Too Late For Regret, Mr. Billionaire

The smell hit her first. It was a thick, metallic stench of old blood and dog urine that coated the back of her throat.

Carmen Campos gagged. A rough hand shoved her hard between the shoulder blades. Her knees hit the concrete floor, tearing the expensive silk of her designer dress.

In front of her was a rusted iron cage. Inside, two massive Cane Corsos paced. Their muscles bunched under dark coats. Saliva dripped from their heavy jowls. Their red-rimmed eyes locked onto her. A low, vibrating growl rattled the iron bars.

"Look at them," a man's voice sneered from the shadows behind her.

A heavy smartphone hit the concrete by Carmen's bleeding knees. The screen was cracked, but the audio playing from it was crystal clear. It was Evelin Mcgowan's voice, high-pitched and hysterical.

"Carmen, please! I'm sorry! Just let me go! Don't kill me!"

Carmen stared at the phone. Her lungs forgot how to pull in air. Evelin wasn't kidnapped. Evelin was safe. Evelin had recorded this to frame her.

"Pick it up," the kidnapper ordered. "Look into the camera. Say you kidnapped Evelin Mcgowan because you were jealous. Say you're sorry. Do it, and I'll let you walk out of here."

Carmen looked at the two starving beasts in the cage. Her whole body shook. Her teeth chattered so hard her jaw ached. But she knew the truth. If she recorded that video, Forrest would see it. The world would see it. Her reputation would be destroyed, and they would kill her anyway.

She clenched her jaw. She forced her chin up. "No."

The man sighed. It was a casual, bored sound. "Your funeral, rich girl."

The loud clack of the iron latch echoing in the empty warehouse sounded like a gunshot.

The cage door swung open.

Carmen screamed. She scrambled backward on her hands and feet, her palms scraping against the rough concrete. Her back hit a cold, brick wall. There was nowhere left to go.

The first Cane Corso lunged.

The sheer force of the animal hitting her chest knocked the breath from her lungs. Her head slammed against the bricks. A blinding flash of white light exploded behind her eyes.

Then came the pain.

Thick teeth sank into her right calf. The dog ripped its head back, tearing through muscle and skin like wet paper. Carmen shrieked, a raw, guttural sound that tore her vocal cords.

She kicked out blindly with her left foot. The sharp heel of her stiletto caught the dog right above its eye.

The beast yelped, dropping her leg. But the pain only enraged it. It let out a deafening roar and clamped its jaws onto her forearm.

The second dog was on her a second later. It grabbed her other shoulder, dragging her in the opposite direction.

Carmen felt her skin stretch. She heard the sickening, wet crunch of her own bones snapping. Blood sprayed across her face, warm and sticky. The agony was so absolute, so consuming, that her brain simply stopped processing it.

Her vision tunneled. The edges of the warehouse turned black.

In her final second of life, she didn't think of the dogs. She didn't think of Evelin. She thought of Forrest Richmond IV. She thought of his dark eyes, the way he used to smile at her before Evelin ruined everything.

Forrest, she thought. Help me.

Then, the pain vanished.

It didn't fade. It just stopped.

Carmen felt light. The crushing weight of the dogs was gone. The cold floor was gone. She opened her eyes and looked down.

She was floating ten feet in the air.

Below her, a bloody, unrecognizable mess of torn silk and shredded flesh lay on the concrete. The dogs were still tearing at it. It took her a full five seconds to realize she was looking at her own corpse.

She tried to scream, but she had no breath. She had no lungs.

An invisible force wrapped around her waist. It pulled her upward, right through the corrugated steel roof of the warehouse.

The night air of New York City rushed past her. She was flying, pulled like a magnet across the East River, straight toward the glowing skyline of Manhattan.

She couldn't stop. She drifted over the skyscrapers, the neon lights blurring beneath her. The invisible tether pulled her toward the most expensive zip code in the city.

She stopped outside a familiar wall of floor-to-ceiling glass.

It was the penthouse. Her home. The home she shared with Forrest.

Carmen drifted right through the solid glass pane.

The living room was warm. The fireplace was roaring. The scent of expensive cedarwood filled the air.

Forrest was sitting on the white leather sofa. He wore his dark silk robe. He held a crystal glass of amber whiskey in his right hand. He didn't look worried. He didn't look like a man whose fiancée was missing. He looked relaxed. A lazy smile played on his lips.

The burner phone on the glass coffee table buzzed. Forrest snatched it up.

"Evelin?" he demanded.

"Forrest, I'm so scared," Evelin's voice trembled through the speaker, playing the perfect, traumatized victim. "I managed to hide from the men she hired... Do you think Carmen will actually record that video and let me go?"

