Too Late For Regret: My Hidden Billionaire

Blaire frowned. The tiny crease between her eyebrows made it look as if she had just heard the most absurd business proposal of her life.

"You are unemployed," Blaire stated, her voice devoid of any fluctuation. "You cannot even afford the tuition for a Manhattan private kindergarten."

Daryl reached down and scooped Cassie into his arms. He pressed her head against his shoulder and covered her ears with his large hand. He stared at Blaire, his gaze sharp enough to draw blood.

Estevan stepped out from behind Blaire. He wanted to show who owned the room. He picked up the divorce agreement from the table and flipped it open.

"Let us see," Estevan said, projecting his crisp, aristocratic accent across the room.

He began to read the asset division clauses aloud. The terms were brutal.

"The party of the second part, Daryl Bush, having made zero financial contribution during the marriage, shall leave with zero assets. He is permanently barred from approaching any core properties of the Doyle family."

Marlene began to shake. Her frail body trembled violently in the wheelchair. She pointed a shaking finger at Blaire.

"How can you be so heartless?" Marlene gasped, her voice cracking.

Blaire looked at the wall, avoiding the old woman's eyes.

"My legal team drafted this based on the prenuptial agreement," Blaire said coldly. "It is a legal assessment."

Estevan walked over to Marlene's wheelchair. He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers. A malicious smile twisted his lips.

"It is not just the assets, old woman," Estevan whispered, making sure Daryl could hear. "That little apartment in Queens you live in? The bank is taking it back next week."

The words hit Marlene like a physical blow. Her pupils dilated instantly. Her chest heaved as she tried to suck in air, but nothing came.

Marlene's hands clawed at the fabric over her heart. Her face drained of all color, turning a sickly, ashen gray. A terrible hissing sound rattled in her throat.

Daryl's stomach dropped. He shoved Estevan backward with his free hand and dropped to his knees beside the wheelchair.

Marlene's eyes rolled back. Her body went completely limp, sliding off the leather seat and collapsing into Daryl's arms.

Cassie screamed. The piercing sound shattered the air in the room.

Blaire took a sudden step back. Her high heel caught on the carpet. A flash of genuine panic crossed her face, but her arms remained glued to her sides. She did not move to help.

Daryl laid his mother flat on the floor. He ripped open the collar of her blouse and locked his hands over the center of her chest, beginning rapid compressions.

"Call an ambulance!" Daryl roared over his shoulder, his voice tearing his throat.

Estevan brushed off the sleeve of his suit where Daryl had touched him. He looked down at the scene with utter disgust.

"What a pathetic, lower-class circus," Estevan muttered.

The words hit Daryl's ears. His hands stopped moving for exactly one second.

Daryl slowly lifted his head. Deep within his dark pupils, a terrifying, dark-gold light flared to life.

The temperature in the private dining room plummeted. The air grew heavy, thick, and freezing. Above them, the massive crystal chandelier began to vibrate, emitting a low, eerie hum.

An invisible, crushing pressure exploded from Daryl's body. The Draconic aura surged forward like a tidal wave of pure violence, slamming directly into Estevan.

Estevan's lungs seized. He could not breathe. His knees buckled instantly as a primal terror gripped his spine. It felt as if a prehistoric beast had just wrapped its jaws around his throat.

Estevan stumbled backward in blind panic. His back slammed into the dining table. The impact sent a dozen wine glasses crashing to the floor, shattering into a sea of red liquid and broken glass.

Blaire stared at Estevan in shock. She could not comprehend why he was suddenly acting like a terrified madman.

Daryl's mind teetered on the edge of a bloodbath. But the faint, fading pulse beneath his hands pulled him back.

He forced the dark-gold light out of his eyes. He sucked the terrifying pressure back into his bones and resumed the chest compressions, pushing down hard.

Estevan leaned against the table, gasping for air. Sweat soaked through his custom shirt. He tried to glare at Daryl, masking his inexplicable terror with forced anger.

The heavy doors banged open. Hotel paramedics rushed into the room with a stretcher, breaking the suffocating silence.

Daryl helped the medics lift his mother's lifeless body onto the stretcher. As he stood up, he turned his head and looked at Estevan. It was the look a butcher gives a dead piece of meat.