Too Late For Regret, My Love

My fiancé Brett and I were building a design empire. When he broke his leg, he hired a temporary housekeeper, Glenda, while I was away on business. I thought she was there to help; I didn't realize she was there to replace me.

She systematically took over my home, turning Brett against me piece by piece. The final straw was finding my cat, Apollo, locked in a cage, bruised and starving.

When I confronted them, Brett defended her. He called me a monster and told me to get rid of my cat for the sake of the baby I was secretly carrying.

The shock of his betrayal was so profound that I miscarried that night.

He never knew. He just screamed that I was a cold, calculating bitch and that Glenda was a "good woman" who truly loved him.

So I left. I took my cat, liquidated my half of our company, and disappeared. Three years later, I walked into an industry gala and saw him across the room-a broken man. He looked at me with desperate regret, but I just smiled. My revenge wouldn't be loud; it would be my success.

Chapter 1

I knew the moment Glenda Woods stepped through our front door, she was trouble. What I didn't know then was that she wouldn't just break my heart; she' d dismantle my entire life, piece by agonizing piece. But back then, I was too busy building an empire to see the quiet, insidious rot beginning at home.

It all started with Brett' s leg. A basketball game, a clumsy fall, and suddenly, my fiancé and business partner, the charismatic 'face' of Parker-Hardy Designs, was confined to our meticulously designed home. Our live-in housekeeper, Maria, had been with us for years, practically family. But her sister's sudden illness in Mexico meant Maria had to leave immediately, without warning. It was a chaotic, unexpected exit.

Brett, ever the smooth talker, reassured me. "Don't worry, Alex. I' ve found someone. Maria's cousin, Glenda. She needs the work, and Maria vouched for her. Says she' s a gem."

I was already halfway out the door, my mind consumed by the skyscraper project in Chicago. A critical phase, long hours, no time for domestic drama. "Temporary, right?" I' d asked, my voice tight with a mix of concern for Brett and the usual stress of launching a new design.

"Of course, temporary," Brett had said, blowing me a kiss. "Just until I'm back on my feet."

Two weeks later, the Chicago launch was a resounding success. Exhausted but exhilarated, I booked the first flight home. My phone, usually a constant buzz of work emails, had been filled with Brett's messages. He raved about Glenda.

"She' s amazing, Alex! So attentive. The food she cooks is incredible. You won't believe how much better I feel."

My eyebrow had lifted. Better than Maria's cooking? Maria, who' d perfected his favorite dishes over years? Still, relief washed over me. At least he was being cared for. I pictured someone older, perhaps a bit frumpy, kind and efficient. A motherly type. Someone who would blend into the background, a temporary fixture until life returned to normal.

The moment my car pulled into the driveway, Apollo, my ginger tabby, was at the window, a furry sentinel. He blinked slowly at me, a silent welcome. I missed him fiercely. The house felt warm, a soft glow emanating from the living room. It smelled faintly of something savory simmering.

I pushed open the front door, my suitcases trundling behind me. My heels clicked on the polished hardwood floors. No one was in the living room, but I heard low voices from the kitchen. Brett' s distinctive laugh, a little too loud, then a softer, feminine giggle.

"Hello?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet house.

A woman emerged from the kitchen. She wasn' t what I expected. Not old, not frumpy. She was in her late thirties, with dark, lustrous hair pulled back in a neat bun, soft features, and eyes that were a shade too knowing for someone meant to be temporary help. Her uniform, a simple apron over sensible clothes, somehow managed to highlight her figure rather than conceal it. She carried herself with a quiet confidence that bordered on composure.

"You must be Alexa," she said, her voice surprisingly calm, almost serene. No welcoming smile, no effusive greeting like Maria' s would have been. Just a cool assessment. She didn't offer to help with my bags.

"That's me," I said, a slight tremor of unease starting in my stomach. "And you're Glenda."

"Yes. Welcome home." She didn't sound particularly welcoming.

I offered a polite smile, pushing down the odd feeling. "Thank you. Listen, I brought you something." I reached into my carry-on and pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped box. It was a designer scarf I' d picked up in Chicago, something I often did for Maria or other staff as a small gesture of appreciation. My habit. My way of showing I valued them.

Glenda looked at the box, then back at me, her expression unreadable. "Oh, you shouldn't have."