Forrest's grip on the phone tightened.

"She will," Forrest said, his voice cold. "I've already dispatched my security team to your location. Just stay hidden. That woman will do anything for me."

He ended the call, taking a slow sip of his whiskey as he stared at the fire.

Floating near the ceiling, Carmen's soul let out a silent, earth-shattering scream.

Her body wasn't even cold yet. Her blood was still pooling on that warehouse floor. And the man she loved was protecting the woman who had just murdered her.

A cold, heavy despair settled into her chest. It was quickly swallowed by something else.

Pure, venomous hatred.

Carmen hovered in the corner of the ceiling like a silent security camera.

She watched Forrest stare into the flames. Right above the fireplace, a massive, framed portrait of Carmen in her engagement dress stared down at him. He didn't even look at it.

The doorbell buzzed, a sharp sound that shattered the quiet intimacy of the room.

Forrest groaned and stood up. He adjusted the lapels of his silk robe, his jaw tight with annoyance.

He walked to the front door and yanked it open.

Jax Dalton stood in the hallway. He wore a tailored suit and a smirk that made Carmen want to punch him. Jax was Forrest's best friend, a trust-fund playboy who had always hated her.

Jax let out a low whistle as he walked past Forrest into the penthouse.

"Well, well," Jax said, looking around the empty room. "Any word from Evelin's kidnappers? Aren't you worried that crazy bitch Carmen is going to storm in here and slit your throat?"

Forrest walked over to the bar cart. He poured Jax a glass of scotch. He let out a dry scoff.

"She can barely take care of herself right now," Forrest said. "She's too busy playing her little games."

Jax took the glass and laughed. He threw himself onto the sofa.

"I heard," Jax said. "She's playing the disappearing act again? What is it this time? Trying to tank the Richmond family stock to force you to set a wedding date?"

Forrest swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He twisted the dial of his watch, his signature tell when he was irritated.

"It's her usual routine," Forrest muttered. "But she took it too far this time. Evelin is terrified. Carmen is sick in the head."

They sat there, drinking expensive liquor, tearing her apart.

Jax mocked her. He mimicked Carmen's voice, pretending to cry and beg for attention. He called her a control freak. He said she had borderline personality disorder.

Forrest laughed at every joke.

Up near the ceiling, Carmen felt every word like a physical cut to her skin. She had spent four years loving this man, compromising for him, shrinking herself to fit into his world. And this was what she was to him. A joke. A crazy bitch.

Forrest's private cell phone buzzed on the glass coffee table.

It was an unknown number. He frowned and reached to decline the call. But he paused when he saw the New York area code. He swiped to answer.

"Forrest Richmond," he said, his voice instantly dropping into his professional, authoritative tone.

The voice on the other end was loud enough for Carmen to hear. It was a gruff, official voice.

"Mr. Richmond. This is Detective Frobisher, NYPD Major Crimes. Are you the emergency contact for Carmen Campos?"

Forrest's smile vanished. He sat up straighter. "I am her fiancé. What is this about?"

"We found a scene in an abandoned industrial park in Brooklyn," the detective said. "It's highly bloody. We have reason to believe it's connected to Ms. Campos. We need you to come down to the 84th Precinct immediately to assist with the investigation."

Jax stopped laughing. He set his glass down on the table. The smirk fell off his face.

Forrest didn't look worried. He just looked deeply, profoundly annoyed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He genuinely believed this was just another one of Carmen's tricks to get his attention.

"Detective," Forrest said smoothly. "I respect the work you do. But I can assure you, this is likely a massive misunderstanding."

'Carmen and I have been experiencing significant relationship strain,' Forrest stated smoothly into the phone, his tone completely detached. 'She is highly unstable and prone to erratic behavior. This entire situation is likely just her way of acting out for attention.'

Carmen's soul flickered. The air around her turned freezing cold.

Acting out for attention.

With those words, he erased their four-year relationship. He erased her status. He erased her right to be mourned.

"She's probably just at a party with her friends and let her phone die," Forrest continued, his voice dripping with condescension. "You don't need to waste your resources, Detective."

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line.

"Mr. Richmond," the detective said, his voice turning hard. "I strongly advise you to come to the precinct. Now."

Forrest rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He hung up the phone and threw it hard onto the sofa cushions.

"Evelin is terrified out of her mind hiding in a safehouse, and Carmen is pulling this stunt," Forrest sneered. "The only thing she's in danger of is making a fool out of me. I'm going down there to expose her little prank right now."

The black Maybach pulled up to the curb outside the NYPD 84th Precinct.

