Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Savior

Charlotte looked down at the silver watch on her left wrist.

The hands aligned perfectly at nine o'clock. The morning sun glaring off the Manhattan pavement was blinding, forcing her to squint. A cold knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach.

She pressed her thumbnail hard into the side of her index finger, a nervous habit she couldn't break.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Bradly's number. The line rang. It was a long, hollow sound that made her bite her lower lip so hard she tasted copper.

Finally, the call connected.

"Hey, babe," Bradly's voice came through, distorted by static. "Traffic on the bridge is a nightmare. I'm going to be late."

Charlotte's breathing stopped. Her chest felt tight.

Before she could respond, a very faint, soft female voice murmured in the background of the call. The sound was barely a syllable, but it pierced Charlotte's eardrum like a physical needle.

"Who is that?" Charlotte asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of the panic clawing at her throat.

"What? No one," Bradly stammered. The sudden shift in his tone was obvious. "Just... someone walking past my car. Look, I'll be there soon."

The lie was clumsy. It triggered every alarm bell in Charlotte's head.

She pulled the phone away from her ear, keeping the call active, and opened the location-sharing app they had used for the past three years.

The screen loaded. The blinking red dot representing Bradly's phone was not on the bridge. It was stationary, parked outside a coffee shop exactly two blocks away from City Hall.

Charlotte hung up the phone without another word.

She grabbed the heavy fabric of her white dress, lifting it above her ankles. Her heels clicked sharply against the concrete as she marched toward the location on the map. Her stomach churned with every step.

She turned the corner of the street.

A familiar black Range Rover came into view. It was parked next to the curb. The passenger side window was rolled halfway down.

The sight of the car shattered the last fragile piece of hope in her chest.

She slowed her pace. She stepped behind a green metal newsstand on the corner, using the magazine racks to hide her body. Her eyes locked onto the vehicle.

Sitting in the passenger seat was Kira. Bradly's first love.

Kira was leaning over the center console, her manicured fingers playfully twisting Bradly's silk tie.

Bradly did not push her away. Instead, he leaned closer. His voice drifted through the open window, carrying over the hum of the city traffic.

"Don't worry about it," Bradly said softly. "Charlotte is just a safe backup plan. You know you're the one I want."

The words hit Charlotte's chest like a sledgehammer.

The air left her lungs. The world tilted, a wave of dizziness washing over her. She dug her nails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke.

The sharp, stinging pain grounded her. It cleared the fog in her head. The crushing sadness in her eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.

Charlotte stepped out from behind the newsstand.

She did not hide. She walked directly toward the black Range Rover.

The sharp clacking of her heels on the asphalt caught Bradly's attention. He turned his head lazily toward the sound.

The moment his eyes registered Charlotte, his pupils dilated. All the color drained from his face, leaving him ashen.

Kira followed his gaze. When she saw Charlotte, the corners of her mouth twitched upward into a mocking smirk. She deliberately shifted her weight, leaning her shoulder against Bradly's arm.

Charlotte stopped right outside the driver's side door.

She looked down at the panicked man inside the car. Her face was a mask of stone. There were no tears in her eyes. Her throat was dry, but her breathing was perfectly steady.

Bradly scrambled to push the car door open. "Charlotte, wait, let me explain-"

Charlotte raised her hand, palm out. The gesture sliced through the air and cut him off instantly.

"A safe backup plan," Charlotte repeated. Her voice was terrifyingly calm, every syllable striking like a gavel. "That's what you just called me."

Bradly reached his hand out through the window, trying to grab her wrist.

Charlotte twisted her body, dodging his touch with pure disgust.

She reached for her left hand. With one smooth motion, she slid the two-carat diamond engagement ring off her ring finger. She pinched the cold metal between her thumb and index finger.

She flicked her wrist.

The ring flew through the open gap of the window. It hit the plastic dashboard with a sharp crack, bounced off the air vent, and landed squarely in Kira's lap.

Kira let out a startled shriek, brushing at her skirt as if a bug had landed on her. The inside of the car descended into chaotic fumbling.

"We are done," Charlotte announced.

She spoke loud enough for the pedestrians walking past to stop and stare.

Bradly shrank back into his seat. The stares of the strangers burned his skin. His obsession with his public image paralyzed him. He cared more about the whispers of the crowd than the woman standing in front of him. He didn't even try to open the door again.

Charlotte did not look at them for another second.

She turned around. Her spine was perfectly straight. Her shoulders were pulled back.

She walked to the edge of the curb and raised her arm. A yellow taxi screeched to a halt in front of her.

She pulled the door open, slid into the back seat, and slammed it shut.

The taxi accelerated into the traffic. Through the rear window, she saw Bradly gripping the steering wheel, slamming his fist against the horn in the middle of the Manhattan street.

