Too Late For Regret, Mr. Morrison

The next morning, Carmen walked into the lobby of Morrison Building. She hadn't slept all night. She was wearing a plain white shirt and jeans. The white medical tape on her forehead stood out starkly against her pale skin.

The lobby was bustling. Employees stopped mid-conversation to stare. Whispers rippled through the crowd like a virus.

"Did you see the bruise?"

"I heard she attacked Seraphina..."

"Gold digger."

Carmen ignored them. She walked straight to the private elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.

The elevator doors opened onto the executive suite. Marcus Holloway sat at his desk, looking harassed. He stood up quickly when he saw her.

"Mrs. Morrison, Mr. Morrison is in a video conference-"

Carmen walked right past him. "I can wait."

"Ma'am, you can't go in there!"

Carmen pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the CEO office.

Kian sat at his massive desk, facing a wall of monitors displaying the faces of several board members. He looked up, his eyes narrowing when he saw her.

"Get out," he ordered, his voice cold.

Carmen walked up to the desk. She reached into her bag and pulled out the divorce agreement. She threw it down on the polished wood, right on top of his notes.

The words DIVORCE AGREEMENT were printed in bold black letters at the top.

Kian glanced at it. He leaned back in his chair, a slow, mocking smile spreading across his face. He muted his microphone.

"You think you have the leverage to ask for a divorce?" he scoffed. "After what you did last night?"

Carmen didn't flinch. "Sign it, Kian."

"Or what?" He tapped his finger on the desk. "You'll get nothing. The prenup is ironclad. You'll walk out of my house with exactly what you brought into it. Nothing."

"You might want to read the private addendum your father insisted on, the one attached to paragraph four," Carmen said, her voice steady. "The trust clause. As a failsafe, if the marriage lasts three years, I am entitled to fifty percent of your personal ten-billion-dollar trust fund. We hit the three-year mark two weeks ago."

Kian's smile vanished. His jaw tightened. "You are out of your mind if you think I'm giving you a cent of my family's money."

"Then we go to court," Carmen said simply. "And we do it very publicly."

"You won't win."

"I don't need to win," Carmen said. She leaned forward, planting her hands on his desk. "I just need to make a mess. And I know how much you hate messes, Kian."

Kian stood up, his hands balled into fists. "I will destroy you. I will make sure you never work in this city again."

Carmen looked at him, her gaze flat. "Farrah Watts."

The name hit the room like a physical blow. The color drained from Kian's face. His rigid posture suddenly looked fragile.

"What did you say?" he whispered.

"Farrah Watts," Carmen repeated, enunciating every syllable. "I hear her treatment in Switzerland went well. She's coming back to New York next week."

Kian's breathing became shallow. "Leave her out of this."

"I'm not the one who brought her into it," Carmen said. "You did. You keep her hidden away like a dirty secret, but we both know she's the only thing you actually care about."

"Shut up." Kian's voice trembled.

"Imagine the headlines, Kian," Carmen continued, her voice soft but merciless. "'Morrison Heir's Mistress Hospitalized by Wife.' 'Trust Fund Battle Exposes Secret Love Nest.' 'Farrah Watts Returns to a Scandal.' How long do you think she'll stay with you when the paparazzi are camped outside her door?"

Kian slammed his fist on the desk. "I will kill you before I let you touch her."

"You already tried that last night," Carmen shot back, pointing to the bandage on her head. "Or did you forget that part already?"

Kian stared at her, his chest heaving. He looked like a cornered animal.

"Sign the paper," Carmen said. "Give me my half of the trust. I will disappear. You will never hear my name again. Farrah will never be bothered. Your precious company stock won't tank."

She pushed the pen toward him.

Kian looked at the document. He looked at the pen. His face twisted with a mixture of rage and defeat.

He grabbed the pen. He ripped the cap off. He scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page, the pen scratching deeply into the wood beneath the paper.

"Get out," he snarled, throwing the pen across the room. "Get out of my building."

Carmen picked up her copy of the agreement. She folded it neatly and placed it in her bag.

She didn't say goodbye. She turned and walked out the door.

Behind her, she heard the crash of the monitor being swept off the desk, followed by the shatter of glass. Kian was screaming, a raw, animalistic sound of pure fury.

Carmen closed the office door behind her, muting the chaos. She walked past Marcus, who was staring at her with his mouth open.

She stepped into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she finally let herself breathe. She had won. It was over.