Too Late For Regret:The Billionaire Cherishes Me
Chapter 2
Julissa locked her phone and placed it on the counter.She didn't confront Haskell.
A photo wasn't enough. A headline wasn't enough. She needed to hear the truth from him.
Today was Haskell's birthday. She would wait until tonight and ask him herself.
Until then, she would do what she had done for the past two years.Prepare his birthday dinner.
She pulled the prime tomahawk steak from the refrigerator.
Her hands moved with practiced ease, but her mind was a storm of shattered images. Haskell's gentle smile at the little girl. Anastasia's smug, triumphant gaze. Again and again, the scenes replayed in her mind.
The sharp knife sliced through an onion. The pungent fumes stung her eyes, giving her the perfect excuse for the tears that began to fall.
She didn't wipe them away. She let them fall as she worked, mechanically preparing each of Haskell's favorite dishes.
Beef Wellington. Escargots de Bourgogne. Black truffle pasta.
She prepared the exact menu from their first date. Not because she wanted to recreate the past, but because she wanted to see if he still remembered.
She even retrieved the bottle of 1990 Romanée-Conti from the wine cellar. It was a wedding gift from Haskell's grandfather, Theodore Francis Sr. , a man who had seemed genuinely happy for them.
At seven o'clock, the table was set. Candles flickered, casting a warm glow on the polished silver. The aroma of rich food filled the vast, empty dining room.
It was a perfect picture of a loving marriage. A perfect lie carefully disguised as reality.
Julissa sat at the table, waiting for the guest of honor.
The minutes ticked by. Eight o'clock. Nine. Ten.
Haskell didn't come home. Not even a call. Not a single text.
The candles burned down, their wax dripping onto the expensive holders like solidified tears.
The heat from the food dissipated, leaving everything cold. Just like her heart.
She pulled out her phone. Haskell's social media was silent, the last post a three-day-old article about a successful corporate merger.
A morbid curiosity, a need to twist the knife herself, made her search for Anastasia Conner's profile.
The latest post was from an hour ago.
A single photo. A pink birthday cake decorated with a unicorn, a single candle shaped like the number "5" burning brightly on top.
The caption read: "My sweet Chloe turns 5 today! Mommy's everything."
Julissa's pupils contracted.
Chloe. The little girl in the park.
Her birthday was the same day as Haskell's.
A chilling coldness seeped into her bones, starting from her feet and crawling up her spine.
That little girl, the one Haskell looked at with such love... what was she to him? Really?
Julissa picked up her knife and fork and began to eat the now-cold Beef Wellington. The pastry was limp, the filet tough.
She forced herself to swallow every bite, tasting nothing but humiliation.
When the last piece was gone, she looked at the candlelight, the empty chair across from her, and finally broke.Stubborn tears glimmered in her eyes as she swept everything off the table with a single motion.
Plates, glasses, the priceless bottle of wine—everything crashed into the trash can.
The violent noise echoed in the empty apartment.
She walked into the bedroom and dragged a suitcase from the back of the walk-in closet. She began to pack.
She only took a few changes of clothes. And a small box containing the few things she had left of her mother.
The designer bags, the couture gowns, the glittering jewelry Haskell had bought her—she didn't touch a single piece.
Her eyes fell on her wedding ring. The massive diamond, a flawless stone that had once been the envy of half of New York, now felt like a heavy shackle.
She pulled it from her finger. She tossed it onto the dressing table. It landed with a small, sharp clink.
With only a simple suitcase in hand, she took one last look at the place she had once called home. There was no love left. No attachment. Only ashes.
She walked out the front door and stopped at the elevator bank.
But where could she go?
Her family's home? She pictured her stepmother Jennie's greedy face, her father David's weak-willed expression. She immediately dismissed the thought.
She leaned her head against the cool wall, exhausted. Her hand instinctively went to her stomach. She wasn't alone anymore.
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open.
Haskell Francis stood there, his tall frame filling the doorway.
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