Too Late For Regret, Mr. CEO

Arden threw the duvet off and marched straight into Federico's home office.

She fell to her knees in front of the massive mahogany bookshelves, her hands frantically tearing through the lower cabinets, searching for the original prenuptial agreement they had signed four years ago.

She yanked the bottom drawer open with too much force.

Her index finger slipped, and her acrylic nail caught on the heavy brass handle. The nail split right down the middle, dark blood instantly welling up from the nail bed.

She ignored the throbbing pain.

Her fingers finally brushed against a hidden compartment behind his secure safe. She pulled out a dust-covered folder.

She stood up and slammed the document onto the wide mahogany desk.

She flipped through the thick pages until she found the specific addendum regarding the Isolde Mitchell Medical Trust.

The black ink stared back at her.

It stated clearly that if the wife committed infidelity or initiated the divorce, the husband had the right to freeze the trust fund immediately.

Arden remembered Federico's cold voice from twenty minutes ago, accusing her of thinking about Jude in his bed.

He was using the infidelity clause.

Her throat closed up. She could not pull air into her lungs.

She collapsed into his heavy leather office chair, pressing both hands over her face as violent tremors shook her entire body.

The office door clicked open.

Brenda, the head housekeeper, walked in carrying a silver tray with a fresh cup of coffee. When she saw Arden behind the desk, her face twisted into a look of pure disgust.

"Mr. Monroe made it very clear this office is strictly off-limits," Brenda said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "An outgoing wife shouldn't be snooping around."

Arden's head snapped up.

She dropped her hands, her eyes locking onto Brenda with a terrifying, deadened glare.

"Get out."

Brenda flinched, clearly taken aback by the raw authority in Arden's voice.

She rolled her eyes, set the coffee cup down loudly on a side table, and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

Arden picked up her phone with a trembling, bloody finger. A text notification from Zara sat on the lock screen: At the ER again. The cramping won't stop. Arden swiped it away, her chest tightening. She couldn't deal with the studio crisis right now.

She dialed Federico's private number. She was ready to beg. She would give up everything if he just turned the money back on.

The phone rang for a long time.

When it finally connected, she did not hear his voice. She heard the distinct intercom announcements of an airport VIP lounge, followed by a woman's high-pitched, breathy laugh.

"Do you want some champagne to celebrate, Rico?" Brooklyn's voice echoed clearly through the receiver.

It felt like a giant, invisible hand reached into Arden's chest and crushed her heart.

Her breathing turned into shallow, ragged gasps.

Then, Federico's voice came through the line, cold and flat.

"Did you call to tell me you signed the papers?"

Arden swallowed hard, fighting the heavy lump in her throat.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Don't stop the payments to the sanatorium. I don't want any of your money. Just leave her fund alone."

Federico let out a low, mocking scoff.

"You finally show your true colors. You'll throw away whatever dignity you have left just to keep the cash flowing."

The line went dead.

The dial tone hummed against Arden's ear, a steady, mechanical sound that hammered against her temples.

She stared blankly at the dark screen of her phone.

Every single piece of hope she had left shattered into dust.

She reached out and picked up the heavy Montblanc fountain pen resting on his desk.

She pulled the cap off. She hovered the gold nib over the signature line on the last page of the divorce agreement.

A single tear slipped down her cheek and landed on the paper, blurring the black ink of the printed line.

She closed her eyes, pressed the pen down, and signed her name.

The moment the pen lifted from the paper, all the energy drained from her bones.

She slumped forward, resting her forehead against the cool wood of the desk, crying without making a single sound.

A few minutes later, she wiped her face dry.

She slid the signed document into a thick manila envelope and sealed the flap shut.

She walked out of the office and found Caleb Vance, Federico's executive assistant, standing in the middle of the hallway.

She handed the envelope to Caleb.

He took it. A brief flicker of pity passed through his eyes, but he quickly masked it with professional indifference.

"Since the papers are signed, Mr. Monroe requested that you vacate the master suite today," Caleb said, his voice robotic. "To make room for the new lady of the house."

Arden stared at him, her face completely blank.

"And where exactly am I supposed to go in this house?"

Caleb looked away, unable to meet her eyes. He pointed down the long hallway.

"The small maid's quarters at the end of the hall."

Arden followed his finger. She looked at the dark, narrow door at the very back of the apartment.

A cold, hollow smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

She straightened her spine, pulling her shoulders back, and walked straight toward the maid's room.