Too Late For Regret, the Billionaire Cherishes Me

Her fingers trembled as she gripped the small plastic stick. Two pink lines appeared beneath the bathroom light.

Julissa Hays stared at the test, frozen. Then she slowly looked up at the mirror.

Pregnant.

She pressed the test against her chest, unable to hide the smile on her lips. After two years of marriage, she finally had their baby. Her and Haskell's baby.

She couldn't wait to tell Haskell. She imagined the surprise on his face when he learned he was going to be a father.

She hurried out of the bathroom and picked up her phone. Haskell's name appeared on the screen.Her finger hovered over the call button.

For the past three months, he had barely been home. When he returned, it was always late at night.

After a moment, she lowered her hand.She would tell him tonight. In person. After preparing his favorite dinner.

With that thought, Julissa walked into the kitchen and started cooking.

Just as she turned, her phone screen lit up. A notification slid into view from the New York Daily Post's gossip section. The headline made her freeze.

"Billionaire Haskell Francis's Cozy Weekend with Mystery Mother and Daughter. A Secret Family Revealed?"

A hand, cold and invisible, clenched around Julissa's heart. The air left her lungs.

Her fingers moved on their own, tapping the link. The few seconds it took for the page to load stretched into an eternity.

And then, the picture.

It filled the entire screen. A high-resolution photo, the Central Park Carousel bright in the background.

Haskell Francis, her husband, was crouched down. He was looking at a little girl, maybe four or five years old, with an expression of such unguarded tenderness that it stole Julissa's breath. It was a look she had never, not once, received.

In his hand, he held a pink cloud of cotton candy, patiently offering it to the little girl. A faint smile played on his lips.

And beside him, a woman with long, flaxen hair had her arm linked intimately with his. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, her face a portrait of smug satisfaction.

Julissa knew that woman.

Anastasia Conner.

Haskell's "childhood neighbor and friend." Just a friend.

The text below the photo gushed about what a "perfect family" the three of them made. It mentioned Anastasia was a widow with a young daughter, and that she had always been under the care of the Francis family.

Julissa's eyes remained fixed on the photo. On the way Haskell looked at that little girl with such tenderness. It felt like a sharp, poisoned blade twisting deep inside her.

She remembered last month. She'd had the flu, a fever of 102. She had called him, her voice weak.

"See the family doctor," he had said, his tone clipped with impatience. "Don't act like a child."

The contrast made her stomach churn violently. She stumbled back into the bathroom, doubling over the toilet, and retched. Nothing came up but sour bile.

It wasn't morning sickness. It was the physical revulsion of betrayal.

She slid down to the cold marble floor, tears finally breaking free, blurring the world into a watercolor of pain.

She looked down at her flat stomach. Then back at the glowing screen of her phone, at that sickeningly perfect "family photo."

Her hand, shaking uncontrollably, closed around the pregnancy test. The hard plastic edges dug into her palm, a sharp, grounding pain.

She couldn't let him know.

Not when this child could become a tool to humiliate her. A target for the mockery of that woman and her daughter. She had to protect this baby.

Slowly, she pushed herself up. She went to the sink, splashing cold water on her face again and again, trying to wash away the shock, the hurt.

The woman in the mirror looked broken. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed from tears.

She went back to the bedroom. She wrapped the pregnancy test in layers of tissue and buried it in the hidden compartment at the bottom of her jewelry box.

Then, she picked up her phone. She didn't delete the news. Instead, she saved the photo.

She stared at Haskell's profile in the picture, and the last ember of warmth she held for him was extinguished, frozen into a solid block of ice.

Julissa locked her phone and placed it on the counter.She didn't confront Haskell.

A photo wasn't enough. A headline wasn't enough. She needed to hear the truth from him.

Today was Haskell's birthday. She would wait until tonight and ask him herself.

Until then, she would do what she had done for the past two years.Prepare his birthday dinner.

She pulled the prime tomahawk steak from the refrigerator.

Her hands moved with practiced ease, but her mind was a storm of shattered images. Haskell's gentle smile at the little girl. Anastasia's smug, triumphant gaze. Again and again, the scenes replayed in her mind.

The sharp knife sliced through an onion. The pungent fumes stung her eyes, giving her the perfect excuse for the tears that began to fall.

She didn't wipe them away. She let them fall as she worked, mechanically preparing each of Haskell's favorite dishes.

Beef Wellington. Escargots de Bourgogne. Black truffle pasta.

She prepared the exact menu from their first date. Not because she wanted to recreate the past, but because she wanted to see if he still remembered.

She even retrieved the bottle of 1990 Romanée-Conti from the wine cellar. It was a wedding gift from Haskell's grandfather, Theodore Francis Sr. , a man who had seemed genuinely happy for them.

At seven o'clock, the table was set. Candles flickered, casting a warm glow on the polished silver. The aroma of rich food filled the vast, empty dining room.

It was a perfect picture of a loving marriage. A perfect lie carefully disguised as reality.

Julissa sat at the table, waiting for the guest of honor.

The minutes ticked by. Eight o'clock. Nine. Ten.

Haskell didn't come home. Not even a call. Not a single text.

The candles burned down, their wax dripping onto the expensive holders like solidified tears.

The heat from the food dissipated, leaving everything cold. Just like her heart.

She pulled out her phone. Haskell's social media was silent, the last post a three-day-old article about a successful corporate merger.

A morbid curiosity, a need to twist the knife herself, made her search for Anastasia Conner's profile.

