Too Late For My Ex-Husband's Regret

Aria POV:

The front door keypad beeped sharply just past midnight, shattering the dead silence of suburban Boston townhouse. I gripped my thin cashmere shawl and stood up from the cold leather sofa in the dark living room.

The heavy door swung open, letting in a blast of freezing winter wind that made me shiver. My husband, Brennan Hurley strode inside in his custom black wool coat and slammed his car keys onto the glass coffee table.

The loud crash echoed through the foyer. I ignored my husband's temper and looked past his broad shoulders at the petite figure stepping over the threshold behind him.

His mistress, Brittny Jensen, teetered in on high heels, wearing a thin, skin-tight knit dress that made no sense in a Boston blizzard. She had tugged the neckline low on purpose, showing off the tiny red mole right below her right collarbone.

She flaunted that red mole in my own home like a trophy, showing me exactly what my husband touched.

I clenched my fists at my sides, digging my nails deep into my palms to keep my face blank.

Brennan didn't even glance at me. The NHL All-Star forward turned around, slipped off his heavy coat, and draped it carefully over Brittny's bare shoulders. He wrapped his large, calloused hand - the same hand that held a hockey stick for millions of fans - around her waist.

"Are you cold, baby?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soft murmur.

Brittny leaned into his chest and looked up at me through her gray-blue contacts, her eyes full of smug challenge. She placed both hands over her slightly rounded stomach and let out a weak sigh.

My stomach turned at the sight, but before I could even look away, Brennan finally turned his head toward me.

His pale gray eyes were completely cold, looking down at me like I was trash in my own home. He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of papers, and threw them right at my feet.

The pages scattered across the hardwood floor. The bold black title on the top page - Divorce and PR Remarriage Agreement - stung my eyes.

He shoved one hand into his dress pants pocket. "Sign it. My PR team is announcing it tomorrow morning."

I crouched down and picked up the pages, my fingertips turning white as I gripped the paper. I skimmed the clauses. He wanted me to take the blame for our split so he could marry his pregnant mistress without triggering the morality clause in his franchise contract, and then stage a PR remarriage with me later if the media turned on him.

I looked up and met his gaze directly. "I'll sign the divorce papers. But playing along with a fake remarriage for your PR image? Never."

Brennan let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He stepped closer, his tall athlete's frame towering over me.

"You think you have the right to bargain with me, Aria?" He jabbed a finger hard into my shoulder. "Don't forget, you owe the Hurley family a life."

My throat tightened, and I pressed my lips together hard. Three years ago, his grandfather had pulled me out of a fatal rink-side collapse, and that heavy debt had kept me trapped in this marriage like a prisoner ever since.

Beside him, Brittny let out a soft whimper and grabbed Brennan's arm. Her eyes turned red as tears spilled over her lashes.

"Brennan, please don't fight with Aria because of me," she sobbed. "It's all my fault..."

Brennan immediately covered her hand with his, his expression twisting with disgust as he glared back at me.

"Brittny almost died donating her blood and kidney to save me after my car crash," Brennan said coldly. "Now she's carrying my child. I owe her a proper title."

My eyes dropped to the lower left side of his abdomen. Beneath his expensive shirt lay the faded red scar from a living kidney transplant - the kidney beneath that scar had come from my body. I had never told him the truth.

I took a deep breath, crushing the edge of the divorce agreement in my hand.

"I said I'll divorce you," I repeated, my voice like ice. "Everything else is off the table."

Aria POV:

My flat refusal made the air in the living room drop below freezing. Brennan's eyes turned bloodshot. He reached into his pocket, pulled out an unlit cigarette, and crushed the filter between his fingers.

He stared at me in disbelief, clearly furious that the quiet wife he treated like a doormat dared to talk back. He threw the ruined cigarette onto the expensive rug and sneered.

"You've grown a spine, Aria."

Tucked safely against his chest, Brittny curved her lips into a triumphant smile where he couldn't see.

Just then, the private chef stepped out from the hallway and bowed slightly. "Mr. Hurley, late-night dinner is served."

Brennan pulled his glare away from me, wrapped his arm around Brittny's shoulders, and walked toward the dining room. I stood still for a second, tossed the humiliating contract back onto the coffee table, and turned toward the stairs leading up to the second floor.

Brennan stopped dead in his tracks. "Get over here and eat with us," he ordered without looking back.

I paused on the first wooden step, my fingers gripping the banister. "I already ate."

He spun around, marched back in three long strides, and grabbed my wrist. His grip was so tight it felt like my bones were about to crack.

