Too Late For Regret: The Genius Ex-Wife

Clara Donovan burst through the heavy doors of the VIP ward. She still wore her white lab coat, her chest heaving from sprinting up three flights of stairs.

She gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles were white. The screen was illuminated, playing a looped video of Alistair fastening the pink diamond around Laelia's neck.

Clara shoved open the door to Seraphina's room. She stopped dead in her tracks.

Seraphina lay against the pillows. A thick white bandage wrapped around her forehead. Her skin was the color of ash.

Clara gasped. The phone slipped from her fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a sharp crack.

She rushed to the bed and gently pulled back the thin hospital blanket. She stared at Seraphina's legs and arms. Massive, dark purple bruises mottled her skin. Deep red abrasions covered her knees.

As a trauma surgeon, Clara's brain instantly categorized the injuries. Blunt force trauma. Violent impact.

She thought of the news video. She thought of Alistair's cold, ruthless reputation. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Did he do this?" Clara's voice shook with rage. She pointed a trembling finger at the dropped phone. "Did that bastard beat you to force the divorce?"

Seraphina pushed herself up on her elbows. Pain shot through her ribs. "Clara, listen to me-"

"He beat you!" Clara sobbed, the tears spilling over. "He beat you until you lost the baby! I'm calling the police. I'm going to destroy him."

Clara spun around and grabbed the hospital phone from the bedside table.

Seraphina lunged forward. She grabbed Clara's wrist, her fingers digging in with desperate strength.

"Stop!" Seraphina hissed. "If you call the cops, he will crush you. You'll lose your medical license tomorrow."

In the hallway outside, the elevator doors chimed. Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed on the tile. Alistair walked down the corridor, a dark cloud of fury surrounding him. He had come to see if her submission was just another trick.

Inside the room, Clara tried to yank her arm away. "I don't care! He belongs in jail!"

Seraphina heard the footsteps stop right outside her slightly open door. She saw the shadow of a man's dress shoes block the light from the hallway gap.

Alistair was listening.

Seraphina's mind calculated the variables in a fraction of a second. She needed Alistair to stop hunting her. She needed him to be so disgusted that he would never look for her again.

She let go of Clara's wrist. She reached for the heavy glass water pitcher resting on the bedside table and hurled it violently against the wall. It shattered with a deafening crash, sending shards of glass flying across the linoleum.

Clara screamed and stumbled backward, covering her face.

Seraphina immediately dropped to her knees beside the bed, carefully protecting her stomach, and let out a loud, agonizing wail. She grabbed Clara's coat, pulling the doctor down with her. "Don't move," she whispered fiercely under the cover of her fake sobs.

Outside, Alistair froze. His hand hovered over the door handle.

"He beat you until you miscarried!" Clara cried out, her voice carrying clearly into the hall. "Why are you protecting him?"

Alistair's heart stopped. The word 'miscarried' slammed into his brain like a bullet.

Seraphina looked up at Clara. She let out a dry, harsh laugh. The sound was eerie, echoing off the bare walls.

She raised her voice, making sure every syllable pierced the crack in the door. "He didn't do this, Clara. I did."

Clara froze. She stared down at her best friend, confusion replacing her anger.

Seraphina stared at the wall, her eyes wide and empty. "I threw myself off that cliff. I wanted the baby to die. I made sure it didn't survive."

Outside the door, Alistair's body went entirely rigid. The blood drained from his face. His fists clenched so hard his fingernails cut into his palms.