The latest post was from an hour ago.

A single photo. A pink birthday cake decorated with a unicorn, a single candle shaped like the number "5" burning brightly on top.

The caption read: "My sweet Chloe turns 5 today! Mommy's everything."

Julissa's pupils contracted.

Chloe. The little girl in the park.

Her birthday was the same day as Haskell's.

A chilling coldness seeped into her bones, starting from her feet and crawling up her spine.

That little girl, the one Haskell looked at with such love... what was she to him? Really?

Julissa picked up her knife and fork and began to eat the now-cold Beef Wellington. The pastry was limp, the filet tough.

She forced herself to swallow every bite, tasting nothing but humiliation.

When the last piece was gone, she looked at the candlelight, the empty chair across from her, and finally broke.Stubborn tears glimmered in her eyes as she swept everything off the table with a single motion.

Plates, glasses, the priceless bottle of wine-everything crashed into the trash can.

The violent noise echoed in the empty apartment.

She walked into the bedroom and dragged a suitcase from the back of the walk-in closet. She began to pack.

She only took a few changes of clothes. And a small box containing the few things she had left of her mother.

The designer bags, the couture gowns, the glittering jewelry Haskell had bought her-she didn't touch a single piece.

Her eyes fell on her wedding ring. The massive diamond, a flawless stone that had once been the envy of half of New York, now felt like a heavy shackle.

She pulled it from her finger. She tossed it onto the dressing table. It landed with a small, sharp clink.

With only a simple suitcase in hand, she took one last look at the place she had once called home. There was no love left. No attachment. Only ashes.

She walked out the front door and stopped at the elevator bank.

But where could she go?

Her family's home? She pictured her stepmother Jennie's greedy face, her father David's weak-willed expression. She immediately dismissed the thought.

She leaned her head against the cool wall, exhausted. Her hand instinctively went to her stomach. She wasn't alone anymore.

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open.

Haskell Francis stood there, his tall frame filling the doorway.

Haskell Francis saw her standing by the elevator, his eyes flicking down to the suitcase at her feet. A flicker of surprise crossed his handsome features before it was quickly masked by his usual cool indifference.

He loosened his tie. "Going somewhere this late?" he asked, his tone as casual as if he were asking if she was going for a walk.

Julissa looked up at him. At this man she had loved for two years. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, his posture perfect, but there was a weariness in his brow.

She didn't answer. She just stared, her gaze cold and clinical, like an X-ray trying to see through flesh and bone to the lies beneath.

"I asked you a question, Julissa." A note of impatience entered his voice.

A bitter, mocking smile twisted her lips. "What's wrong, Haskell? Did you finally finish celebrating your 'daughter's' birthday and remember you have a home?"

Haskell's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression remained unchanged. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was at the office. A cross-continental conference call."

He said it so smoothly. So confidently. If she hadn't seen the photograph, she might have almost believed him.

He brushed past her, walking into the apartment. He tossed his jacket onto the sofa. As the fabric settled, a scent wafted towards her. It was sweet, cloying, and utterly foreign to their home.

Chanel's Coco Mademoiselle.

Julissa knew it well. It was Anastasia's signature scent.

The smell was like a silent, vicious slap across her face.

The last of her self-deception shattered. Her body went cold.

Haskell walked into the kitchen, saw the empty dining table and the chaotic mess in the trash can. He frowned.

He came back out, his voice laced with accusation. "I told you I wasn't coming home for dinner. Why do you do this? Cook all this food just to throw it away like a lunatic?"

"Did you?" Julissa asked softly, her voice hollow. "I didn't receive any message."

"I had my assistant, Leo, call you," Haskell said, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Julissa pulled out her phone. She showed him the screen. The call log was pristine. No missed calls from Leo Clark.

Another lie. He couldn't even be bothered to make it a believable one.

"Enough, Julissa," Haskell said, his patience clearly gone. "I've had a long day. I don't have the energy to play your childish 'do you love me' games."

He moved towards her, reaching for her suitcase. "Put your things back. Stop this nonsense."

Julissa recoiled, taking a sharp step back as if his touch were toxic.

"Don't touch me." Her voice was quiet, but it was sharp with a chilling revulsion. "You're filthy."

Haskell's face finally darkened. A storm brewed in his gray eyes. "What did you just say?"

"What did I say?" A desperate, broken laugh escaped her. "You come home smelling of another woman and you ask me what I said?"

"Haskell, we've been married for two years. What am I to you? A decoration? A fool you can lie to whenever you please?"

The questions poured out of her, each word edged with pain.

"Anastasia is my friend," he said, his explanation flat and rehearsed. "Her husband died. It's my duty to take care of her and her daughter."

"A friend?" Julissa repeated the word, the irony choking her. "A friend whose arm you hold like a lover? A friend whose daughter's birthday is more important than your own wife?"

Haskell's lips pressed into a hard, thin line. He stopped explaining. "This is my business," he said, his voice cold and hard. "You just need to do your duty as Mrs. Francis."

That single sentence extinguished the last flicker of hope in Julissa's heart. Her duty? Her duty was to tolerate her husband's affair and be grateful for it?

"I can't do it anymore," she said, her voice suddenly calm. "Haskell Francis, we're done."

She didn't look at him again. She pulled her suitcase, turned, and pressed the down button for the elevator.

Haskell stood frozen in the entryway, watching her resolute back. The crystal chandelier cast a long, lonely shadow behind him.