Too Late For Regret: My Dying Breath

Harlow Aguilar pushed her frozen, blistered fingers against the heavy glass side door of the Plaza Hotel.

The biting November wind howled behind her, slicing straight through her thin, washed-out gray coat. She shoved her body weight against the glass. The door yielded.

The sudden blast of the hotel's central heating hit her face. It didn't bring relief. It triggered a violent, tearing spasm deep inside her chest.

A sharp pain ripped through her lungs. Harlow stopped in the gilded entryway. She clamped her mouth shut. The hot, metallic taste of blood coated her tongue. She swallowed hard, forcing the copper liquid back down her raw throat.

She looked down. Clementine stood pressed against her leg. The four-year-old's tiny fingers gripped the frayed hem of Harlow's coat. Clementine's pale blue eyes darted around the luxurious, marble-floored hallway. Panic radiated from her small, shivering frame.

Harlow crouched. Her knees popped. Her muscles trembled from sheer exhaustion. She reached out and gently pushed a strand of blonde hair behind Clementine's ear, adjusting the cheap, plastic hearing aid resting there.

Harlow tried to force a reassuring smile. Her facial muscles twitched. The smile failed.

Heavy footsteps echoed on the marble. Two security guards in custom black suits marched toward them. Their eyes locked on Harlow's threadbare coat and Clementine's scuffed sneakers.

"Ma'am, you can't be here," the taller guard barked, reaching out to grab Harlow's shoulder.

Harlow shoved Clementine behind her back. She dug her trembling hand into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper-a printed floor plan of the hotel.

"I'm the replacement," Harlow lied. Her voice rasped. "For the backstage cleaning crew. They called me in ten minutes ago."

The guard stopped. He stared at her hollow cheeks and the dark, bruised circles under her eyes. He reached for the radio clipped to his shoulder.

Before he could press the button, the heavy mahogany double doors to the main ballroom swung open from the inside. A waiter in a crisp white uniform hurried out.

Blinding light spilled into the hallway.

The glare of a massive crystal chandelier stabbed Harlow's eyes. She squinted. Through the gap in the doors, her gaze locked onto a figure standing beside a towering champagne pyramid.

Ezra Bray.

He wore a tailored black tuxedo. He stood tall, his broad shoulders relaxed. His long fingers casually swirled the amber liquid in a crystal glass. The harsh light caught the sharp angles of his jaw. There was no trace of the devastation Harlow had left behind five years ago.

Harlow's heart violently contracted. Her chest tightened so hard she couldn't pull in a breath. Her vision blurred.

Then, she saw the woman standing next to him.

Katherine Aguilar.

Katherine wore a pure white, custom lace gown. She tilted her head up at Ezra, her lips curved into a soft, adoring smile. She reached out. Her manicured fingers gently adjusted Ezra's black bowtie.

Ezra didn't pull away. He looked down at Katherine. His dark eyes held a quiet, steady tolerance.

Harlow's stomach cramped. Acid rose in her throat. She remembered Katherine sitting in the witness box. She remembered Katherine's fake tears. She remembered Katherine swearing under oath, sending Harlow to Rikers Island.

The guards turned their heads, distracted by the sudden noise from the ballroom.

Harlow didn't think. She grabbed Clementine's hand. She lunged forward, slipping past the guards' blind spot, and pushed through the heavy doors.

The thick, expensive wool carpet instantly swallowed the sound of their footsteps.

Harlow stood inside the ballroom. Her cheap gray coat screamed against the sea of designer gowns and tailored suits.

The conversations around them died.

Guests turned. Their eyes raked over Harlow and Clementine. They looked at them like they were trash left on the pristine carpet. The low, mocking whispers crawled through the air like physical blades scraping against Harlow's skin.

Clementine shrank back. The hostile stares terrified her. Her cheap hearing aid couldn't process the overlapping whispers. It only fed her a wall of distorted static.

Clementine squeezed her eyes shut. She buried her face into Harlow's thigh and let out a high, panicked whimper.

The whimper was small. But it cut straight through the low hum of the ballroom.

Ezra's head snapped up. His bored gaze swept across the room.

His eyes landed on Harlow.

The casual indifference vanished from his face. His jaw locked. His dark eyes turned into absolute ice.

Ezra slammed his crystal glass down onto a passing waiter's tray. The glass hit the metal so hard it cracked. Golden champagne splashed out, staining the pristine white lace of Katherine's dress.

