Too late to regret

"Sign them, Maya. I don't have all night." The words hit me harder than the cold draft rattling the penthouse windows. I froze, the silver tray in my hands trembling. On it sat two glasses of vintage champagne and a small, velvet box-my gift to him for our third secret anniversary. I forced a smile, though my heart was already beginning to hammer against my ribs. "Julian? It's nearly midnight. We're supposed to be celebrating. You said after tonight, we wouldn't have to hide anymore." Julian Vane didn't look at the champagne. He didn't look at me. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, his tailored suit jacket discarded, looking every bit the cold, ruthless billionaire the world feared. On the mahogany desk between us lay a thick stack of papers. The word DIVORCE stared back at me in bold, uncompromising ink. "The three years are up, Maya," he said, his voice as flat as a dial tone. "The arrangement has served its purpose. My father's estate is settled, my position as CEO is secure, and I no longer require a wife." "A requirement?" My voice cracked, a lump rising in my throat that felt like swallowing glass. "Is that all I've been to you? A business box you needed to check?" He finally turned, his eyes icy and devoid of the warmth I thought I'd seen there just last week. "Don't make this emotional. You knew the terms. You got your tuition paid, your mother's medical bills covered. You've been compensated." "I loved you, Julian." He flinched, but only for a second. "That was your first mistake. Tomorrow, I'm announcing my engagement to Isabella. She's the one who saved my family's reputation when we were kids-she's the one who actually belongs by my side." The tray slipped from my numb fingers. The crystal shattered, expensive bubbles soaking into the designer rug. I didn't care. "You're marrying her? The woman you told me was just a family friend?" "She is what the Vane empire needs," he said, pushing a pen toward me. "Sign the papers, Maya. If you leave quietly, I'll add a zero to your settlement. If you make a scene, you leave with nothing." I looked at the pen, then at the man I had spent three years protecting, loving, and waiting for. The girl who would have done anything for him died in that moment of shattered glass. I picked up the pen. My hands didn't shake anymore. "I don't want your extra zero, Julian," I whispered, signing my name with a sharp, jagged stroke. "I want you to remember this night. Because one day, you're going to realize exactly what you threw away. And by then, it will be too late." I walked out without looking back, leaving the velvet box-and my heart-on the desk.