The Billionaire Regret After My Goodbye

Aria's POV

"NO... PLEASE... STAY AWAY! Don't hurt my baby, PLEASE!"

My voice was barely audible, more like a whisper than a cry, yet it was drowned in the cold clatter of surgical instruments.

I curled up in the farthest corner of the operating room, my body pressed against the icy wall. The white dress I wore was wrinkled and stained, as crumpled as the chaos in my heart.

I must've looked like a mess-my hair tangled and stuck to my tear-streaked face, my lips bitten raw, streaked with blood.

But none of that mattered anymore. Not here. Not now.

The doctors moved with sterile precision, dressed in pale blue scrubs, their gloved hands calmly arranging gleaming instruments that shimmered under the harsh fluorescent lights.

The anesthesiologist adjusted the IV bag above me, the silver glint of the needle burning into my vision.

"It's a simple procedure," he said with a professional smile. "It'll be over quickly."

"Liar!" I shook my head violently, as if I could somehow shake his words out of my mind. "You're all liars! Murderers! You're trying to kill my baby!"

That child was all I had left-the only thing anchoring me to this life. How could I just give up on him?

The head nurse stepped forward. Her face was colder than any of the doctors'. She grabbed my wrist with a grip like iron, sharp and emotionless.

She motioned to the two orderlies. "Hold her down."

As they reached for me, something primal surged up inside me. I screamed, broke free with every ounce of strength I had, and shoved her backward.

She stumbled, crashing into the others. The room descended into chaos.

And then-

The door burst open.

For a moment, my heart leapt. Kane? Did he change his mind? Did he finally come to save us?

But no.

It wasn't him.

It was Baron-his assistant.

He stood in the doorway, brows furrowed, his eyes filled with disdain. The way he looked at me... like I was nothing more than a madwoman causing trouble.

Still, I had no choice. I had to try. This was the only sliver of hope left to me.

"BARON! Baron, please!" I threw myself at him, collapsing to my knees and grabbing onto the fabric of his trousers. "Please-don't let them hurt my baby. I'm begging you..."

There was no pride left in me. No dignity. Every ounce of strength I had was poured into this desperate plea.

But he didn't even flinch. Not a flicker of sympathy.

Without a word, he raised his foot and drove it into my shoulder. Pain exploded down my arm as I hit the cold floor, my face pressed against the tile.

"I thought you'd come to your senses by now," he said, his voice like ice.

I couldn't stop the tears. They poured down my face, hot and endless. My voice cracked as I whispered, "I don't understand... why? I just want to keep my baby. The baby hasn't done anything wrong..."

"The boss doesn't want the baby," Baron said flatly.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE WANTS!" I choked, my voice raw. "He doesn't have to raise the baby-I'll disappear, I swear. I'll leave and NEVER show my face again. Just... PLEASE, Baron, call him. Let me talk to him. Let me beg him, one last time.."

I clung to his leg, sobbing, but he only looked down at me like I was a lunatic.

"Fine," he muttered. "Then let me show you how things really are."

He pulled out his phone.

Stupidly, I still hoped. I still thought maybe-just maybe-he was calling Kane for me. That maybe he still cared.

But then the speaker crackled to life.

"What if she refuses?" Baron's voice came through.

"Refuse?" That voice...

I'd know it anywhere. Deep, low, once warm enough to make me believe in forever.

Now it sounded like a blade being dragged across stone.

"She won't refuse. She knows it herself."

Kane. My Kane.

The man who used to whisper love into my ear like promises.

Now his words carved through me like knives.

"She is unworthy of being the mother of my child." he said, almost amused.

And just like that-I broke.

I didn't scream. I didn't wail.

Just a quiet whimper escaped my throat, like a wounded animal.

The world around me faded. All I could hear was the thunder of blood in my ears. My heart felt like it had been hollowed out with a rusted spoon.

So this... this is what heartbreak really feels like.

Not a cinematic explosion of pain.

Just... emptiness.

Numbness.

I stood up slowly, legs trembling under me like wet paper. The massive window at the far end of the room caught my eye.

Outside, the sky was the color of lead.

How strange!

The world looked so calm, even as mine crumbled to ash.

The figures rushed toward me again, voices sharp and urgent.

But I didn't hear them anymore.

I climbed onto the windowsill, the wind sweeping my hair back from my face. One last glance at the sterile room behind me-filled with faceless people, masks, gloves, orders.

They were still talking, but it didn't matter.

I'd already made my choice.

"Tell Kane... I'll do what he wants." My voice was clear, almost serene. "Goodbye."

And then I leaned back, surrendering to the pull of gravity.

As I fell, I didn't feel fear.

Only peace.

For once, this choice was mine.

I touched my gently rounded belly one last time.

I'm sorry, baby.

I couldn't protect you.

