Too Late For Regret: My Cold Husband's Tears

The silence in the back of the Maybach was heavy, suffocating. The privacy partition hummed as it rose, sealing the driver away and leaving Frederica alone with the man who had just manhandled her in front of New York's elite.

Frederica rubbed her wrist. The skin was red where his fingers had dug in. She turned her head, staring out the window at the blurring city lights, refusing to look at him.

Easton loosened his tie. He undid the top two buttons of his shirt, his chest heaving as if he had run a mile. The air in the car crackled with his anger.

"Were you trying to declare war on the media tonight, Frederica?" he asked. His voice was cold, controlled, but the underlying edge was razor-sharp.

She turned slowly. Her eyes were hollow. "I was cleaning up your mess, Easton."

He let out a short, incredulous breath. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a long, narrow velvet box. He tossed it onto her lap.

"Yates said you refused delivery this morning."

Frederica looked down at the box. It was the "apology gift" his assistant had tried to deliver after he walked out on their divorce conversation.

"I do not want your charity," she said, shoving the box back toward him across the leather seat.

Easton's eyes darkened. He moved fast. He leaned over, crowding her, pinning her between his body and the car door. He grabbed the box and snapped it open.

Inside lay a bracelet. Pink diamonds. Rare. Absurdly expensive.

He grabbed her left hand.

"Stop it!" Frederica struggled, trying to pull her hand back.

He ignored her. He wrapped the bracelet around her wrist, right over the red marks his grip had left earlier. The clasp clicked shut. It was a complex mechanism, not easily undone.

"I am not for sale!" she cried, her voice breaking.

Easton pressed her hand down into the leather seat, leaning his forehead until it almost touched hers.

"This is not a transaction," he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "It is a marker."

He ran his thumb over the cold stones on her wrist.

"As long as you are Mrs. Reilly, you wear this. It stays on."

Frederica stared at the bracelet. It glittered in the passing streetlights. It felt heavy, like a shackle made of starlight. A gold handcuff.

She stopped fighting. Her body went rigid. The fight drained out of her, replaced by a deep, aching exhaustion. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Easton felt her surrender. He didn't look triumphant. He looked... pained. For a split second, his mask slipped, revealing something raw. But then he pulled back, straightening his suit, returning to his side of the car.

The car pulled up to their apartment building. Easton got out first. He didn't wait for her.

Frederica climbed out, the bracelet weighing down her arm. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

She walked into the lobby, past the doorman, and up to the penthouse. She went straight to the guest bedroom and locked the door.

Hours later, she lay in the dark, turning the bracelet around and around on her wrist. The diamonds dug into her skin.

Her phone rang. The sound cut through the silence like a scream.

She grabbed it. The caller ID read Mccullough Estate.

She answered. "Mrs. Higgins?"

"Miss Frederica!" The housekeeper's voice was high, panicked. "You have to come! Your mother... she is having an episode!"

Frederica sat up, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I am coming. Did you call 911?"

"Mr. Mccullough won't let us!" Mrs. Higgins was sobbing now. "He says no reporters!"

Frederica hung up. She didn't change out of her gown. She grabbed her keys and ran out of the room, the pink diamonds flashing on her wrist as she fled one prison to return to another.