Ezra didn't look at Katherine. He stared at the woman he hadn't seen in five years.

Katherine followed his gaze. When she saw Harlow, her perfect smile twisted. For a fraction of a second, pure hatred distorted her features. But she blinked, and the hatred vanished. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with manufactured shock.

Ezra moved. He shoved past a wealthy investor blocking his path. He strode across the room.

He stopped inches from Harlow. His towering frame completely blocked the light of the chandelier above her.

He looked down at her. His eyes stripped away her humanity.

"Who let you in?" Ezra's voice was a flat, dead monotone. It held pure, concentrated disgust.

Harlow stumbled back half a step. The oppressive weight of his aura crushed her lungs. Her breath came in short, painful gasps.

"Ezra," she whispered. Her voice shook.

Ezra's lips curled into a vicious sneer. "Couldn't wait, could you?" he mocked. "Fresh out of a prison cell and you rush straight here to ruin my fiancée's charity gala."

Katherine materialized at Ezra's side. She slipped her arm through his.

"Harlow," Katherine said. Her voice dripped with sickening pity. "Why would you bring a child to a place like this? You're scaring the guests."

Harlow ignored her sister. She kept her eyes locked on Ezra. She sucked in a sharp breath. The air burned her throat.

"Ezra, please," Harlow begged. She stripped every ounce of pride from her voice. "Ten minutes. Just give me ten minutes alone with you. We need to talk."

Ezra let out a harsh, barking laugh. He shifted his gaze down. He looked at the small girl hiding behind Harlow's legs.

For a split second, a complex emotion flashed in his eyes. But it was instantly swallowed by revulsion.

"I have absolutely nothing to say to you," Ezra stated coldly. "Or to your bastard."

He turned his head. He snapped his fingers at the head of security.

"Get these two out of here," Ezra commanded. "Now."

Two guards lunged forward. One of them grabbed Harlow's upper arm. His thick fingers dug into her fragile bicep. He yanked her backward with brutal force.

A muffled groan of pain ripped from Harlow's throat. Her knees buckled.

Clementine saw the man hurt her mother. The little girl let out a piercing scream. She threw herself forward. Her tiny fists hammered against the guard's thick thigh.

The guard grunted in annoyance. He shoved his hand out and pushed the little girl's shoulder.

Clementine flew backward. She hit the thick carpet hard. The impact knocked the cheap hearing aid from her ear. It skittered across the floor, stopping at the tip of Ezra's polished leather shoe.

Ezra looked down at the plastic device. His hands curled into fists. He squeezed his fingers so tight his knuckles turned bone-white.

Harlow looked up at him, her eyes wide, waiting for him to stop the guards.

Ezra unclinched his fists. He turned his back to them.

"If she bleeds on the carpet," Ezra said to the guards, his voice devoid of all human warmth, "you're fired."

The security guards shoved Harlow and Clementine through the Plaza's side exit.

The heavy glass door slammed shut behind them. The freezing November wind instantly swallowed them, biting through their thin clothes.

Harlow ignored the stinging scrape on her wrist. She dropped to her knees on the icy concrete. Her hands shook violently as she picked up the cracked plastic hearing aid from the pavement.

She brushed the dirt off it and carefully hooked it back over Clementine's small ear.

Clementine shook uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered. She threw her arms around Harlow's neck and buried her face in her shoulder. The little girl raised her hands, her stiff fingers awkwardly forming the sign language gesture for 'home'.

Harlow's throat tightened. Hot tears burned the back of her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, pulling her tight against her chest.

She had no home to go back to. If she didn't convince Ezra tonight, she would die in a few months, and Clementine would be thrown into the nightmare of the state foster care system.

Harlow bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. She stood up, carrying Clementine.

She walked to the curb and flagged down a battered yellow taxi with the last twenty-dollar bill in her pocket.

"The Hamptons," Harlow told the driver, giving him the address she had spent five years trying to forget.

The driver took the cash and sped off into the night.

An hour later, the taxi pulled away, leaving Harlow and Clementine standing in front of towering black wrought-iron gates.

There were no trees to block the wind. The freezing air blowing off the Atlantic Ocean felt like physical blades slicing across Harlow's exposed skin.

She carried Clementine to the stone pillar and pressed the button on the intercom.

Static crackled. The cold, mechanical voice of the estate's head butler filled the air.