But at least now, they'll never separate us again.

Aria's POV

Years ago

It was a Saturday night. The bar pulsed with noise-shouting, laughter, the thumping beat of music that rattled your bones.

Strobe lights cut across the room like blades, and the air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume, cigarette smoke, and alcohol. It choked me, made it hard to breathe.

Before coming here, I'd downed a handful of hangover pills, praying I could hold my liquor long enough to sell more drinks tonight.

That was how I made a living-selling alcohol on commission. The more I sold, the more I earned.

But in places like this, business was rarely just business. Lately, the men didn't want to pay for the drinks-they wanted to see us drink them. They weren't buying alcohol. They were buying control. Amusement.

And we, the salesgirls, were just part of the entertainment.

I knew that. And I still did it. Because I had to.

But tonight, I'd gone too far.

The alcohol hit me hard. One second, I was trying to make another sale; the next, my vision blurred, and the floor tilted beneath me.

I stumbled toward the restroom, barely making it to the toilet before I dropped to my knees and vomited violently.

My stomach twisted like someone had their hand wrapped around it, squeezing. Nothing came up except bitter bile.

I collapsed on the cold tile floor, forehead pressed against it, my body shaking uncontrollably. Toilets flushed all around me-mine, someone else's, I couldn't tell anymore.

I don't know how long I stayed there before I managed to move. Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up, one hand braced against the wall. My legs trembled under me, barely able to support my weight. My head felt like it was packed with cotton. The buzzing in my ears was constant.

Voices filtered through the haze. I couldn't make out the words, just the rhythm-people searching for someone. Calling out. Laughing.

I staggered forward, still hugging the wall. My stomach burned, and every step sent nausea clawing up my throat. I didn't care what they were saying. I just wanted to get out.

And then-everything spun.

Without warning, someone grabbed me from behind and hoisted me into the air. I let out a strangled gasp, but no sound came.

I was slung over someone's shoulder like a rag doll, my stomach pressed hard against them, making my nausea flare.

"She's not one of ours," a voice said hesitantly.

"So what?" a woman sneered. "She's blackout drunk. Won't remember A DAMN THING tomorrow."

Panic snapped through me like lightning.

In bars like this, it wasn't unheard of for drunk girls to go missing-too far gone to scream, too weak to fight.

Everyone's heard the stories.

Doesn't matter the city, the country, the continent-there's always someone lurking, waiting to drag a girl away the moment she lets her guard down.

God... don't tell me tonight I became that story.

The thought slammed into me like ice water.

My buzz snapped in half.

Panic surged in its place.

I tried to move, to fight, but my limbs felt like they'd been filled with cement. My arms wouldn't cooperate, and my legs-useless. I couldn't even lift my head.

I was being carried-thrown over someone's shoulder like a sack of flour. His shoulder dug into my stomach, jostling me with every step. The pressure made the nausea worse, bile rising in my throat.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to run.

But all I could do was hang there, limp and helpless, the world spinning sideways as they dragged me into the dark.

The mattress dipped beneath me, the world spinning as I tried to push myself up. My knees gave out beneath me, and I slumped to the floor, hitting the ground hard.

I heard a click-the door shutting.

I bit down on the tip of my tongue until I tasted blood. The sharp, metallic tang jolted me a little more awake. I couldn't let this happen. I had to get out.

My back was drenched in cold sweat, my clothes sticky and clinging to me. I forced myself to stand, grabbing the edge of the bed for support.

Then I heard footsteps. The door opened again.

I froze.

A man stepped inside-bare-chested, his skin glistening like he'd just come out of the shower. Water dripped from his hair onto his broad shoulders. His eyes landed on me.

And in that moment, everything stopped.

He looked at me with disgust. Cold, raw, unmistakable disgust.

I must've looked like hell-smeared makeup, tangled hair, clothes clinging to me, neckline too low, skirt too short. Pathetic.

He walked over and grabbed a towel from the couch, tossed it at me without a word.

"Get out," he said flatly.

I flinched, catching the towel instinctively. Before I could say anything, he disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

I wanted to leave. God, I wanted to run.

But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't move. I was like a puppet with its strings cut. Trembling, I clutched the armrest of the couch and pulled myself up again.

One step. Pain flared through my knee as I slipped and hit the ground. I barely managed to catch myself.

I couldn't go out there-not like this. Not into the chaos of the bar. Not when I couldn't stand straight.

I looked around the room-foreign, unfamiliar, but at least it was closed off from the outside. Whoever this man was... he hadn't touched me. He didn't look like the type to take advantage.

He looked like he wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

Maybe that was the safest place I could be right now.

I dragged myself to the table, picked up a glass of ice water, and downed it in one go. The cold shocked my senses, made me shiver violently-but it helped. Just a little.

