Too Late: The Don Begs Forgiveness

I placed the divorce papers on the mahogany desk, ending five years of being the perfect, silent wife to the most ruthless Don in Chicago.

He didn't sign them. Instead, Kaden Barnes looked at me with cold, reptilian eyes and named his price for my freedom.

"Thirty lashes," he said. "The discipline of a traitor."

I accepted. I let his enforcer shred my back until I was dragging myself across the gravel driveway in a pool of my own crimson.

But as I crawled toward the exit, I heard him laughing with his mistress, Brittaney.

"Harlow isn't my wife," he sneered. "The certificate is a forgery. She owns nothing."

My loyalty had been a lie. And when Brittaney faked an injury to frame me, Kaden didn't check on my bleeding wounds.

He tied my wrists and ankles to the tow hitch of his SUV.

He drove forward until my hip popped and my shoulder dislocated, leaving me broken in the dirt while his mistress smiled.

He thought he had destroyed me. He didn't know his mother would smuggle me onto a private jet to London that very night.

Three years later, the Barnes empire collapsed. Kaden was rotting in a Supermax prison, betrayed by the very mistress he had tortured me to protect.

Now, a letter sits on my desk in Kensington.

The monster is dying of cancer, and he has left me his entire fortune.

I packed my bag for one last trip.

It was time to see if the King had finally learned that he threw away a diamond to chase after cheap glass.

Chapter 1

Harlow POV

I placed the signed divorce papers on the mahogany desk-the one Mrs. Barnes reserved specifically for "unruly guests"-and waited to see how she would retaliate.

My hands were steady, though my back screamed from the tension of holding myself upright for five years.

Mrs. Barnes didn't deign to look at the papers.

She looked at me with that cold, reptilian gaze that had kept the Chicago Outfit in check since her husband's death.

"You do not ask to leave the Barnes family, Harlow."

Her voice was a low hum, vibrating through the heavy silence of the drawing room.

It wasn't a question.

It was a verdict.

I took a step forward, the marble floor cold beneath my thin soles.

"I am not asking, Mrs. Barnes. I am collecting a receipt."

She finally blinked.

"My father took a bullet for your son," I continued, my voice devoid of the tremor rattling my ribcage.

"He died so Kaden could live to become the Don. That was the transaction. My life for his. But the contract is void."

Mrs. Barnes picked up her tea, the china clinking softly.

"You are the Don's wife," she said. "That is not a contract. That is a crown."

"It is a cage," I corrected her.

"And I am done being the canary he crushes whenever he's bored."

For five years, I had played the part.

The Ice Queen.

The stoic statue standing beside Kaden Barnes while he ruled the city with blood and iron.

I had laundered their money through my charity foundations.

I had smiled at galas while his mistresses whispered in the corners.

I had taken the contraceptive pills he forced down my throat because he wouldn't let "servant blood" mix with his noble lineage.

But the whispers weren't whispers anymore.

Brittaney Cortez was living in the East Wing.

She was walking the halls wearing the jewelry Kaden had bought with the family's clean money.

"The cousins are talking," I said, playing my only card.

"They say the Don cannot control his own house. They say he respects a stripper more than the daughter of the soldier who saved his life."

Mrs. Barnes set the cup down. Hard.

It cracked.

"Gossip is wind," she hissed.

"Disrespect is a storm," I countered. "And it is drowning this family. I want out."

Mrs. Barnes stood up, walking to the window that overlooked the sprawling estate.

She was calculating.

She didn't care about my happiness.

She cared about the optic.

A divorce was messy, but a weak Don was fatal.

"I will give you five million in offshore accounts," she said, not turning around.

"You will stay. You will endure. That is what women in this life do."

"I don't want your blood money. I want my name back."

She turned then, her eyes narrowing.

"Freedom has a price, Harlow. Name it."

"Thirty lashes."

The air left the room.

"Thirty lashes," she repeated, her voice devoid of emotion. "The discipline of a traitor."

"If you can take thirty lashes without screaming, without begging for mercy, I will grant you the divorce. You will leave with nothing but the clothes on your back."

I didn't hesitate.

"Deal."

I didn't know then that pain has a taste.

It tastes like iron and bile.

An hour later, I was dragging my body across the gravel driveway, the back of my dress shredded and soaked in crimson.

Every step was a fresh explosion of agony.

I had bitten through my lip to keep from screaming.

I had earned my exit.

I just needed to get to my room, pack my bag, and vanish before Kaden returned.

I limped into the foyer, my vision blurring.

Laughter drifted from the drawing room.

It was a sound that curdled the blood in my veins.

Kaden.

And Brittaney.

I shouldn't have stopped.

I should have kept moving.

But I heard my name.

"Harlow is so boring, Kaden," Brittaney whined. "She walks around like she owns the place."

"She owns nothing." Kaden's voice was a dark velvet rumble, the sound that used to make my heart race before it made my stomach turn.

"She thinks that piece of paper binds us."

I froze, leaning against the cold wall for support.

