Too Late For Regret: His Ultimate Downfall

Gwen’s gaze locked on Isabel. The recording pen was a cold weight in her palm.

Her voice was quiet.

"Ms. Goodwin," she said. "Why were you at my grandmother's nursing home today?"

Isabel’s composure faltered. A flicker of panic in her eyes before she masked it, her lower lip trembling as she turned to Damien.

"Dami, I don't know what she's talking about. I only went to visit Eleanor to… to clear up any misunderstandings. I wanted to be friends."

Damien's brow furrowed. He stepped fully in front of Isabel, shielding her. "Gwen. Watch your tone. Isabel was being kind."

A dry, bitter sound escaped Gwen's lips. "Kind? Was she being kind when she told a woman with a severe heart condition that her life savings were gone because of your company? Is that your definition of kindness, Damien?"

His eyes hardened. "That's enough. Don't blame Isabel for your grandmother's health."

"Innocent?" Gwen held up the recording pen. "I have your entire 'kind' conversation right here. Shall we play it for everyone?"

Isabel's pupils contracted. Her fingers dug into Damien's arm.

Before anyone could react, Damien lunged and snatched the recorder from her hand. His fingers dug into the bones of her wrist.

"Stop this nonsense."

He dragged her down the hall and into an empty viewing room, slamming the door behind them.

He threw the recorder onto a mahogany table. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Trying to frame Isabel?"

Gwen’s heart pounded. The proof was right there. He couldn't deny it.

Her hands shaking, she picked up the pen and pressed play.

A soft hiss of static filled the room.

Then nothing.

She pressed it again.

Static.

She stared at the small device. It had been working. Then she remembered his fingers, for just a second, covering the whole thing as he wrenched it from her grasp. He had a background in electrical engineering. He could have wiped it in a second.

A slow, cruel smile spread across Damien's face. "The show is over. I'm warning you, Gwen. Leave Isabel alone."

She looked at the cruel curve of his smile. At the coldness in his eyes.

"Damien Sterling," she said, her voice flat, devoid of all emotion. "We are getting a divorce."

Her eyes blazed.

"And she will pay for what she did."

Gwen turned and walked out of the room. She didn't go back to the mourners. She walked straight out of the funeral home and drove until she saw the blue and white sign of a police precinct.

Across from a weary Officer Sullivan, Gwen told him everything: the accusation against Isabel Goodwin, the request for security footage from the nursing home. The officer took notes, his expression bored. He told her they would look into it.

Hours later, Gwen sat in the dark, empty penthouse. Her phone rang. The precinct. A different officer, his voice dismissive.

The security system at the nursing home had experienced a "critical malfunction." The footage was gone.

"Furthermore," the officer added, his tone bordering on annoyance, "we've been contacted by the Goodwin family's legal team. They've characterized your accusation as baseless and defamatory. Without direct evidence, Ms. Taylor, there's nothing we can do."

She hung up the phone. A hollow laugh escaped her lips. Of course. The moment she had said the name Goodwin, the outcome was sealed.

She looked around the vast apartment. At the table set for two.

There were no tears left. Only a cold, hard knot of rage solidifying in her chest.Before her marriage, Gwen had been a key operative for an elite private intelligence network known as The 'W' Collective—a secret she had kept even from Damien. She had built that network from scratch, a shadow organization that traded in information and leverage. For three years, she had buried that life, believing she could be just a wife. Now, she unearthed it.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled to a number she hadn't contacted in three years. She pressed call.

It was answered on the first ring. A crisp, professional voice.

"Ms. Y. We were beginning to worry."

Gwen's voice was as calm as a frozen lake. "I need a full workup on Isabel Goodwin and the entire Goodwin family. Every shell corporation, every offshore account, every secret. I want enough to bury them."

"Consider it done, Ms. Y."

Across town, Isabel curled into Damien's side, dabbing at her dry eyes. "Dami," she whimpered. "I'm so scared. What if she tries to hurt me again?"

Damien stroked her hair. "Don't worry. I'll handle the divorce. She won't touch you."

A triumphant glint flashed in Isabel's eyes, quickly hidden. She had won.

Damien stared out the window into the darkness. But it wasn't Isabel's face he saw. It was Gwen's, in that sterile room, her eyes blazing with a chilling certainty. A strange unease settled in his gut.

Back in the penthouse, Gwen ended the call and deleted the record. She walked to the window and looked down at the glittering, indifferent city.

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