I heard the bathroom door open behind me. The man stepped out, now dressed, his towel gone. I turned and hesitated before walking toward him.

I raised a hand and knocked lightly on the doorframe.

He saw me and immediately scowled.

"I told you to leave."

"I know..." My voice trembled. "Please, sir. Just let me stay here for a bit. It's dangerous out there..."

He yanked his arm away from me.

"Not my problem," he snapped.

He threw his damp clothes aside, marched to the door, and flung it open. "Three minutes. If you're still here, you'll regret it."

I tried to beg again, but the words stuck in my throat. My knees buckled beneath me, and I crumpled to the floor.

I barely registered the sound of him cursing, or the slam of the door as he shut it again. My vision blurred, my body burning and freezing at once.

I think he said something. But I couldn't make sense of it. My mind was slipping, drifting...

And then I felt arms scoop me up.

He threw me back onto the bed.

And then-nothing.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

Kane's POV

She hit the bed with a soft bounce, her body weightless, like she didn't belong in the real world. I stood beside her, looking down, watching her.

She looked troubled. Even unconscious, her brows were furrowed, her lashes trembling like she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape. Her fingers clutched the bedsheet in a white-knuckled grip.

I'd seen scenes like this before. More times than I cared to admit.

I was used to women throwing themselves at me. They knew exactly what to do-how to smile, how to moan on cue, when to feign innocence, when to beg. It always felt like a performance.

And frankly, it bored me.

But this one... she was different.

She wasn't putting on a show. She wasn't trying to seduce. Her lipstick was smeared, her makeup ruined, her breath hot with the sting of alcohol. When I reached out to touch her, her body flinched-not in invitation, but in fear.

Genuine fear.

That was new.

I leaned down and gripped her chin gently but firmly, tilting her face toward me. She whimpered and tried to push me away, her arms trembling with the effort. But it wasn't the flirtatious push of a coquette-it was weak, desperate, real.

There was something raw in the way she resisted. Something fragile. Something human.

I should've stopped.

Instead, I traced my thumb along her bottom lip.

"Do you know where you are?" I asked, voice low, almost a whisper against her skin.

Her lips were slightly parted, her breath laced with wine and regret. She didn't answer. Just turned her head as if she could disappear from my touch.

Of course, she couldn't.

I tightened my grip. Her breath hitched, chest rising fast and uneven. Her eyes blinked open-wild, glassy, pleading.

"Let me go..." she whispered.

I leaned closer, our faces inches apart.

"Let go?" I echoed, my voice curling into something dark and teasing. "Sweetheart, it's too late for that."

I knew what I was doing. I knew the pressure in my voice, the weight of those words. I wanted her to understand-this was my room, my rules.

She clearly understood what I meant, her body suddenly tensed up, and she resisted my hands even more forcefully, but this force was not so much resistance as it was an invitation.

And that only made me want her more.

I hadn't felt like this in years.

Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips-I couldn't hold back any longer. I dipped my head and brushed my lips against her ear, catching the sharp little shiver that ran through her body.

Her breath was hot against my neck-sharp and unsteady. It ignited something in me.

She had to be doing this on purpose.

I captured her mouth in a kiss before I could think twice. Her lips were unbelievably soft, like melting sugar, tasting faintly of liquor and something I couldn't name.

I deepened the kiss, forcing her lips apart, tongue sweeping inside, desperate to taste her.

The kiss consumed me. My skin prickled with heat, every nerve ending on fire. I hadn't lost control like this in... I couldn't even remember when.

Was I really that deprived? Or was there something about her-this broken, trembling girl-that made me feel like a teenager again, kissing someone for the first time?

She whimpered when I pulled away for breath. "No... don't..."

But I couldn't stop. I didn't want to.

My hand found her waist, sliding around to her back, holding her against me. My other hand wrapped around her wrist. She smelled clean, like rain or fresh cotton. Untouched.

And I wanted to ruin her.

I wanted her to smell like me.

And just when I thought she was starting to respond-just when her body seemed to soften beneath mine-everything changed.

She jerked.

Hard.

I froze. Pulled back, just enough to see her face-only for her to suddenly roll over, lurching toward the edge of the bed.

And then it happened.

"Ugh-"

She vomited violently, the sound tearing through the room, raw and sudden.

The stench of alcohol and bile hit me like a punch. I looked down and saw the mess-on the floor, on the bedspread... on me.

The carpet was ruined. My shirt was drenched in it.

Any heat, any desire I'd felt-it vanished.

She stayed hunched over the edge of the bed, her hair a tangled curtain hiding her face, her shoulders shaking. She looked wrecked. Broken.

Like someone who didn't belong here. Like someone who had fallen into the wrong life.

I stood there in stunned silence, watching the disaster unfold in slow motion.

The night, my mood, my intentions-it all came crashing down.