"It's just a little something to say thank you for looking after Brett while I was away. I always bring back small gifts for anyone who helps out around the house." My words were meant to be gracious, but they felt stilted in the sudden, strange silence.

She shook her head, a soft, almost imperceptible movement. "No, thank you. I'm just doing my job."

I blinked. She was refusing it? Maria would have been thrilled, a flurry of thanks. "It's not payment, Glenda. It's a welcome home gift. A small token."

"I prefer not to accept gifts outside of my agreed-upon wages, Ms. Hardy. It complicates things." Her voice was soft, but there was an inflexible edge to it. A boundary, firmly drawn. But it felt less like professionalism and more like a rejection.

"What's all the fuss about out here?" Brett's voice boomed from the den. He hobbled out, leaning heavily on a crutch, his leg encased in a clumsy cast. His face lit up when he saw me. "Alex! You're back!"

I instinctively stepped forward, my hand reaching out to steady him, a lifetime of caring for him kicking in. But Glenda was faster. She moved with a quick, fluid motion, slipping under his arm before my hand even fully extended. She was supporting him, her body close to his. My hand dropped uselessly to my side.

Brett leaned into her, almost casually. "Glenda, my love, what's wrong?" He hadn't called her that before, had he? My mind must have misheard.

"Ms. Hardy was trying to give me a present," Glenda said, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, as if I were a distant, bothersome echo. "I told her it wasn't necessary."

Brett frowned, then his face cleared. He looked at the scarf in my hand. "Oh, Alex, you always pick the best things! Glenda, darling, it's Alex. She's thoughtful. It's a good thing. Take it." He took the box from my numb fingers and pressed it into Glenda's hand.

Glenda's expression softened, a small, almost coy smile gracing her lips. "If you insist, Mr. Parker," she murmured, her eyes flicking to mine for a fraction of a second. A flicker of triumph. "Thank you both."

"Oh, it's just Glenda being humble," Brett said, patting her shoulder. "She's so dedicated. You know, she's an amazing cook too. You'll love her food. She made my famous mushroom risotto tonight! I told her all about your preferences, so don't worry."

My chest felt tight, a strange sensation of being both present and invisible. "Good," I managed, my voice a little hoarse. "I'm starving."

A moment later, as I was heading to my bedroom to freshen up, Glenda called out, "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Ms. Hardy."

I nodded, grateful for the heads-up. Maria always did that. It was a professional courtesy. I pushed my bedroom door open, not bothering to knock on my own door. I had a few minutes to myself before dinner. I just wanted to change into something comfortable and splash some water on my face.

The door creaked open, revealing my inner sanctuary. My private space. It was where I worked, where I relaxed. I was halfway through unbuttoning my shirt, my back to the door, when I heard a soft cough.

I froze. My heart jumped into my throat. I spun around, clutching my shirt to my chest.

Glenda stood in the doorway, her head cocked slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. She wasn't knocking. She wasn't even waiting for a response. She was just... standing there.

"Oh," she said, her eyes sweeping over me, lingering for a moment too long. "I just came to tell you dinner is on the table."

My cheeks burned. No. This wasn't how this worked. Maria would never- "Glenda," I said, my voice dangerously low. "Don't you knock before entering someone's private room?"

Her eyes widened, feigning innocence. "Oh, does Mr. Parker knock? He just walks right in."

My breath hitched. Brett? Walking into my room without knocking? That hadn't happened in years, if ever. Our relationship was built on mutual respect, on boundaries.

"Get out," I said, my voice shaking. "Now. And knock next time."

Brett's head appeared behind Glenda, a confused frown on his face. "Alex? What' s wrong?"

"Nothing," I bit out, my eyes locked on Glenda's. "Just a misunderstanding about personal space."

Brett, bless his conflict-avoidant heart, seemed to pick up on the tension. "Glenda, why don't you go make sure dinner stays warm?" he suggested gently, a subtle push.

Glenda gave me one last, lingering look before turning. "Of course, Mr. Parker." She melted away, leaving me alone with the aftermath.

I slammed the door shut, leaning against it, my chest heaving. The air in my own bedroom felt tainted. I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. This wasn't a misunderstanding. This was a violation. And it was just the beginning.