Too Late For Regret: The Betrayed Heiress

Chloe Montgomery pushed open the heavy glass door of the Fifth Avenue wedding boutique, a faint smile already appearing on her lips.

A waitress in an elegant black dress floated in, taking the umbrella stained with New York's fine mist droplets. "Mr. Hale is waiting for you in the VIP suite, Miss Montgomery."

Chloe nodded, her gaze sweeping over the magnificent exhibition hall. Soft white carpets, crystal chandeliers, and gowns that shine like captured starlight. She didn't see Devon. She followed the waitress to the back, her high heels silently sinking into the thick wool carpet. The air was filled with the scent of champagne and expensive perfume—the scent of the future she had firmly believed in for five years.

Along a quiet corridor, a heavy walnut door was left ajar. From inside, she heard Devon's voice—deep and familiar, always making her feel at ease.

Her smile grew even deeper. She raised a hand, ready to surprise him by pushing open the door.

Then, another man's voice, tinged with playfulness and slyness, sliced through the air. "Seriously, Devin. After all this time, are you really going to do this? I thought that farce from five years ago was just to completely get rid of her. ”

Chloe's hand froze, his fingertips hovering an inch beyond the cold brass doorknob.

Devin chuckled softly. It wasn't his usual warm, loving laughter. The laughter was sharp and cold, carrying a hint of contempt, instantly freezing the air in her lungs.

"Ricky Hicks is really worth it." Devin said the name fell into a quiet corridor, like a stone thrown into a deep well.

Chloe's vision narrowed. Her heartbeat wasn't skipping a beat—it felt as if it had completely stopped in her chest. Ricky Hicks. This name was a scar, a mark of shame she carried for five years.

"I paid that guy to spread those rumors and ruin her reputation, so my father would finally agree to let me break up with her." Devon continued, his tone casual, as if discussing a boring stock deal. "Make her look like a defective product no one would touch."

A roar filled Chloe's ears, drowning out the gentle classical music drifting from the gallery. The air becomes thin and suffocating. She instinctively took a step back, her shoulder blades banging against the corridor wall. The wall lamp above emitted a faint hum—a faint and persistent voice in the sudden, suffocating silence of her world.

"Then why marry her now?" My friend asked, his tone clearly confused. "If you hate her that much?"

"Because the Montgomery family trust is finally going to pay off." Devon's voice was flat and cold. "That was the old man's final will. Although it's not as much as before, it's enough to solve our company's cash flow problems. ”

A wave of nausea churned in Chloe's stomach. It's not just about money—being with Devin is never just about money.

"Besides," Devin added, his voice softening with a hint of intrigue, a hint of ugliness, "this is what Olivia wants." This secures her status. Once I have control over these funds, I can make sure she gets everything she deserves. ”

Olivia. Her sister's name was like a heavy punch to her abdomen. The nausea turned into a fierce, sour surge. Chloe pressed her lips tightly together, biting down hard until her mouth was filled with a sharp, bloody metallic taste. That was the only way to stop her from crying out.

In the room, she heard the sound of leather shoes scraping against the hardwood floor. Someone was walking toward the door.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through her instantly. She couldn't let him see her—she couldn't be like this.

Forcing her trembling legs to move, Chloe spun around abruptly, retreating back to the main exhibition hall, sinking into the first velvet armchair she saw. Her hand fumbled for a heavy fashion magazine on the coffee table, lifting it like a shield in front of her face.

The smooth pages of the magazine became blurry. Bold, elegant letters blend into a meaningless black stain. Her whole body trembled—a subtle and uncontrollable tremor that started at her fingertips and spread inward.

The fitting room door suddenly swung open.

Devon stepped out, dressed in a tailored deep blue suit, looking incredibly handsome. He looked around the room, and those eyes that had looked at her with so-called affection for so many years were now searching.

His gaze fell on her, and his face changed instantly. The coldness disappeared, replaced by her familiar warmth and loving smile. It was a mask, and it was the first time she saw it clearly.

He strode toward her, confident and resolute. "You're here." His voice perfectly mimics love.

He leaned down, braced his hands on the armrest of her chair, and leaned his face close to hers, wanting to kiss her.

Every instinct screamed to make her back down, to scream to push that lying mouth away from her. Instead, she turned her head at the last second—a stiff, unnatural gesture, pretending to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. His lips brushed against her temples, the sensation like a brand.

"You look beautiful today, Chloe." He whispered, his breath warmly brushing against her skin.

He didn't notice the trembling in her hand. He didn't see the fear in her eyes. He only saw everything he wanted to see.

Chloe looked up at the man she was supposed to marry—the man who had systematically destroyed her and now planned to take everything she had left. She forced a smile at the corner of her lips. It felt like holding shattered glass in your mouth.

"You too." Her voice sounded like a stranger. "This suit fits very well."