Too Late For His Regret Now

For three years, I, Aubrey, had poured my heart into serving Kieran and his mother, Jeanie. I cooked, cleaned, and endured Jeanie's sharp insults and Kieran's quiet neglect, all while believing I was his fiancée, building a future for us after sacrificing my own professional dreams. This illusion shattered one night when I overheard Jeanie tell Kieran he needed to marry "Carolina" for her family's money, coldly dismissing me as a "free nanny" and a "temporary substitute."

Later, I discovered Kieran's phone, unlocked with the password of our anniversary date, filled with six months of intimate texts from Carolina, plans for a bridal fitting, and a cruel group chat with Jeanie plotting my departure. Lying in bed beside him as he texted his true fiancée, the betrayal was a suffocating weight. The last shred of warmth I held for him vanished, replaced by a cold, metallic resolve.

The next morning, I calmly photographed every damning piece of evidence. I dug out my dusty CPA textbooks, wiping away three years of neglect, and registered for the exam I’d abandoned for him. My ambition, long buried alive, was suddenly breathing again.

It was time to reclaim my life. I would not just leave; I would dismantle everything they built. Watch me burn this house down.

Chapter 1

Aubrey POV:

I set the heavy ceramic baking dish onto the polished mahogany dining table. The heat seared straight through the thin pot holders, blistering the skin on my index fingers.

I didn't make a sound. I just bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. In the foster care system, showing pain only made you a target. It made you a burden. And burdens were always returned.

I pulled my hands back and untied my stained apron. I smoothed down the front of my faded cotton shirt, trying to make myself look presentable, and walked toward the living room.

Jeanie was standing by the fireplace, a crystal flute of champagne in her hand. She looked me up and down, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"You smell like grease," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You are going to ruin the Persian rug. It cost more than your life."

I instinctively took a half-step backward off the patterned wool. "I'm sorry, Jeanie."

Kieran sat on the leather sofa, scrolling through his phone. He didn't even look up. He never did. He had spent his entire life bowing to his mother's iron will, and his default setting for any conflict was to pretend it wasn't happening.

I walked over to him, keeping my voice soft. "Dinner is ready."

Kieran just grunted. His thumbs kept flying across the glowing screen.

We moved to the dining room. I pulled out the chair directly to Kieran's right, ready to sit beside the man I had spent three years caring for.

Jeanie tapped her silver fork against her water glass. The sharp ping echoed in the large room.

"Not there," Jeanie ordered, pointing the tines of her fork toward the far end of the long table, where the chandelier's light didn't reach. "Sit at the end."

My fingers froze on the back of the mahogany chair. I looked at Kieran, waiting for him to say something. To defend me. To claim me as his fiancée.

Kieran picked up his wine glass, took a slow sip, and deliberately looked at the blank wall opposite him.

A massive wave of loss crashed into my chest, heavy and suffocating. I let go of the chair. I walked to the dark end of the table and sat down in the shadows.

Jeanie sawed at her meat. "This steak is overcooked," she complained loudly. "It's like chewing leather. Completely unacceptable for polite society."

I stared down at my plate. I picked up a forkful of dry asparagus and forced it into my mouth. My throat was so tight I could barely swallow.

The rest of the dinner passed in a suffocating, dead silence, broken only by Jeanie's relentless, one-sided criticisms of the food, the table setting, and the air I breathed.

When they finished, Jeanie stood up and dropped her napkin on her plate. "Wash the hand-painted porcelain plates. By hand. Do not put them in the dishwasher. You will chip them."

I stood up, gathering the dirty plates. I watched Kieran offer his arm to his mother, escorting her down the hall toward the study.

I carried the dishes to the kitchen. The water from the tap was freezing cold. It soaked my raw, blistered hands, but I just kept scrubbing mechanically.

When the last plate was drying on the rack, I wiped my hands on a towel. I prepared a silver tray with two cups of Earl Grey tea and walked down the hallway toward the study.

The heavy red wood door was cracked open.

I lifted my hand to knock, but Jeanie's hushed voice drifted through the gap. I heard the name *Carolina*.

My feet rooted to the floor. The tray in my hands suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. My knuckles turned stark white.

"The Cash family supply chain is bleeding," Jeanie said. "We need the capital injection from Carolina's family. You know what you have to do."

"But Aubrey..." Kieran's voice was hesitant. "She takes good care of us."

Jeanie let out a cold, mocking laugh. "She is a free nanny, Kieran. She does the laundry and cooks the meals. That's it."

It felt like a sledgehammer slammed directly into my ribs. My lungs seized. For three years, I had scrubbed their floors and catered to their every whim, believing I was earning a real family. The illusion shattered into a million jagged pieces.

Inside the room, three agonizing seconds of silence ticked by.

"You're right," Kieran finally said. "I'll handle it."

The delicate porcelain teacups rattled against the silver tray. I bit down on my lower lip so hard the skin broke, forcing back the sob clawing up my throat.

I took a slow, silent step backward into the dark hallway.

"She is just a temporary substitute," Jeanie added.

I heard everything.