"What do you mean?" Brittaney giggled.

"The marriage certificate," Kaden said, his tone dismissive. "It's a forgery."

"The Commission needed to see stability after my father died. We faked the registry. Harlow isn't my wife. She never was."

The world tilted on its axis.

Five years.

Five years of loyalty.

Five years of abuse disguised as duty.

Five years of believing I was honoring a sacred oath.

And it was all a lie.

I wasn't a wife.

I was a concubine with a title.

A strange, hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat, but it came out as a sob.

The sound gave me away.

A blur of white fur shot out from the drawing room.

Princess.

Brittaney's pampered Pomeranian.

The dog lunged, sinking its teeth into my ankle.

I cried out, not from the bite, but from the sudden shift of weight that tore at the fresh wounds on my back.

I tried to shake the dog off.

"Get off!" I gasped.

Brittaney appeared in the doorway, a vision in silk and diamonds.

She saw me.

She saw the blood seeping through my dress.

She saw the dog attached to my leg.

And she smiled.

Then she screamed.

"She kicked Princess!" Brittaney shrieked, rushing forward and shoving me hard.

I had no balance.

I crashed onto the marble floor, landing directly on my lacerated back.

White-hot agony blinded me.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

I just saw Brittaney scoop up the dog, who was perfectly fine, and turn her tear-filled eyes toward the shadow emerging from the room.

Kaden.

He looked at me.

He didn't see the blood pooling beneath me.

He didn't see the agony etched into my face.

He saw his mistress crying.

He saw my hand raised, trembling, trying to defend myself from another shove.

And the darkness in his eyes swallowed me whole.

"Harlow," he growled, stepping between me and Brittaney.

"Don't you dare touch her."

Harlow POV

The air in the foyer was thick, suffocating, charged with the copper tang of my own blood and the cloying, expensive perfume Brittaney bathed in.

Kaden Barnes towered over me like a vengeful god.

He did not just radiate power; he consumed the space around him with a lethal aura that made grown men question their own survival.

"Why?" he demanded.

One word.

Loaded with accusation.

"She..." I tried to speak, but my throat was lined with sandpaper. "She pushed me. The dog... it bit me."

"Liar!" Brittaney sobbed into Kaden's chest, clutching the growling beast as if it were a victim.

"She kicked Princess! She's jealous, Kaden! Look at her! She's crazy!"

Kaden looked down at me.

He really looked at me.

His gaze snagged on the crimson stain spreading across the back of my dress, the way the silk clung explicitly to the raw flesh.

For a second, just a heartbeat, his brows knit together.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Confusion?

Concern?

Whatever it was, Brittaney extinguished it with a fresh, piercing wail.

"She tried to hurt my baby!"

Kaden's face hardened into a mask of stone.

"Why would you attack a helpless animal, Harlow?"

His voice was cold. Detached.

I stared at him, disbelief numbing the searing pain in my back.

"Look at my leg," I whispered.

Blood was trickling down my ankle where the dog's teeth had punctured the skin, pooling on the marble floor.

Kaden glanced at it, then back at Brittaney's tear-streaked face.

It didn't matter.

Facts didn't matter.

Only she mattered.

"Apologize," Kaden said.

I blinked, sure I had misheard.

"What?"

"Apologize to Brittaney," he commanded. "And to the dog."

The humiliation hit me harder than the floor had.

I was the daughter of a soldier.

I was the woman who had run his empire's legitimate front for five years.

And he wanted me to bow to a mistress and a pet.

I tried to push myself up, my arms shaking violently under the strain.

"No."

The word hung in the air, fragile but absolute.

Kaden's eyes narrowed.

He wasn't used to no.

Especially not from me.

"I am the Don," he said softly, a threat wrapped in silk.

"And I am giving you an order."

I finally managed to stand, swaying on my feet.

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Am I the mistress of this house, Kaden? Or is she?"

My voice gained strength, fueled by adrenaline. "Because if I am your wife, even a fake one, you do not order me to bow to a whore."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Brittaney gasped.

Kaden's jaw clenched, a muscle feathering in his cheek.

He took a step toward me, looming over my broken form.

"You are whatever I say you are," he hissed.

"And right now, you are an embarrassment."

He snapped his fingers.

Two guards materialized from the shadows.

"Take her to the courtyard," Kaden ordered, not breaking eye contact with me.

"She stays on her knees until she learns how to speak with respect."

"Kaden, please," I whispered, the fight draining out of me. "My back..."

He turned away.

He turned his back on me to comfort the woman who was laughing behind her hand.

The guards grabbed my arms.

Pain exploded across my shoulders as they dragged me backward.

"You are a man without honor, Kaden Barnes!" I screamed, the words tearing raw from my throat.

He didn't flinch.

He didn't look back.

He just walked Brittaney into the drawing room and closed the door.

I was dragged out into the cold night air.

The gravel dug into my knees.

The wind whipped against my open wounds.

I didn't apologize.

I knelt there as the moon rose and fell.

