Too Late For The Billionaire's Regret

ten in her desperate flight. Cora stumbled out, a ghost in a silk dress, her bare feet cold against the polished marble.

ed her thin dress in seconds, plastering it to her skin. She ran, with no destination, n

ain. People with umbrellas stared, their f

ated frantically against her thigh, forgotten in the chaos.She pulled it o

e phone with a

isfaction, purred through the speaker. "Look at the drow

ect of this nightmare, sent a jolt

om cold or from rage, she couldn'

easy. A little something in your champagne from a well-paid waiter, a forged DNA report from a lab that owes my father a favor. Harlan neve

h the force of a physical blow. Her stomach churned violen

t and sound. The anger, the grief, the betrayal-it w

curb, her mind completel

ight pierced the r

sperate blast that seemed to

r, its huge grille a monster's teeth. The driver's face was

for grip on wet asphalt was th

an invisible, brutal force. She landed hard, a

her abdomen, a tearing, shredding agony. She felt a wa

oo

ith the rain. She curled into a fetal position, a primal instinct to protect t

saw a black Lincoln Navigato

or o

, her high heels clicking delicately on the pavement as she approached. She stopped just short of

one of pure, unad

still connected to the call, with the toe of

Cora's, her voice a conspiratorial w

lan and the Sinclair e

at smug, vicious face, but her limbs would

ned and walked back to the Navigator. The door closed with a solid, final t

phone, his voice frantic,

go out. The tiny, fluttering presence in her

in. Her vision began to tunnel, the brigh

il of a siren, a lament

hing. Onl