His Regret Came Too Late for My Heart

Marcus told me he’d be out of town for a business trip.

“Just a couple of days,” he’d said, kissing my forehead like the doting husband he pretended to be. “I’ll miss you.”

I smiled and waved him off, pretending to care. The moment his car disappeared down the driveway, I got to work.

I’d spent the last few days observing his routines, watching where he kept his most guarded possessions. It didn’t take long to find the safe hidden behind a painting in his office.

The code? That was easy. Elara Moon’s birthday.

The lock clicked open on my first try.

Inside, everything I needed was neatly organized.

There were documents from the hospital—agreements signed for organ donation, records of the surgery, and proof that he’d authorized the transfer of my mother’s organ to Elara’s sister.

Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back.

Beside the hospital records were a series of financial transactions. Payments made to my ex-fiancé, Ethan Harris. For business, the receipts claimed. But I knew better now.

My hands trembled as I sifted through them. Jewelry, designer clothes, vacations. He’d disguised them as corporate gifts, but every single one had been for Elara.

I found another pile of receipts. These were for me—the necklaces, the rings, the dresses. For years, I had thought they were lavish, extravagant even. But compared to Elara’s gifts, they were nothing.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. He had never loved me. I had been nothing more than a placeholder. A convenient wife to shield his obsession with Elara.

I sat down on the floor, surrounded by his lies. For a moment, I felt the tears spill over, hot and bitter.

But then I clenched my fists.

I wasn’t going to cry. Not anymore.

I took out my phone and began photographing everything. The hospital agreements, the financial transactions, the receipts—all of it. I captured every detail.

At the bottom of the safe, I found a folder labeled “Future Assets.” Inside were investment plans, property deeds, and insurance policies. I made copies of those too.

When I was done, I closed the safe, leaving everything exactly as it had been.

I walked out of the estate without looking back.

The lawyer’s office was my next stop.

“Mrs. Elwood,” he said, startled when I walked in unannounced. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I need a divorce agreement,” I said calmly.

His eyes widened. “Does Mr. Elwood—”

“No,” I interrupted. “He doesn’t know. And I’d like to keep it that way for now.”

He hesitated, but then nodded. “We already have a template prepared. All I need is your signature.”

He handed me the papers, and I skimmed through them. Everything was in order.

I signed my name at the bottom with a steady hand.

“Send it to him after I’m gone,” I instructed. “No earlier.”

“Gone?” he asked, confused.

But I didn’t explain. I left the office and headed to my next destination.

The building was tucked away in an alley, its sign faded and barely legible.

This was the place.

An underground agency specializing in making people vanish.

I pushed open the door, and the smell of cigarettes and damp paper filled the air. A man behind the counter looked up, his face shadowed under a hood.

“You lost?” he asked.

“No,” I said firmly. “I need your services.”

His eyes narrowed. “What kind of services?”

“I want to disappear,” I said. “Completely.”

He leaned back, studying me. “You know what you’re asking for?”

“Yes.”

He smirked. “And what makes you think I can help you?”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a stack of cash. The bills were crisp, untraceable.

His smirk widened. “Now we’re talking.”

He motioned for me to follow him to a back room. The walls were lined with monitors, and the hum of machinery filled the space.

“Here’s how it works,” he began. “We’ll fake your death. A car crash, drowning, whatever you want. Once it’s done, you’ll get new identification, a new life. No one will ever find you.”

I nodded, my resolve unshaken.

“I want it to look like a suicide,” I said. “Something believable. No loose ends.”

He handed me a clipboard. “Fill this out. We’ll handle the rest.”