Too Late For Regret, Mr. CEO

The harsh morning light bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, forcing Arden to blink against the sudden brightness.

The alcohol from last night's charity gala had been a damn mistake, blurring the bitter reality of their crumbling four-year marriage. Federico had initiated the intimacy, perhaps as a twisted final test, and she had foolishly succumbed.

She woke up in the center of the massive, tangled king-sized bed.

Her first instinct was to reach out. Her fingers brushed against the icy cotton of the empty space beside her.

The coldness of the sheets sent a sudden jolt through her system. She sat up quickly, her vision still slightly blurred from the dimness of the room, her chest rising and falling as she scanned the empty space.

The heavy oak door of the master bathroom pushed open.

Federico stepped out. He was already dressed in a custom dark navy suit, his broad shoulders filling the frame. His hands were busy pulling a silk tie into a perfect knot at his throat.

He did not look at her with the warmth of a man who had spent the entire night tangled in her limbs. His eyes swept over her, flat and completely devoid of emotion.

Arden quickly pulled the thick duvet up to her collarbone, hiding the dark bruises blooming across her skin.

She tried to force the corners of her mouth up, wanting to break the suffocating silence with a soft morning greeting.

But the absolute zero temperature in his dark eyes froze the words in her throat.

Federico walked over to his nightstand. He picked up a thick, heavy document bound in a dark blue folder.

He tossed it onto the bed. It landed on the duvet right in front of Arden with a dull, heavy thud.

The bold black letters on the cover page spelled out Divorce Settlement Agreement.

All the air vanished from Arden's lungs. Her breathing simply stopped.

She stared at the words, her brain refusing to process the letters. She slowly lifted her head to look at him.

"Are you joking?" she asked, her voice trembling so violently it barely sounded like her own. Panic flooded the whites of her eyes.

Federico let out a harsh, dry laugh.

His gaze dropped, locking onto the antique beaded necklace resting against her collarbone-the one she never took off.

He leaned over the bed, his large frame casting a dark shadow over her.

His fingers hooked roughly under the antique beads. He pulled upward.

The sudden force yanked Arden forward, the tight string leaving an angry red welt across the sensitive skin of her neck. She choked on a gasp.

"You kept your eyes closed the entire time last night," he sneered, his jaw tight. "Were you pretending I was Jude?"

The sheer absurdity of the accusation hit Arden like a physical blow to the head.

She reached up frantically, her hands wrapping around his thick wrist.

"Federico, no. This is my mother's necklace. I swear to you-"

He ripped his arm away from her grasp. He stepped back quickly, brushing off his sleeve as if her touch carried a disease.

He did not give her a single second to finish her sentence.

Federico adjusted his silver cufflinks, his face a mask of total indifference.

"Brooklyn is flying back today. I am going to JFK to pick her up."

The name of his perfect ex-girlfriend dropped into the room like a concrete block.

All the blood drained from Arden's face. Her skin turned an ashen gray, and her vocal cords completely paralyzed.

Federico looked down at her shattered expression. A brief flash of dark satisfaction crossed his features.

He turned on his heel and walked toward the bedroom door.

He stopped with his hand on the brass knob. He did not look back.

"Do not try to run to the Hamptons and cry to my grandmother. This divorce is happening."

The heavy door slammed shut behind him.

The loud bang rattled the picture frames on the wall, leaving Arden entirely alone in the dead silence of the room, staring at the cold stack of paper on her lap.

Her spine collapsed. She fell back onto the pillows, all the strength leaving her muscles.

The tears she had been fighting back finally broke free, soaking into the expensive silk pillowcases.

Her hands shook violently as she reached for the document.

She flipped open the first page. The dense legal jargon blurred together as her eyes scanned the text.

The terms were brutal. They demanded she walk away with absolutely nothing from their four-year marriage.

A deep, bone-chilling cold spread from her chest down to her fingertips.

Her mind instantly went to her mother, Isolde.

Isolde was lying in a private sanatorium on the Upper East Side, kept alive solely by a massive influx of cash every single month.

A wave of pure desperation washed over her.

Her phone suddenly vibrated against the nightstand, the buzzing sound loud and grating in the quiet room.

The screen flashed with her grandmother Augusta's name.

Arden took a deep, shaky breath. She wiped her face aggressively with the back of her hand, cleared her throat, and answered the call.

Augusta's voice came through the speaker, frantic and thick with worry. The steady, rhythmic beeping of the estate's medical monitors echoed in the background.

"Arden," Augusta sighed heavily. "My financial advisors just informed me. The bank said the trust fund paying for your mother's experimental medication has been frozen."

The information exploded in Arden's brain. Her mind went completely blank.

She slowly lowered her eyes back to the divorce agreement in her lap. The papers demanding she leave penniless.

Her vision snapped back into sharp focus.

She gripped the edge of the paper so hard her knuckles turned stark white. Her fingernails dug deep into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped red marks.

She bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue.

She was absolutely certain Federico had done this. He had cut off her mother's life support to force her to sign the papers.

"I will fix it, Grandma. I promise," Arden said, her voice dropping to a low, steady whisper.

She ended the call. The last remaining shred of warmth in her eyes died completely.