I knelt there as the fever began to burn through my veins.

I told myself one thing, over and over again, like a prayer.

Just a little longer.

Just survive this.

And when I do... I will burn this kingdom to the ground.

Harlow POV

Dawn broke over the estate in a bruised palette of charcoal and violent purple.

I was still kneeling.

My body had transcended pain, settling into a strange, floating numbness that felt dangerously like dissociation.

When the servants finally came to collect me, my legs refused to cooperate.

They had to half-carry me, their eyes fixed on the floorboards, terrified to witness the aftermath of the Don's cruelty.

They deposited me in my room like a broken doll, but I didn't crawl into the sanctuary of my bed.

I couldn't.

I had to leave.

With trembling hands, I washed the gravel embedded in my knees, the water in the basin turning murky.

I changed into a high-necked dress, the fabric stiff enough to hide the fresh bandages wrapped around my torso.

I packed a single bag.

I was limping toward the main staircase, hope fluttering in my throat, when Kaden blocked my path.

He looked immaculate-freshly showered, smelling of sandalwood and arrogance.

Brittaney was draped over the banister behind him, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Going somewhere?" Kaden asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"I'm leaving," I said, my voice raspy from disuse.

"We have a schedule, Harlow."

He checked his watch, stepping over my declaration as if it were nothing more than debris.

"Brittaney needs a new wardrobe for the season. You have an eye for... decent things."

"You're taking her shopping."

I stared at him, disbelief warring with exhaustion.

"You want me to take your mistress shopping?"

"I want you to do your job," he said smoothly. "Make her look presentable. She lacks your... polish."

"I refuse."

I turned to walk away, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.

"Get in the car, Harlow," Kaden said.

It wasn't a request; it was a command.

Two bodyguards stepped in front of me, walls of muscle in black suits.

I was trapped.

Again.

The limousine ride was a silent torture chamber.

Brittaney sat across from me, kicking my shins 'accidentally' with her heels, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

At the boutique, she was a monster wrapped in silk.

She tried on everything.

She bought nothing.

She made me fetch sizes, holding dresses up against her body and asking if they made her look 'too skinny,' fishing for compliments I refused to give.

"Carry these," she commanded, shoving a mountain of shopping bags into my arms.

My back was on fire.

The stitches were pulling, tearing at the tender flesh beneath.

"I can't," I whispered, the bags slipping from my numb fingers.

"Pick them up!" she hissed, her facade dropping. "Or I tell Kaden you stole something."

I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached.

I bent down.

I picked up the bags.

I walked behind her like a pack mule, sweat drenching my dress, shivering from a fever that was climbing higher by the minute.

When we finally returned to the mansion, I collapsed onto the foyer bench, my vision swimming.

Brittaney dumped the clothes onto the floor in a heap.

"Oh, Kaden!" she called out, her voice pitching up into a whine.

He appeared from his office, his presence instantly sucking the air from the room.

"Harlow got the clothes dirty," she pouted, pointing a manicured finger. "Look at the dust on the bags."

Kaden looked at the bags. Then at me.

"Wash them," he said.

"What?" I whispered, the room tilting.

"Hand wash them. Silk ruins in the machine."

"Kaden, I'm sick," I pleaded, holding up my trembling hands. "Please."

For a second, the ice in his eyes cracked.

He saw the unnatural flush on my cheeks. The way I was shaking like a leaf.

"Oh, don't be mean to her, Kaden," Brittaney said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I'll do it. I don't mind doing hard work. Unlike some people."

She reached for a blouse.

"Leave it," Kaden snapped at her, making her flinch.

Then he turned his glare back on me.

"You are useless, Harlow."

"Wash the clothes. Or get out of my sight."

I took the clothes.

I walked to the laundry room, every step a battle against gravity.

I filled the basin with cold water.

My hands were raw.

My back was bleeding again; I could feel the warm wetness sliding down my skin.

I scrubbed the silk until the water swirled pink, the blood seeping through my bandages mingling with the suds.

I heard them in the hallway.

Kaden's voice, low and tender-a tone he used to use for me.

"You're too good for this place, Britt," he whispered.

I scrubbed harder, trying to drown out the sound of my heart breaking.

The room began to spin.

The floor tilted violently.

Black spots danced in my vision, consuming the light.

I fell.

The darkness was a relief.

I woke to the rhythmic beep of machines.

White walls. The stinging smell of antiseptic.

A hospital.

A nurse was adjusting an IV in my arm, her hands shaking slightly.

"Mr. Barnes brought you in," she whispered, looking terrified. "He was shouting at everyone to save you."

Hope, that treacherous little bird, fluttered in my chest.

He cared.

He had brought me here.

The door banged open, shattering the moment.

Kaden stormed in.

He didn't look relieved.

He looked murderous.

He crossed the room in two predatory strides.

Before I could speak, before I could ask what happened, I felt the cold, hard steel of a gun barrel press against my forehead.

"You bitch," he roared, his eyes wild.

"You put needles in her dress?"