Too Late For Regret, Mr. CEO

The harsh morning light bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, forcing Arden to blink against the sudden brightness.

The alcohol from last night's charity gala had been a damn mistake, blurring the bitter reality of their crumbling four-year marriage. Federico had initiated the intimacy, perhaps as a twisted final test, and she had foolishly succumbed.

She woke up in the center of the massive, tangled king-sized bed.

Her first instinct was to reach out. Her fingers brushed against the icy cotton of the empty space beside her.

The coldness of the sheets sent a sudden jolt through her system. She sat up quickly, her vision still slightly blurred from the dimness of the room, her chest rising and falling as she scanned the empty space.

The heavy oak door of the master bathroom pushed open.

Federico stepped out. He was already dressed in a custom dark navy suit, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His hands were busy pulling a silk tie into a perfect knot at his throat.

He did not look at her with the warmth of a man who had spent the entire night tangled in her limbs. His eyes swept over her, flat and completely devoid of emotion.

Arden quickly pulled the thick duvet up to her collarbone, hiding the dark bruises blooming across her skin.

She tried to force the corners of her mouth up, wanting to break the suffocating silence with a soft morning greeting.

But the absolute zero temperature in his dark eyes froze the words in her throat.

Federico walked over to his nightstand. He picked up a thick, heavy document bound in a dark blue folder.

He tossed it onto the bed. It landed on the duvet right in front of Arden with a dull, heavy thud.

The bold black letters on the cover page spelled out Divorce Settlement Agreement.

All the air vanished from Arden's lungs. Her breathing simply stopped.

She stared at the words, her brain refusing to process the letters. She slowly lifted her head to look at him.

"Are you joking?" she asked, her voice trembling so violently it barely sounded like her own. Panic flooded the whites of her eyes.

Federico let out a harsh, dry laugh.

His gaze dropped, locking onto the antique beaded necklace resting against her collarbone-the one she never took off.

He leaned over the bed, his large frame casting a dark shadow over her.

His fingers hooked roughly under the antique beads. He pulled upward.

The sudden force yanked Arden forward, the tight string leaving an angry red welt across the sensitive skin of her neck. She choked on a gasp.

"You kept your eyes closed the entire time last night," he sneered, his jaw tight. "Were you pretending I was Jude?"

The sheer absurdity of the accusation hit Arden like a physical blow to the head.

She reached up frantically, her hands wrapping around his thick wrist.

"Federico, no. This is my mother's necklace. I swear to you-"

He ripped his arm away from her grasp. He stepped back quickly, brushing off his sleeve as if her touch carried a disease.

He did not give her a single second to finish her sentence.

Federico adjusted his silver cufflinks, his face a mask of total indifference.

"Brooklyn is flying back today. I am going to JFK to pick her up."

The name of his perfect ex-girlfriend dropped into the room like a concrete block.

All the blood drained from Arden's face. Her skin turned an ashen gray, and her vocal cords completely paralyzed.

Federico looked down at her shattered expression. A brief flash of dark satisfaction crossed his features.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the bedroom door.

He stopped with his hand on the brass knob. He did not look back.

"Do not try to run to the Hamptons and cry to my grandmother. This divorce is happening."

The heavy door slammed shut behind him.

The loud bang rattled the picture frames on the wall, leaving Arden entirely alone in the dead silence of the room, staring at the cold stack of paper on her lap.

Her spine collapsed. She fell back onto the pillows, all the strength leaving her muscles.

The tears she had been fighting back finally broke free, soaking into the expensive silk pillowcases.

Her hands shook violently as she reached for the document.

She flipped open the first page. The dense legal jargon blurred together as her eyes scanned the text.

The terms were brutal. They demanded she walk away with absolutely nothing from their four-year marriage.

A deep, bone-chilling cold spread from her chest down to her fingertips.

Her mind instantly went to her mother, Isolde.

Isolde was lying in a private sanatorium on the Upper East Side, kept alive solely by a massive influx of cash every single month.

A wave of pure desperation washed over her.

Her phone suddenly vibrated against the nightstand, the buzzing sound loud and grating in the quiet room.

The screen flashed with her grandmother Augusta's name.

Arden took a deep, shaky breath. She wiped her face aggressively with the back of her hand, cleared her throat, and answered the call.

Augusta's voice came through the speaker, frantic and thick with worry. The steady, rhythmic beeping of the estate's medical monitors echoed in the background.

"Arden," Augusta sighed heavily. "My financial advisors just informed me. The bank said the trust fund paying for your mother's experimental medication has been frozen."