"When I tell you to come, you come," he gritted out through clenched teeth. "I make the rules in this house."

I twisted my arm to break free, but there was no fighting the brute strength of a pro hockey player. He dragged me into the brightly lit dining room.

A long oak table was covered with French dishes, silver cutlery gleaming under the crystal chandelier. Brennan pulled out the chair to the right of the head seat for Brittny like a perfect gentleman. Then he pointed to the very end of the long table, as far from them as possible.

"Sit," he commanded.

Rubbing my aching wrist, I pulled out the chair and sat down stiffly. The chef poured ice water into our glasses and left.

Brittny picked up her fork, cut a small piece of foie gras, and took a bite with an exaggerated sigh. She turned to Brennan with a sweet voice.

"Honey, this is amazing. Try some."

Brennan leaned in and ate the piece right off her fork, reaching out to stroke her hair affectionately. I stared down at my empty bone china plate, my stomach churning violently.

Suddenly, Brittny set her fork down, picked up a small porcelain bowl near her plate, and stood up. She walked down the length of the table and pushed the bowl right in front of me. Inside were several small pieces of meat cooked in heavy spices, making it impossible to tell what kind of animal it was.

She leaned her hands on the edge of the table, looking down at me with undisguised malice in her eyes.

"Aria, you're way too skinny," she said, dragging out her words. "You need to eat more meat to keep your strength up."

I looked at her coldly. "Take it away. I don't want it."

At the head of the table, Brennan slammed his water glass down on the wood.

"Brittny is being nice enough to serve you herself, and you're giving her an attitude?" he barked. "Eat it! Right now!"

My face was completely numb as I picked up my fork, speared a piece of the meat, and slowly lifted it to my mouth.

Aria POV:

Heavy spices masked the natural smell of the meat on my fork. Holding back a wave of nausea, I put the piece in my mouth and chewed twice.

The meat was unusually tender, but a strange, gamey aftertaste made my throat tighten up. I forced myself to swallow it, set the fork down, and looked coldly at Brittny standing beside me.

Seeing me swallow, the malice in Brittny's eyes flared into pure glee. She covered her mouth and let out a sharp giggle, turning back toward Brennan.

"Honey, it looks like Aria really loves this dish."

Brennan was busy cutting his steak and didn't even lift his head. "If she likes it, let her eat the whole bowl."

Brittny looked back at me and leaned down, bringing her lips close to my ear.

"Do you know what you just ate?" she whispered, low enough that only the two of us could hear.

My fingers tightened around the rim of my water glass as a cold dread pooled in my stomach.

She straightened up and raised her voice so it carried across the entire dining room. "It's that little white rabbit from the backyard!"

My heart stopped. My mind went completely blank.

Snowball. The pet rabbit I had raised for three years-the only warm, living thing that had kept me sane during a thousand lonely nights in this freezing house.

I shoved my chair back and stood up so fast the wooden legs screeched against the floor. My voice shook as I stared at her. "What did you just say?"

Brittny immediately put on a terrified face and stumbled two steps back, bumping into Brennan's chair.

"Aria, don't look at me like that..." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I have a severe allergy to animal fur. The doctor said a pregnant woman can't be around pets. I only told the maid to get rid of it! I didn't know the chef would cook it..."

Tears rolled down her cheeks right on cue.

My stomach cramped violently. That piece of meat I had just swallowed felt like a chunk of burning iron in my gut. I clapped a hand over my mouth, shoved the chair aside, and stumbled toward the small washbasin in the corner of the dining room.

I gripped the marble edge of the sink and retched uncontrollably, hot tears spilling from my eyes. Sour bile and undigested food splashed into the basin as my insides twisted in agony.

Behind me, Brennan's impatient voice rang out. "Have you lost your mind? It's just a stupid animal!"

Shaking all over, I turned on the faucet. Cold water washed down the drain, but my chest felt like it was caving in. My knuckles turned white as I braced myself against the marble counter. For three years, I had endured his coldness and the vicious online attacks from hockey fans calling me a gold digger, all while holding Snowball in the dark.

I slowly lifted my head and looked at my pale face and bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Whatever softness or guilt I had left for this family died right there in that sink.

I pulled a paper towel, wiped my mouth hard, and walked back to the table step by step. Brittny was still hiding behind Brennan, watching me like a winner.

I stopped in front of Brennan, my voice raspy and dead calm. "You gave her permission to kill it, didn't you?"

Brennan set his knife and fork down, picked up his linen napkin, and wiped the corner of his mouth. He looked up at me, his pale gray eyes completely cold.