The taxi sped away from the financial district, heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened a new message to Jorja. It's over. Bradly cheated. I'm heading home. She hit send, not waiting for a reply.

Charlotte sat in the back seat. Her eyes were fixed on the blur of buildings outside the window, completely empty.

Her phone vibrated violently against her thigh. The screen flashed with Bradly's name. The buzzing sound filled the quiet cab, grating against her nerves.

She picked up the phone. Her face showed no emotion. She swiped across the screen, tapped the settings, and blocked his number.

The world went silent.

She opened her social media app. She scrolled through five years of memories. Birthdays, vacations, the proposal. She selected every single photo of Bradly. She pressed delete.

When the screen showed an empty grid, she dropped the phone into her purse. She leaned her head back against the worn leather seat and let out a long, heavy breath.

Her muscles felt like they were turning to lead. A deep, bone-aching exhaustion settled into her joints.

The taxi pulled up to her apartment building in Brooklyn. Charlotte handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill, pushed the door open, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

She walked into the old, dimly lit lobby. She pressed the elevator button, rode it to the fourth floor, and walked down the hallway.

She pulled her keys from her purse. She slid the key into the lock. The metal scraped loudly in the empty corridor.

She pushed the door open.

The apartment was filled with wedding decorations. White ribbons on the table, sample centerpieces on the counter, a stack of unmailed invitations. The sight of them made her stomach twist.

She took a deep breath, forcing air into her tight lungs. She walked straight to the bedroom, peeled off the heavy white dress that still clung to her skin, and pulled on an old pair of jeans and a simple shirt. Only then did she move to the utility closet and yank out a massive black trash bag. She snapped it open.

She moved through the living room, grabbing everything tied to the wedding and shoving it into the plastic bag.

She picked up a pair of custom "Mr. and Mrs." coffee mugs. Just as she tossed them into the trash bag, the front door slammed open.

Jorja burst into the apartment. Her heavy combat boots stomped against the hardwood floor. She was holding two large bottles of dark liquor.

Jorja took one look at the trash bags on the floor and Charlotte's pale, bloodless face. She dropped the bottles onto the sofa. She ran across the room and wrapped her arms tightly around Charlotte's shoulders.

The warmth of Jorja's body broke the dam.

Charlotte's rigid posture collapsed. She buried her face in Jorja's shoulder, and the tears finally spilled over. Her chest heaved with violent sobs.

Jorja rubbed her back firmly. "He is a piece of trash," Jorja spat, her boots tapping angrily against the floor. "A toxic, unrecyclable piece of garbage."

Charlotte cried until her throat was raw and her eyes burned.

When the tears stopped, she wiped her face with the back of her hand. The heavy, suffocating weight in her chest began to hollow out, leaving behind a cold, numb emptiness. The fragile girl who had planned a wedding just hours ago was gone. In her place, a quiet, simmering anger began to take root. When she looked up from Jorja's shoulder, her eyes were completely dry. They moved to the sofa. Jorja cracked open one of the liquor bottles and poured a generous amount into a glass.

She handed the glass to Charlotte. Then, Jorja pulled out her phone.

"Look at this," Jorja said, her voice dripping with disgust. She opened a celebrity gossip website and shoved the screen toward Charlotte. The site had just posted a leaked photo twenty minutes ago-Bradly and Kira at a private brunch, clearly taken weeks earlier. In the center of the frame, Bradly stood next to Kira, holding a glass of champagne, smiling brightly, looking like a man who hadn't a care in the world.

Charlotte stared at the photo. Her pupils contracted.

A cold, self-deprecating laugh escaped her lips.

She raised her glass and swallowed the liquor in one gulp. The alcohol burned a fiery trail down her throat, settling hot in her stomach. It incinerated the last lingering trace of grief she had left for him.

Jorja snatched the phone back. "I'm calling him. I'm going to ruin his life."

Charlotte reached out and grabbed Jorja's wrist. "Don't."

Charlotte's voice was steady. "He's not worth the breath. I'm done with him. Completely."

She stood up from the sofa. The alcohol warmed her blood. She walked into her bedroom and opened the closet.

She grabbed every shirt, tie, and suit jacket Bradly had left at her place. She threw them onto the bed, stuffed them into another black trash bag, and dragged it out to the hallway.

She dusted her hands off on her jeans.

She walked back inside and opened her laptop on the kitchen island. The office where she and Bradly had built their careers now felt like a mausoleum she could never enter again. She opened her email client and pulled up a blank document. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. She typed out a formal, brutally direct resignation letter, addressed it to her direct supervisor, CC'd her personal email for the records, clicked send, and closed the laptop.

A sudden wave of lightness washed over her. Her chest expanded.