The information exploded in Arden's brain. Her mind went completely blank.

She slowly lowered her eyes back to the divorce agreement in her lap. The papers demanding she leave penniless.

Her vision snapped back into sharp focus.

She gripped the edge of the paper so hard her knuckles turned stark white. Her fingernails dug deep into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped red marks.

She bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue.

She was absolutely certain Federico had done this. He had cut off her mother's life support to force her to sign the papers.

"I will fix it, Grandma. I promise," Arden said, her voice dropping to a low, steady whisper.

She ended the call. The last remaining shred of warmth in her eyes died completely.

Arden threw the duvet off and marched straight into Federico's home office.

She fell to her knees in front of the massive mahogany bookshelves, her hands frantically tearing through the lower cabinets, searching for the original prenuptial agreement they had signed four years ago.

She yanked the bottom drawer open with too much force.

Her index finger slipped, and her acrylic nail caught on the heavy brass handle. The nail split right down the middle, dark blood instantly welling up from the nail bed.

She ignored the throbbing pain.

Her fingers finally brushed against a hidden compartment behind his secure safe. She pulled out a dust-covered folder.

She stood up and slammed the document onto the wide mahogany desk.

She flipped through the thick pages until she found the specific addendum regarding the Isolde Mitchell Medical Trust.

The black ink stared back at her.

It stated clearly that if the wife committed infidelity or initiated the divorce, the husband had the right to freeze the trust fund immediately.

Arden remembered Federico's cold voice from twenty minutes ago, accusing her of thinking about Jude in his bed.

He was using the infidelity clause.

Her throat closed up. She could not pull air into her lungs.

She collapsed into his heavy leather office chair, pressing both hands over her face as violent tremors shook her entire body.

The office door clicked open.

Brenda, the head housekeeper, walked in carrying a silver tray with a fresh cup of coffee. When she saw Arden behind the desk, her face twisted into a look of pure disgust.

"Mr. Monroe made it very clear this office is strictly off-limits," Brenda said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "An outgoing wife shouldn't be snooping around."

Arden's head snapped up.

She dropped her hands, her eyes locking onto Brenda with a terrifying, deadened glare.

"Get out."

Brenda flinched, clearly taken aback by the raw authority in Arden's voice.

She rolled her eyes, set the coffee cup down loudly on a side table, and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

Arden picked up her phone with a trembling, bloody finger. A text notification from Zara sat on the lock screen: At the ER again. The cramping won't stop. Arden swiped it away, her chest tightening. She couldn't deal with the studio crisis right now.

She dialed Federico's private number. She was ready to beg. She would give up everything if he just turned the money back on.

The phone rang for a long time.

When it finally connected, she did not hear his voice. She heard the distinct intercom announcements of an airport VIP lounge, followed by a woman's high-pitched, breathy laugh.

"Do you want some champagne to celebrate, Rico?" Brooklyn's voice echoed clearly through the receiver.

It felt like a giant, invisible hand reached into Arden's chest and crushed her heart.

Her breathing turned into shallow, ragged gasps.

Then, Federico's voice came through the line, cold and flat.

"Did you call to tell me you signed the papers?"

Arden swallowed hard, fighting the heavy lump in her throat.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't stop the payments to the sanatorium. I don't want any of your money. Just leave her fund alone."

Federico let out a low, mocking scoff.

"You finally show your true colors. You'll throw away whatever dignity you have left just to keep the cash flowing."

The line went dead.

The dial tone hummed against Arden's ear, a steady, mechanical sound that hammered against her temples.

She stared blankly at the dark screen of her phone.

Every single piece of hope she had left shattered into dust.

She reached out and picked up the heavy Montblanc fountain pen resting on his desk.

She pulled the cap off. She hovered the gold nib over the signature line on the last page of the divorce agreement.

A single tear slipped down her cheek and landed on the paper, blurring the black ink of the printed line.

She closed her eyes, pressed the pen down, and signed her name.

The moment the pen lifted from the paper, all the energy drained from her bones.

She slumped forward, resting her forehead against the cool wood of the desk, crying without making a single sound.

A few minutes later, she wiped her face dry.

She slid the signed document into a thick manila envelope and sealed the flap shut.

She walked out of the office and found Caleb Vance, Federico's executive assistant, standing in the middle of the hallway.

She handed the envelope to Caleb.

He took it. A brief flicker of pity passed through his eyes, but he quickly masked it with professional indifference.

