Too Late For Your Second Chance

marry in 99 days. But after he saved a socialite, Frida Tanner, from a lands

a car crash, Bentley defended her at the funeral.

pushed me to the ground, and cho

ed him comfort the woman who destroyed my

es online and fled t

tley appeared, begging for a second chance. "I'm

else. That night, Frida's mother, seeking

e blows meant for me. As he lay bleeding, he ple

then saved me, and said, "I have a new lif

pte

er than any star for ten long years. Bentley Wise, the heir to a New York real estate empire, was supposed to be m

iven me, the one promising our wedding in 99 days. Each passing day w

rted on a

um beneath us. Then the earth itself screamed. The ground beneath our feet ripped open, a torrent of mud and rock cascading dow

e path of the slide. Her face was a mask of terror. Without hesitation, Bentley lunged, pulling

oice a theatrical whisper. "You saved my life, Bentley. I owe you everything." Her eyes, however

of the conversation, sharp and cold. "The Tanner family is crucial to our upcoming city project, son. Fri

lle," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Ninety-nine days to repay Frida, to ensure our families' alliance. Then,

mile on my face. "Okay," I whispered, the word tasting like ash. "Ninety-nine days." I to

so w

ths were canceled with a curt text message. My calls went unanswered. When he did call, it was often to say he was with Frida

I tried to call Bentley. No answer. I called again. Still nothing. My phone finally died in my trembling hand. I later learned he had been at a 'recovery party' for Frida, who had apparently suffered i

o an abandoned warehouse, the cold concrete floor biting into my skin. They demanded information I didn't have, threatening me with a rusty knife. I fought, I screamed, I begged. I even called Bentley' s name, a desperate plea into the void. The knife

visible and invisible. He visited me for an hour, his eyes distant, his apologies hollow words that meant noth

as rushing home from a long shift, tired but happy, planning to make my favorite soup. Frida, meanwhile, had been speeding thr

with its hand-painted daisies, wa

rds blurred into a monotone hum. "We did everything we could, Adelle. I'm

r, Ms. Tanner, she's okay. A few minor bruises. She was on her phone, they said.

ang, then went straight to voicemail. Again. Always voicemail. I threw the phone across the room, watching it shatter against the

in my chest. Then, I saw them. Bentley, impeccably dressed, a somber expression on his face. And beside him, Frida, pale a

raw with grief and rage. I lunged at Frida, my hands reaching, wanting to tear at her, to

! This is a funeral!" His eyes, usually so soft, were hard and accusing. He pushed me

ainst his hold, my eyes burning into his.

would never intentionally hurt anyone." He shielded Frida with his body, his words a cold, cruel dismis

r ten years, the man who was supposed to marry me in a few short days, was protecting her. It was then, standing ov

neglect, his unwavering loyalty to a manipulative socialite. The love I h

told me she hated me, Adelle. She admitted she was distracted. She la

licker of doubt in his eyes. "What are

stabbed, after my mother was killed because of her negligence? And you still defend her?" I felt a ter

the time or place for this. You're unhinged." He reached out, not to comfort me

she tore my life apart. You pushed me away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left." My heart felt like it was being ripped fr

u think you have a chance against the Tanner family? You have nothing." He scoffed, a sneer twisting his lips. "You're a working-cla

e sent stars dancing behind my eyes. A jolt of pain shot through me, but it was nothing compared to the agony in my soul. I s

would always take care of me. That he would never let anything happen to m

utter despair. A laugh that acknowledged the cruel, twisted irony of it all. "You think I'm weak,

, please. Let's not make this worse. You're upset. We can talk about this later, when you're thi

but it carried the weight of a decade of shattered dreams. "There

ching Bentley's arm tighter. "Be

he won't hurt you." He pulled her close, murmuring reassurances. His back was to me, a solid wall between us, a stark s

always chosen her. The Parisian scholarship I'd secretly applied for, the one I'd dismissed as a pipe dream, suddenly felt like my only es

arely a whisper filled with a promise of retribution. "You'll regret this more than anything." I turned, ignoring the stares, ignoring the pain, and wal