain across his thigh.

Alexzander glanced down at his ruined trousers. The muscle in his jaw twitched. He did not yell. Instead, he grabbed a handful of paper towels and rapidly began wiping the liquid off the table, making sure none of it dripped onto Ciara's bedsheets.

His movements were rushed and clumsy. The usual flawless composure of the Wall Street predator was gone.

Ciara watched him scramble. Her heart felt like a stone in her chest.

"Take that garbage away," she said, her voice dripping with ice. "It smells like another woman."

Alexzander froze. The paper towels crumpled in his fist. He slowly lifted his head, a flash of genuine hurt crossing his dark eyes.

He forced his voice to remain level. "This is your favorite bakery. I stood in line for twenty minutes to get this for you."

Ciara let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Do you really think a croissant erases the fact that you abandoned your pregnant wife in an emergency room?"

Alexzander had no answer. He knew how to leverage billions, but he had no strategy for this suffocating emotional knot.

He stood up, towering over the bed. His face hardened, returning to its usual mask of cold logic. "Stop being unreasonable, Ciara."

Ciara did not flinch. She met his gaze head-on. "I have never been more reasonable in my entire life."

Alexzander felt a surge of raw irritation. He convinced himself this was just pregnancy hormones making her irrational. She just needed time to cool off.

He tossed the soaked paper towels into the trash bin. "Then get some rest," he said coldly.

He turned and walked out of the room, his long strides eating up the distance to the door.