Too Late, Mr. Johnston: She Is Gone
Kara was diagnosed with cancer, and her unborn child could not be kept. Kara planned to end the pregnancy, get a divorce, and face her impending death with equanimity, allowing Davin and his new love, Alyse, to be together. But Davin had no intention of letting her go so easily. He and the increasingly frail Kara were inseparable day and night, just to leave a child for the infertile Alyse. Kara lay dying in her hospital bed, crying and laughing, pleading, "I'll give you my life, please let me go." Later, the cold and aloof man knelt before Kara's tombstone, holding gardenias day and night, his eyes red as he murmured, "Baby, stop it, come back."
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
Kara woke up to the smell of antiseptic and the rhythmic hum of a machine. Her body felt hollow. It wasn't just the physical emptiness in her womb; it was a spiritual vacuum, as if someone had reached inside and scooped out her soul.
She blinked, her eyelids heavy. The room was dim. There was a silhouette sitting in the chair next to her bed.
A spark of pathetic hope flared in her chest.
"Davin?" she rasped.
The figure moved. A hand covered hers. It was warm, calloused, gentle.
"It's me, Kara. It's Julian."
The hope died instantly, replaced by a crushing wave of disappointment. Her vision cleared. Julian Vance, her grandfather's nurse, was looking down at her with eyes full of worry.
"He didn't come, did he?" Kara asked. She pulled her hand away and turned her head toward the window.
Julian sighed. He poured a cup of water from a plastic pitcher. "The hospital called your grandfather as your emergency contact. He couldn't move, obviously. So he sent me."
Kara stared at the blinds. "The baby is gone, Julian."
"I know."
Julian adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. His gaze drifted to the metal chart holder at the foot of the bed. The top sheet was visible. Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia.
He stiffened. Kara saw his eyes widen. She reached out and grabbed his wrist.
"Don't tell anyone," she hissed. "Especially my grandfather If he knows I'm sick, he'll give up. He lives for me."
Julian looked angry. His jaw worked. "You need treatment, Kara. Real treatment. Not just hiding it. The money... I can help."
He stopped himself. He was supposed to be a nurse on a salary. He couldn't explain how he had access to millions.
"It's no use," Kara said, closing her eyes. "I just want to make sure Grandpa is safe before I go."
Davin walked down the hospital corridor. He had left the gala early. Something about the way Kara had screamed on the phone had stuck in his gut like a fishbone.
He told himself he was just coming to verify her lie. To prove she was faking it.
He reached the door to Room 304. It was slightly ajar.
Through the gap, he saw her. She looked small in the hospital bed. And leaning over her, dangerously close, was a man. A man in cheap scrubs. The man was tucking a strand of hair behind Kara's ear.
Davin felt a surge of heat rush up his neck. It was irrational, violent jealousy.
He slammed the door open. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Kara jumped. Julian spun around, instinctively stepping between the bed and the door.
Davin stopped at the foot of the bed. "So this is it?" Davin sneered. "This is why you were so desperate to get rid of my child? To make room for the help?"
Kara sat up, wincing as the stitches in her abdomen pulled. Her face flushed with anger.
"You are a monster, Davin."
Julian took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "You have no idea what she's been through today."
Davin didn't even look at Julian. He kept his eyes locked on Kara. "Get out of my way, orderly."
He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a checkbook. He scribbled a number, ripped the paper out, and threw it onto the bed. It fluttered down and landed on Kara's lap.
"Here. This is for your 'medical expenses,'" Davin said, the sarcasm dripping from his words. "Or pay your boyfriend. I don't care. Just stop calling me."
Kara looked at the check. Fifty thousand dollars. The price of her trauma.
She picked it up. Her fingers were shaking, not from fear, but from rage. She tore the check in half. Then in half again. She threw the confetti at him.
"Get out," she said. Her voice was quiet, deadly.
Davin felt a flicker of unease. He had never seen her look at him like that. Usually, her eyes were pleading, soft. Now they were dead.
He masked his discomfort with cruelty.
"Fine," he said, turning on his heel. "But don't expect me to keep paying for that old man's private suite if you're going to act like this."
He walked out.
Julian moved to chase him, but Kara started coughing. It was a wet, hacking sound. She covered her mouth with a tissue. When she pulled it away, it was spotted with red.
Julian froze. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her up.
"Take me home, Julian," she whispered, leaning her head against his chest. "I don't want to die in this room."
You may also like
8.7
On her eighteenth birthday, Elinor thought she was finally an adult. But a single text message reminded her she was just property.
Boyd Walker, the ruthless billionaire who dictated her every breath, threw a contract onto her bed. He had bought her adoptive father's medical debt—one billion dollars. And she was the sole collateral.
The punishment for even a hint of rebellion was catastrophic.
When her disabled friend tried to check on her, Boyd had his good leg shattered in front of a live security feed just to teach her a lesson.
When she fought off an entitled frat boy at school and came back with a bleeding arm, Boyd didn't comfort her.
Driven by a twisted, suffocating jealousy, he held her under a freezing bath, then tied a red thread with a silver bell around her ankle.
"You are a pet that needs to learn its boundaries."
Every time she moved, the high-pitched ring was a humiliating reminder of her gilded cage. The billion-dollar debt was a chain she could never break, and the monster holding the leash would destroy anyone who dared to help her.
Stripped of her money, her friends, and her dignity, Elinor lay completely still in the dark room for three days, refusing all food and water.
If Boyd wouldn't give her freedom, she would take the only thing she had left to control—her own death.
