The CEO's Regret: Too Late To Beg

I never made it to the airport.

An hour before my scheduled departure, my lawyer called. There was a complication with the asset division-a single, crucial signature missing on the transfer of the gallery lease.

It was the one thing I actually cared about.

Bennett had insisted on a meeting.

He claimed it was strictly business. He claimed he wanted to sign the papers and finally be done with it.

The location? The Modern Art Annex.

The gallery where we'd had our first date.

Of course it was.

I walked in, bracing myself for a fight. The cavernous space was dark, lit only by hundreds of pillar candles lining the floor like a vigil. A soft jazz rendition of our song drifted from hidden speakers, echoing off the concrete walls.

It wasn't a meeting.

It was an ambush.

Bennett emerged from the shadows.

He was wearing the tuxedo from our wedding. It looked ridiculous now, straining slightly at the buttons, and he stood there in the flickering dimness like a phantom from a dead life.

"I thought we could start over," he said, spreading his arms wide.

"I rented the whole place. Just for us."

"Where are the papers, Bennett?" I asked.

I didn't step fully into the room. I stayed anchored by the door, my hand gripping the cold metal of the handle.

"Forget the papers," he pleaded. "Look around. Remember this? Remember us?"

He pointed toward the vaulted ceiling.

Suddenly, a projection system roared to life, lighting up the roof. Fireworks. Digital pyrotechnics exploding in the shape of hearts and intertwining initials.

B & K.

It was impressive. It was romantic. And it was completely, utterly hollow.

"You hate fireworks," I said, my voice flat. "You told me they were noisy and polluting."

"People change," he insisted, taking a step toward me. "I want to change for you, Kelsey. I have a surprise. A big one."

"Is the surprise that you finally grew a conscience?"

Before he could answer, a harsh spotlight snapped on, hitting the balcony above us.

"Surprise!"

Elia stood there, gripping a microphone.

She was wearing a white dress that looked suspiciously, intentionally, like a wedding gown. She was laughing.

The jazz music cut out with a digital screech.

"Did you like it, Kelsey?" Elia asked, her voice booming through the gallery speakers, distorted by the amplification. "I planned every detail. The candles. The music. Even the fireworks."

I looked at Bennett.

He didn't look embarrassed. He looked... proud.

"She has a great eye for design, doesn't she?" Bennett said, beaming up at the balcony. "She wanted to help me win you back. She said we could be a modern family. All of us together."

My stomach dropped.

It wasn't just a trap. It was a humiliation ritual.

"You planned this?" I asked, looking up at Elia.

"Down to the song," she smirked.

"Bennett didn't even remember what your 'song' was. I had to Google it."

Bennett laughed, a nervous, hollow sound. "She's amazing, isn't she? She just wants everyone to be happy."

I looked from Elia's triumphant, sneering face to Bennett's oblivious one.

"You are a puppet," I whispered to Bennett.

"She pulls a string, and you dance. She planned this whole night not to get us back together, but to show me that she owns you. She owns your memories. She owns your gestures. She owns your very spine."

"You're being ungrateful," Bennett frowned, confused by my reaction. "We're trying to be nice."

Elia began to descend the stairs, holding something in her hand.

It was a small sculpture I had made for Bennett on our first anniversary. A twisted metal heart, welded from scrap.

"I found this in the trash," she said, tossing it in her hand like a baseball.

"Thought it would make a cute centerpiece."

She opened her hand.

The metal heart fell.

It hit the polished concrete floor with a violent, dissonant clang, chipping the finish.

"Oops," she giggled.

Suddenly, guests-Bennett's friends, business partners, people who had been hiding in the shadows of the back rooms-started to clap.

They emerged into the candlelight, applauding Elia's "performance art."

"Best planner ever!" someone shouted from the dark.

Bennett beamed.

He put his arm around Elia's waist, pulling her close. "She really is something."

I looked at them.

The man I had loved was gone. In his place stood a hollow shell, filled to the brim with Elia's poison.

"You deserve each other," I said.

I turned on my heel and walked out.

The sound of their applause followed me into the street. It sounded like rain on a tin roof-empty, loud, and relentlessly annoying.