Jorja raised her glass. "To a new life."

Charlotte picked up the bottle and clinked it against Jorja's glass. The sharp sound of glass hitting glass echoed in the quiet room.

Suddenly, a violent pounding erupted on the front door. The wood rattled in its frame.

A shrill, furious woman's voice screamed from the hallway.

"Charlotte! Open this door right now!"

The pounding on the door was so violent that the empty liquor bottle on the coffee table rattled.

Charlotte's face hardened. Her jaw clenched tight. She set her glass down and marched toward the entryway.

Jorja grabbed her arm, shaking her head. "Don't open it, Char."

Charlotte shook her head. "I can't hide in here forever."

She reached out and gripped the cold metal doorknob. She turned it and pulled.

Before the door was fully open, a heavy force shoved it inward. The impact pushed Charlotte backward, her heels skidding against the floorboards.

Her father, Vernon, stormed into the living room. His face was red, his chest heaving.

Her mother, Brenda, followed right behind him. The moment she crossed the threshold, she pointed a manicured finger directly at Charlotte's face.

"What is wrong with you?" Brenda shrieked. Spittle flew from her lips. "Bradly just called off the wedding! He pulled the Medina investment out of your father's company! Why did you ruin this?"

Charlotte let out a cold, sharp laugh. "I am not a piece of inventory you can trade for corporate funding."

The words hit Vernon like a physical blow. His face turned purple.

He lunged forward, raising his thick hand high in the air, aiming a vicious slap at Charlotte's cheek.

Jorja moved instantly. She grabbed the back of Charlotte's shirt and yanked her backward.

Vernon's hand sliced through empty air. The momentum threw him off balance, and he stumbled forward, his knee hitting the edge of the coffee table.

Humiliated and enraged, Vernon grabbed the heavy glass ashtray sitting on the table. He raised it above his head, ready to throw it at Charlotte.

Jorja stepped in front of Charlotte, her boots planted firmly. "Throw that and I'll have you arrested for assault!"

Brenda shrieked and lunged at Jorja. She grabbed a handful of Jorja's hair and yanked hard, trying to drag her out of the way.

Seeing her best friend attacked, a surge of pure adrenaline flooded Charlotte's veins.

She stepped around Jorja, grabbed Brenda's wrist with both hands, and twisted it sharply downward.

Brenda screamed in pain and let go of Jorja's hair. Charlotte shoved her mother backward. Brenda stumbled and crashed into Vernon's chest.

Charlotte backed away, putting distance between them. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone.

She dialed 911 and hit the speaker button. She held the phone up high.

"911, what is your emergency?" the dispatcher's calm voice echoed through the chaotic living room.

The room went dead silent.

Vernon froze. His arm, still holding the ashtray, hovered in the air. The rage in his eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, cowardly panic.

"I need police at my apartment," Charlotte said, her voice devoid of any emotion. She recited her address clearly. "I have two trespassers who broke in and are attempting physical assault."

"Understood, ma'am. Units are five minutes away," the dispatcher replied.

Charlotte tapped the red button and ended the call.

She stared at the two people who had given her life. Her eyes were like ice. "Get out. If you ever come near me again, I will press charges. We are done."

Brenda's eyes widened in disbelief. "You ungrateful little bitch! We raised you!"

Charlotte walked over to the front door and pulled it wide open. She pointed a rigid finger toward the hallway. "Out."

Vernon knew the police in this neighborhood did not mess around. He weighed his options, his jaw working furiously.

He threw the glass ashtray onto the rug with a muffled thud.

He pointed a thick finger at Charlotte. "You are going to regret this. I will make sure you have nothing."

He grabbed Brenda's arm and dragged her out into the hallway.

The heavy thud of their footsteps faded down the corridor.

Charlotte pushed the door shut. The moment the latch clicked, her knees buckled. She slid down the wooden door, her back scraping against the paint, until she hit the floor.

Jorja dropped to her knees beside her. She pulled Charlotte into a tight hug, checking her arms and face. "Are you hurt? Did they hit you?"

Charlotte shook her head slowly. "I'm fine. It's just... pathetic."

Before she could catch her breath, her phone lit up on the floor.

The caller ID read: St. Jude Hospice Care.

Charlotte's heart stopped. She snatched the phone and pressed it to her ear.

"Charlotte Guthrie?" a nurse's frantic voice came through the speaker. "You need to come right now. Eleanor's vitals just crashed. We are issuing a critical condition alert."

Charlotte shot up from the floor. The blood drained completely from her face.

She grabbed her coat off the back of the sofa and bolted out the door. Outside the window, the sky had suddenly darkened to an unnatural, bruised purple. A jagged flash of lightning tore across the horizon, followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder, signaling the arrival of a violent storm.