"Mr. Bray has issued strict orders," the butler said. "No one with the last name Aguilar is permitted on the premises."

"Please," Harlow begged into the camera lens. "Just five minutes. Tell him I'm waiting here."

The intercom clicked off. The red light on the camera went dark.

Harlow didn't turn around. She took off her washed-out gray coat. She wrapped it tightly around Clementine, swaddling the shivering girl until only her face showed. Harlow was left standing in a thin, threadbare sweater.

She sat down on the freezing stone steps outside the gate, pulling Clementine onto her lap.

The temperature dropped below freezing. By 2:00 AM, Harlow's lungs began to protest the extreme cold.

A violent asthma attack seized her chest. She clamped both hands over her mouth, muffling the agonizing coughs. She tasted fresh blood. She swallowed it down, refusing to let Clementine see.

But her body shook so hard that Clementine stirred in her sleep, whimpering softly.

Four hours passed. Harlow's fingers turned blue. Her vision started to tunnel. She thought they were going to freeze to death on the concrete.

Then, headlights pierced the darkness.

A black Maybach rolled to a stop in front of the gates. The tinted rear window slowly rolled down.

Ezra sat in the shadows of the backseat. His face was a mask of dark, brooding anger. He had just returned from the gala.

His cold eyes swept over the two figures huddled on his steps.

For a full minute, Ezra didn't move. He sat in the heated car, his eyes locked on Harlow. He searched her face, looking for the calculated manipulation he was so sure she possessed.

But all he saw was her deathly pale skin, her blue lips, and the way her frozen arms were locked protectively around the child.

Ezra let out a harsh breath. He ripped his black bowtie off and threw it onto the seat. He pushed the car door open.

His expensive leather shoes crunched against the frost-covered pavement. He stopped right in front of Harlow.

He raised his foot and nudged the edge of her worn sneaker with his toe.

"Is this your plan?" Ezra sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "A cheap sympathy stunt so you can sell a sob story to the New York Times tomorrow?"

Harlow forced her heavy eyelids open. She looked up at the man she used to love.

"Ezra," she rasped. Her vocal cords were so damaged from the cold she could barely make a sound. "Please. Just talk to me."

Ezra stared at her pathetic, broken state. The sight of her didn't bring him satisfaction. It only fueled the burning rage in his chest.

He spun around and marched to the keypad on the stone pillar. He punched in the code.

The heavy iron gates slowly groaned open.

Ezra didn't look back. "If you track mud onto my floors," he warned over his shoulder, "I'm calling the police."

Harlow let out a shaky breath. She gathered every ounce of strength left in her dying body. She picked up the sleeping Clementine and stumbled through the gates, following Ezra's broad back into the massive, brightly lit mansion.

The sudden blast of heat inside the foyer hit Harlow like a physical blow. The extreme temperature change made her head spin. Black spots danced in her vision.

She carefully laid Clementine down on a plush velvet sofa in the corner of the hall.

Ezra didn't wait for her. He walked straight into his private study. The scent of expensive cigars and cedarwood drifted out. He left the heavy oak door wide open.

It was an invitation to her own execution.

Harlow dragged her numb legs across the marble floor. She took a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ribs, and walked into the study.

Ezra sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He rested his elbows on the wood, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. His dark eyes scanned her up and down like she was a defective product on an assembly line.

"So," Ezra began. He dragged the word out, making it heavy with oppression. "You ran off with Atticus Duffy's bastard five years ago. Now you're back, begging at my door. Exactly how much money do you want?"

Hearing Atticus's name, and the word 'bastard', drained the last drop of blood from Harlow's face.

She bit down hard on her lower lip. The skin broke. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, grounding her.

She closed her eyes for one second. She swallowed all her pride, all her humiliation.

She opened her eyes, looked straight into Ezra's hostile gaze, and spoke the truth.

"Clementine is your daughter."

The words hung in the air.

The spacious study fell into a dead, suffocating silence. It felt as if all the oxygen had been instantly sucked out of the room.

Ezra's expression froze for two seconds. Then, a low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. The laugh grew louder, echoing off the mahogany walls. It held zero warmth. It was pure, malicious mockery.

He slammed his hands flat onto the desk and leaned forward. He looked at her like she had lost her mind.

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Harlow?" Ezra snarled. "We used strict protection every single time."

Harlow took a desperate step forward. "The yacht," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "That night on the yacht, we didn't-"

"Don't take another step toward my desk," Ezra roared.

