Too Late For Regret, Mr. Billionaire

The memory skipped forward. The agonizing days of waiting in the hospital blurred into nothingness.

Carmen's soul was dragged to the final night.

Flashback.

Carmen sat in the driver's seat of her Range Rover. She was parked on a quiet, dimly lit street in the Upper East Side. She wasn't supposed to be here. The security team had instructed her to stay in her penthouse while the body double took over. But ten minutes ago, her phone had buzzed in the cup holder.

The screen lit up with a text message from Forrest.

Plan changed. I know about the baby. I saw the ultrasound in your bag. The security team doesn't know. Drive to the Meatpacking District, the alley behind the old slaughterhouse on 14th. I am waiting for you there. We need to talk about our child face-to-face. Don't tell anyone.

Carmen stared at the glowing screen.

Every logical instinct in her brain screamed that this was wrong. Forrest never texted like this. He never went into the field. He hated dirty alleys.

But the poison of love is hope. And the mention of her unborn child was a weapon she had absolutely no defense against.

Deep in the darkest corner of her shattered heart, a tiny, pathetic spark ignited. Did he realize he loved her? Was he waiting there to tell her he was calling off the wedding to run away with her?

That single, foolish spark of hope made her put the car in drive.

She drove downtown. The Meatpacking District was quiet at this hour. She found the alley on 14th Street. It was a narrow, deep chasm between two towering brick buildings. The only light came from a flickering streetlamp at the entrance. The air smelled faintly of old iron and decay.

She parked the car at the mouth of the alley and stepped out. The cobblestones were slick with grime.

"Forrest?" she called out. Her voice echoed off the brick walls.

Silence.

She walked deeper into the shadows. The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Forrest, are you here?"

She reached the dead end. There was only a rusted dumpster and a locked metal door. No Forrest.

The spark of hope died instantly, replaced by a freezing rush of pure terror. She had been tricked.

She spun around to run back to the car.

A shadow detached itself from the wall near the exit, blocking her path.

It was a man. He was massive, easily six-foot-four, wearing a filthy canvas jacket. He stepped into the dim light. His face was scarred, and he wore a smile that made Carmen's stomach heave. It wasn't the smile of a mugger. It was the smile of a predator looking at a wounded rabbit.

Carmen didn't know it then, but this was Cletus Paskowski. A serial killer.

She screamed and bolted toward the narrow gap between him and the wall.

Her stiletto caught in the uneven cobblestones. Her ankle twisted with a sharp pop. She crashed hard onto the wet ground, scraping her hands raw.

Panic consumed her. She scrambled backward, pulling her phone from her pocket. Her bloody fingers fumbled with the screen. She hit the speed dial for Forrest.

It rang once. Twice.

"What?" Forrest answered.

The background noise on his end was deafening. Thumping bass music, clinking glasses, people laughing. He was at a party.

"Forrest!" Carmen shrieked, tears streaming down her face as the giant man took a slow step toward her. "Help me! Please! He's here! The stalker! I'm in the alley in the Meatpacking District! Help!"

There was a pause on the phone. Then, Carmen heard Evelin's voice, close to the microphone.

"Oh my god," Evelin whispered loudly. "Is she seriously doing this right now? She tracked you to the party just to ruin our night?"

Forrest's voice came back on the line. He wasn't panicked. He was furious. He was drunk.

"Carmen Campos, have you lost your damn mind?" Forrest roared over the music. "You are so insanely jealous that you're faking an attack to drag me away from a party? You are pathetic!"

Carmen froze. The giant man was five feet away. He pulled a dirty rag from his pocket.

"Forrest, no, I swear to God-"

"I'm done!" Forrest yelled. Jax's laughter echoed in the background. "You are a sick, twisted woman. I don't want to hear your voice again."

The giant man lunged.

A thick, chemical-soaked rag was clamped over Carmen's mouth and nose. The sickening sweet smell of ether flooded her lungs.

She thrashed violently, kicking her legs, but the man's grip was like iron.

Through the phone dropped on the cobblestones, she heard the final sound of her life.

Click.

Forrest hung up.

The darkness swallowed her whole.

End of Flashback.

The memory dissolved. The truth was absolute. The text wasn't from Forrest. Evelin had used a syncing software to send a fake message from his account. Evelin had lured her to the killer. And Forrest had handed her over to the executioner.