"Since the papers are signed, Mr. Monroe requested that you vacate the master suite today," Caleb said, his voice robotic. "To make room for the new lady of the house."

Arden stared at him, her face completely blank.

"And where exactly am I supposed to go in this house?"

Caleb looked away, unable to meet her eyes. He pointed down the long hallway.

"The small maid's quarters at the end of the hall."

Arden followed his finger. She looked at the dark, narrow door at the very back of the apartment.

A cold, hollow smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

She straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back, and walked straight toward the maid's room.

Arden pushed open the door to the maid's quarters, dragging her heavy suitcase behind her.

A wave of stale, musty air hit the back of her throat.

The room was suffocatingly small. It held nothing but a narrow twin bed and a chipped wooden wardrobe.

The single window looked out at a solid brick wall, blocking out all natural light.

She laid her suitcase flat on the thin mattress.

Just as she unzipped it to take out her clothes, Brenda leaned against the doorframe, a nasty smirk on her face.

"Since you live back here now, you follow the staff rules," Brenda sneered. "No more playing the grand lady of the house."

Arden did not even look at her.

She reached into her bag, pulled out a framed photo of her mother, and set it carefully on the wobbly nightstand.

Brenda's face flushed with anger at being ignored.

She walked into the room and deliberately kicked Arden's open toiletry bag that was sitting on the floor.

Bottles of lotion and glass serums spilled out, rolling across the cheap linoleum floor.

Arden took a deep breath. She forced the rising heat of anger down into her stomach, crouched down, and started picking up the bottles in silence.

Maeve, the older housekeeper who had worked for the family for decades, walked in carrying a stack of clean sheets.

Seeing the mess, Maeve immediately used her shoulder to shove Brenda out of the way.

"Watch yourself, Brenda," Maeve snapped harshly. "The paperwork isn't finalized yet. She is still Mrs. Monroe."

Brenda rolled her eyes dramatically, let out a loud huff, and twisted her hips as she walked out of the room.

Maeve knelt down, her wrinkled hands gently helping Arden gather the scattered bottles.

She pulled Arden up and led her to sit on the edge of the stiff twin bed.

Maeve leaned in close, dropping her voice to a hushed whisper.

"You have to understand, ma'am. Mr. Federico and his brother Jude fought a bloody war over the family succession years ago."

Maeve explained the rumors that had haunted the staff quarters for years. "The old estate staff all say that during the succession war, Jude used a woman to break Mr. Federico's heart and publicly humiliate him. We don't know the exact boardroom details, but we saw the aftermath."

"He is terrified of betrayal. It makes him blind."

Arden listened to the old family secrets.

It suddenly made sense why Federico lost his mind over the antique necklace, why he was so paranoid about her and Jude.

But understanding his trauma did not erase the cruelty of his actions.

Arden offered a sad, hollow smile and shook her head. "It doesn't matter anymore, Maeve. It's too late."

Maeve sighed heavily. She reached deep into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a torn envelope.

She pressed it into Arden's hands.

"This came in the morning mail. Registered letter," Maeve whispered. "Brenda was going to throw it in the trash. I hid it."

Arden frowned. She looked at the return address.

It was from the elite law firm that managed the Monroe family trusts.

She quickly pulled the thick letter out and scanned the first paragraph.

Her pupils dilated. Her heart started slamming against her ribs in a rapid, heavy rhythm.

The letter stated that the specific clause regarding Isolde Mitchell's medical trust in the prenuptial agreement contained ambiguous legal phrasing.

The firm concluded that until a judge officially ruled on the validity of that specific clause, neither party had the legal right to unilaterally terminate the trust payments. The money was temporarily safe from his immediate control, though the impending divorce would eventually sever all ties. Knowing she still had this one piece of legal leverage over her mother's life support was everything.

She clutched the letter to her chest like a shield.

"Thank you, Maeve," Arden said, her voice suddenly firm.

She opened her suitcase, bypassed her comfortable sweatpants, and pulled out a sharp, tailored business suit. She stripped off her casual clothes and dressed quickly.

She needed to get to the sanatorium and the trust bank immediately to find out who actually stopped the money.

Arden walked out of the maid's room.

Her steps were heavy and purposeful as she marched down the long hallway, the previous defeat completely wiped from her posture.

She walked through the massive living room, completely ignoring Brenda's shocked stare, and headed straight for the private elevator.

The metal doors slid shut.

Arden looked at her reflection in the polished steel. Her eyes were no longer red and swollen. They were sharp, focused, and entirely cold.