Forrest stepped out of the car. He adjusted his expensive Tom Ford suit jacket and slid a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes. He looked at the dirty brick building with absolute disgust, as if just breathing the air here was beneath him.

Carmen's soul drifted right behind him. She wanted to see his face when the police showed him the blood.

Forrest walked into the chaotic bullpen. He demanded to see whoever was in charge. A young officer pointed him toward a glass-walled office in the back.

Captain Marcus Frobisher was waiting for him. Frobisher was a heavy-set man with graying hair and tired eyes. He didn't stand up when Forrest walked in.

Forrest took off his sunglasses and tossed them onto Frobisher's messy desk.

"Captain Frobisher, I assume?" Forrest said. "I believe my lawyers have already called you. This entire situation regarding Carmen is a gross waste of police time."

Frobisher raised a thick eyebrow at the word "Carmen." He didn't argue. He simply reached into a manila folder and slid three photographs across the desk.

The photos were heavily redacted with black marker, but the sheer amount of crimson red covering the concrete floor was unmistakable.

Next to the photos, Frobisher placed a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was Carmen's ID card.

Next to that, he placed another bag. It held Carmen's limited-edition Hermes Birkin bag. The pristine white leather was soaked in dried, dark brown blood.

Forrest stared at the bag. The muscle in his jaw ticked. His pupils contracted for a fraction of a second, a cold, suffocating flash of genuine panic striking his chest. But he ruthlessly forced it down, refusing to let the police see him lose control. He hardened his gaze.

"Find her," Forrest said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register. "I want to see exactly what kind of sick game she is playing to get my attention."

Frobisher looked at Forrest like he was looking at an alien.

"Mr. Richmond," Frobisher said slowly. "There was a massive amount of blood at that scene. The medical examiner gave a preliminary report. Based on the volume, no human being could survive that kind of blood loss."

Forrest scoffed. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs.

"It's animal blood," Forrest said confidently. "Or she bought blood bags. She was the star of her theater club in college. She loves dramatic effects."

Hovering near the ceiling, Carmen felt a surge of rage so violent it made the overhead fluorescent lights flicker. He was taking her devotion, her pain, and twisting it into a psychotic performance.

Forrest opened his mouth to continue his lecture on Carmen's "histrionic personality," but the office door slammed open.

Brooke Carpenter stormed into the room like a hurricane.

Brooke was Carmen's best friend. Her mascara was smeared down her cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. She had rushed straight from her apartment after getting the police call.

Brooke saw Forrest sitting there, looking perfectly calm and arrogant.

"Forrest Richmond! You absolute bastard!"

Brooke lunged forward. Before the police could stop her, she swung her arm and slapped Forrest across the face.

The sharp crack echoed through the entire bullpen. Every cop stopped typing.

Forrest's head snapped to the side. He froze. In his entire life of wealth and privilege, no one had ever dared to strike him.

He touched his stinging cheek. He turned back to Brooke, his eyes dark with fury. "Are you insane?"

Brooke pointed her finger aggressively at his chest. Tears spilled over her eyelashes.

"Am I insane?" Brooke screamed. "Carmen is missing! There's blood everywhere! And I heard you out in the hall telling them she's faking it? Do you have a heart in that chest, or is it just a cash register?"

Forrest stood up, towering over her. "She is faking it, Brooke. And you're enabling her delusions."

"She sent me a text last night!" Brooke yelled, slamming her hands on Frobisher's desk. She turned to the Captain. "She texted me at 10 PM! She said her stomach was in excruciating pain and she was going to the hospital! She wasn't faking anything!"

The word hospital hit Forrest like a physical blow.

His arrogant expression shattered. His face went completely pale. He remembered the stomach pain. He remembered exactly why she had that pain.

Frobisher, a veteran cop, instantly caught the flash of panic in Forrest's eyes.

Brooke wasn't done. She turned back to Forrest, sobbing openly now.

"She loved you until she had nothing left of herself!" Brooke cried. "You emotionally abused her for years! Everyone saw it, but she defended you! And now she's bleeding somewhere, and you call it a show? You don't deserve to breathe the same air as her!"

The cops in the bullpen were glaring at Forrest now. The disgust in the room was palpable.

Forrest's face flushed dark red with embarrassment and rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Brooke. "Get this crazy woman out of here!"

Frobisher stood up. He didn't look at Brooke. He looked dead at Forrest.

"Mr. Richmond," Frobisher said, his voice dropping an octave. "I am officially making you a person of interest in this case. I need you to tell me exactly where you were last night, minute by minute."

Forrest's breath hitched. For the first time, he realized his money couldn't buy his way out of this room.

Up above, Carmen watched Brooke cry for her. It was the first warmth she had felt since she died.