Harlow froze.

Ezra pushed his chair back. He walked around the desk, his tall frame closing the distance between them. He stopped so close she could feel the heat radiating off his chest.

"You stole the core data for Bray Pharmaceuticals," Ezra said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You handed it to Atticus Duffy. And then you spread your legs for him. You think I don't know?"

Harlow shook her head frantically. "No! That was a setup! I never touched Atticus. I never stole anything!"

Ezra's hand shot out. His large fingers clamped around her jaw. He squeezed so hard Harlow thought her bone would snap.

He forced her head up, making her look into his furious, burning eyes.

"I saw the bank transfers, Harlow," Ezra hissed through his teeth. "I saw the photos of you walking into his hotel room. You deserved every day you spent in that cell. And now you think you can waltz in here and use a deaf bastard to extort me?"

The pain in her jaw was blinding. But the word 'deaf' shattered her completely.

Harlow jerked her head back, tearing herself out of his grip. Tears finally spilled over her lower lashes, tracking down her pale cheeks.

Her hands shook violently as she reached into the pocket of her sweater. She pulled out a crumpled, folded piece of paper. It was a warning letter from the New York State Child Protective Services, the official letterhead stark and threatening.

She thrust the letter toward Ezra's chest. Her voice broke into jagged, desperate pieces.

"They're going to take her from me, Ezra. They say I'm an unfit mother."

Ezra's eyes darted to the official logo. His pupils contracted sharply. For a fraction of a second, his breathing stopped.

Then, his jaw clenched. The brief flash of shock was instantly buried under a thick layer of disgust.

He didn't reach for the letter. He stared at her, his eyes narrowing.

"Child Protective Services," Ezra repeated flatly. "How convenient. You orchestrate a visit from a social worker to manufacture a crisis, and now you're here to cash in on the sob story. Your tactics have gotten incredibly lazy."

Harlow stared at him in horror. He didn't believe a word.

"Look at it!" Harlow screamed. She tried to shove the letter directly into his hands. "They're going to put her in foster care!"

Ezra swatted her hand away.

He didn't mean to hit her hard, but his arm struck her wrist. The single sheet of paper flew out of her hand.

The letter fluttered through the air, landing on the expensive Persian rug.

Harlow stood frozen. She stared at the official threat lying on the floor. The last shred of her human dignity was crushed under Ezra's polished shoes.

She slowly closed her eyes.

Ezra looked down at the paper. A sudden, inexplicable spike of anxiety pierced his chest. He immediately crushed the feeling down with logic.

"Forging government documents is a federal crime," Ezra stated coldly. "You found out Katherine and I are getting married. You found out I'm taking over the company. So you came here to make a scene and grab a payout."

Harlow opened her eyes. She looked at the man standing in front of her. He was a stranger. Words were useless.

She slowly squatted down. Her joints ached. She picked up the crumpled letter.

She held it up. Her voice was suddenly, terrifyingly calm.

"I don't have health insurance," Harlow said, staring at his chest. "I don't have a permanent address. CPS is going to take her away."

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his.

"I don't want a single cent of your money, Ezra. I just want you to give Clementine a legal guardian status and a trust fund so she doesn't end up on the streets when they take her from me."

Ezra looked at her dead, hollow eyes. The absolute lack of hope in her gaze made his stomach drop. A nameless dread began to crawl up his spine.

To hide his sudden panic, Ezra turned his back to her. He walked over to the crystal decanter on the bar cart and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"I am not raising another man's mistake," Ezra said to the wall.

Harlow knew she had no other cards left to play. She took a deep breath. She dragged her heavy legs toward Ezra's back.

Then, she did the one thing Ezra never expected.

Her knees buckled. She dropped heavily onto the hard hardwood floor. The loud thud of her knees hitting the wood echoed sharply in the quiet room.

Ezra whipped around.

He stared in shock. Harlow Aguilar, the proudest, most stubborn woman he had ever known, was kneeling at his feet.

Harlow tilted her head back. Tears streamed down her face. She had abandoned every ounce of her pride. She was nothing but a desperate mother.

"Do a DNA test," Harlow begged, her lips trembling. "Just one test. You pick the lab. You take the sample. When the results come back, you'll know I'm not lying."

Ezra's fingers tightened around his whiskey glass. His knuckles turned a sickly white. He stared down at the woman kneeling on his floor, a violent storm raging in his chest.