7.8
After eight years in a cold marriage, I watched my husband, Damian, run past me during a raging fire. He ignored my screams, his only focus on saving another woman.
That night, he coldly admitted he never loved me. Our entire marriage was just a business deal he was forced into.
But his betrayal didn't end there. His mistress, Aida, framed my innocent younger brother for a crime he didn't commit. Damian believed her lies without question.
He stood by as she had my brother murdered in his hospital bed. He even forced me to crawl over broken glass to apologize for "upsetting" her.
The final blow came when he threatened me with my mother' s heirloom box, not knowing it held my brother' s ashes. He had taken everything from me-my love, my family, my dignity.
He thought he had broken me. But he only forged me into a weapon.
Now, I'm back. And as the new majority shareholder of his company, I'm here to make him pay for every last sin.
7.3
Eloise was the untouchable Brandt family heiress, just one audition away from landing a lead movie role and escaping her golden cage.
But overnight, her family's empire completely collapsed.
With her father dying of heart failure, her mother forced her to beg the only man who could save them: Christian Clarke.
Christian was the ruthless billionaire who had publicly humiliated Eloise in college, ripping up her love letter in front of a laughing crowd.
Now, he tossed a fifty-million-dollar acquisition contract on the table.
"What exactly is the Brandt heiress putting up for sale today?"
To secure her father's medical care, Eloise was forced to sign a suffocating marriage contract, selling herself as a corporate tax shield.
He moved her into his freezing penthouse and treated her like a purchased asset. He mocked her attempts to cook him dinner, yet pinned her against the wall with punishing, possessive kisses whenever she tried to pull away.
Eloise's pride was entirely shattered.
She didn't understand why he was doing this. If he hated her so much and only wanted revenge, why did his touch carry such an agonizing, desperate heat?
Determined to survive, she went to her final audition and miraculously won the lead role, crying tears of joy because she had finally earned something on her own.
She had no idea that the cold-blooded monster sleeping beside her had just secretly threatened to destroy all of Hollywood to give it to her.
8.5
I woke up in the tangled black silk sheets of the Mafia Don's bed, my skin still burning from his ruthless touch in the dark.
The heavy door burst open, and his pristine wife, Bianca, looked at my bruised collarbones with visceral hatred.
Instead of having me killed for soiling her husband's bed, she offered a devil's bargain.
"You will take my place in his bed. You will be a shadow in the dark."
In my past life, I foolishly accepted, thinking her money would pay for my dying mother's hospital bills. I didn't realize the untouchable Mafia Queen was barren and just needed a disposable incubator. After I endured the Don's violent possession and birthed the Moretti heir, they cut off my mother's medicine. Then, they dragged me to a remote warehouse and suffocated me with a wet mattress to bury their dirty secret forever.
Until my last agonizing breath, I didn't understand why my absolute submission and suffering were rewarded with such a brutal, meaningless death.
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the morning after the Don first claimed me.
I knelt on the Persian rug, weeping tears of fake gratitude as Bianca handed me the cash. But the moment my escort looked away, I didn't take her fertility herbs. I bought a bitter root from an alley witch to keep my womb empty. This time, I won't give the Don a child. I'll become his darkest obsession, and use his lethal power to burn this entire family to the ground.
9.3
"W-wait! Someone's comi- ah!" Dylan's gasps were muffled with a kiss that made his legs go weak.
"Want me to stop?" The whisper made him shudder.
"...no, b-but there's-"
"Then be a good boy and focus on me. Spread your legs."
Dylan as an innocent college student knew what he wanted in a guy and coincidentally, the Waltson's, their new neighbor, had a son Theo who was a perfect fit. But sadly straight and also not single. Aiming to drink out his sorrows at the school party and move on was an act he did not see ending with him sleeping with someone, but having no idea who it was the next morning.
Soon, his hunt for the truth gets narrowed down to the Waltson's, and he gets faced with the late realization that Theo wasn't the only son of the Waltson's. With his elder brother, Lucas, and a mute twin, Kyle, his options of his drunk one night widens from one to three.
Lucas and Theo had been present at the party, and Dylan saw his only chance of knowing the truth was getting closer to them. But to do that, he needed the help of Kyle who was anything but nice to him. His constant glares, his mischievous smiles, and his hand signs that get interpreted into nothing but lies. Almost like he was trying his best to keep him away from his brothers. And just when he thought that, he takes up the initiative to search up a sign Kyle had shown to him.
^^You and him are never going to work out. I'll make sure of that.^^
In the game of finding out what Kyle meant by that, he stumbles across something even bigger. The Waltson's secret
7.5
After my boyfriend of four years publicly humiliated me at a charity gala, calling me a "charity case," I drowned my sorrows at a dive bar and had a one-night stand with a stranger.
I woke up the next morning in a luxury hotel suite to find out the stranger was Christian Porter, the most ruthless billionaire on Wall Street.
Worse, paparazzi had photographed us leaving the bar. He coldly informed me that the photos would create a scandal that could tank his company's upcoming IPO, costing him hundreds of millions. As if my world wasn't collapsing fast enough, I got a call that my younger brother had been arrested for assaulting my ex in my defense.
Christian didn't want my apology; he wanted a solution. He slammed a prenuptial agreement on the table in front of me.
He gave me an ultimatum: sign a two-year marriage contract to turn the scandal into a corporate fairy tale, or he would ruin me. Trapped, I agreed. But when my furious brother confronted him at the police station, Christian looked him dead in the eye and said something that left me breathless.
"I didn't marry her to solve a problem," he said, his voice echoing in the small room. "I married her because I've been in love with her for ten years."