The Billionaire's Regret: Too Late to Love

Mia got home before Allen.

That alone felt wrong.

The apartment lights were off when she stepped inside, the city's glow slipping through the windows in thin, indifferent lines. She didn't turn anything on right away. Just stood there, keys still in her hand, listening to the quiet settle around her like dust.

She kicked off her heels near the door. One tipped over, the sound sharp in the stillness. She flinched at it. Funny-she hadn't flinched at seeing him with her.

Her purse went on the counter. Slowly. Carefully. Like if she moved too fast, something might break that was already cracked.

She walked into the living room, touching nothing. The couch where they'd once fallen asleep together during late movies. The coffee table Allen insisted stay clear of clutter. The framed photo on the shelf-five years ago, a gala, his arm firm around her waist, her smile unguarded.

She turned the frame face down.

Not angrily. Just... decisively.

The gift came next.

She opened the closet and pulled it from its hiding place, still wrapped, the ribbon perfectly tied. She stood there a long moment with it in her hands, fingers tightening around the edges of the box.

She imagined his face again. The surprise. The gratitude she'd rehearsed in her head.

Then she slid the gift back onto the shelf and closed the door.

In the kitchen, the candles were still where she'd left them. Unburned. She blew them out anyway. The wine bottle stood unopened, quiet accusation.

She poured herself a glass of water instead. Drank half of it in one go. The rest sat forgotten as she leaned against the counter, staring at nothing.

Time passed strangely after that.

She sat. She stood. She wandered from room to room, touching the life they'd built like she was already preparing to leave it. She checked her phone more than she wanted to admit.

No messages.

At some point, she curled up on the edge of the bed, still in her dress, knees drawn to her chest. The fabric felt too delicate now. Like a costume from another life.

Her breathing was shallow. She focused on it. In. Out. Again.

He'll come home, she told herself.

He'll have an explanation.

The words sounded tired even to her.

The lock clicked sometime after ten.

She didn't move.

Allen's footsteps were familiar-measured, unhurried. The sound of his keys hitting the bowl by the door. His jacket being shrugged off.

"Mia?" he called.

She answered after a beat. "I'm here."

He appeared in the doorway, loosening his cufflinks. He looked... fine. Normal. Not a man who had just undone five years with a single evening.

"You didn't go to bed," he said.

She watched him. The way his gaze skimmed over her, not quite landing. The faint scent clinging to him-something floral, layered over his cologne.

"I was waiting," she said.

"For me?"

"For tonight."

Something flickered across his face. Not guilt. More like irritation-softened, but there.

"Yeah," he said. "Sorry. It ran late."

She nodded.

He stepped closer, pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Habitual. Absent. His lips barely touched her skin.

Her body didn't lean into it the way it used to.

He didn't notice.

"You eat?" he asked, already moving toward the closet.

"No."

He paused. Half-turned. "You should."

She almost laughed. The sound got stuck in her throat instead.

He changed out of his clothes methodically. Shirt folded. Watch placed carefully on the dresser. He checked his phone twice, thumb moving fast.

She sat on the bed, hands folded in her lap, watching the distance between them grow without either of them stepping away.

"Did you forget what today was?" she asked.

He stilled.

Just for a second.

"No," he said. "Of course not."

She waited.

He didn't add anything.

"Then what happened?" Her voice was calm. Too calm.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Work happened. Things come up, Mia. You know that."

"Tonight?" she asked.

He met her eyes then. Really met them. Something sharp moved behind his.

"I said I was busy."

She held his gaze. "Did you go to dinner?"

Another pause.

"Yes."

There it was.

She nodded once. Small. Controlled.

"Where?"

He frowned slightly. "Why does it matter?"

Because I saw you. Because I heard you laugh. Because she touched you like I used to.

Instead, she said, "I made a reservation."

He looked around, as if noticing the absence of evidence for the first time. The empty space. The quiet.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't realize."

That hurt more than she expected.

"I went anyway," she said.

"Did you?" He sounded surprised. Almost impressed.

"Yes."

"How was it?"

She swallowed. "Nice."

He accepted that. Just like he'd accepted everything else she'd let slide over the years.

He climbed into bed beside her, already reaching for sleep. Turned his back without thinking.

The space between them felt vast.

"Mia," he murmured, voice already heavy. "We'll do something this weekend."

She stared at the wall.

"I won't be free," she said.

He didn't ask why.

His breathing evened out quickly. He always slept well.

She lay there long after, listening. The rhythm of his breaths. The city beyond the glass. Her own heartbeat, loud and insistent.

Carefully, she slid out of bed.

In the bathroom, she washed her face, watching herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked darker. Older. Like they'd learned something they couldn't unlearn.

She reached for her wedding ring.

Twisted it once. Twice.

It caught on her knuckle as she pulled it off. The sting was brief but sharp. She welcomed it.

She placed the ring on the counter, right beside his watch.

Then she opened her phone.

A new note. Blank.

Her fingers hovered.

Finally, she typed a single line:

Things I need to know.

She stared at it for a long time.

From the bedroom, Allen shifted in his sleep. Mumbled something unintelligible.

She didn't go back.

Instead, she scheduled an appointment.

Just to be sure.

When she finally lay down again, she faced the edge of the bed, back to him, knees tucked close.

Her hand rested there without thought. Low. Protective.

She closed her eyes.

And for the first time in five years, she let herself imagine a future that didn't include him.

It terrified her.

It steadied her.