Too Late For Your Forgiveness Now

hock setting in from the peanuts my half

han didn'

ded Kecia my late mother's vintage Cartier bracel

nly to find my father had so

he "Sleeping Prince," a man rumored

, believing her lie that s

o saved him years ago. He didn'

e altar ready to sign my life away, my

ke, and he wanted reveng

and crashed the wedding begging for fo

spassing, M

s. Sawy

pte

Crai

chest felt louder than any tide. Jonathan Chavez, the man I loved more than my own life, had ju

efore he remarried, and then Jonathan. Always Jonathan. I thought I had him. I thought his coldness

stachio, she said. But I saw the subtle flecks of almond, crushed and mixed into the vibr

wer back, smiled at me. He said, "Kiana, don' t be dramatic. Ke

not yet from the allergy, but from the humiliat

ective man I imagined him to be. There was nothing. Just that arrogant, dism

nic clawed at my throat, but Jonathan was already on the phone, not to emergency services, but to his assis

body weak. Jonathan was not there. Kecia w

said gently. "He' s sendi

the man I was planning to a

Charity Auction. He was bidding, his jaw tight with focus, his eyes fixed on the stage. And then I saw it. The vintage Ca

me after her death, but then Debrah, my stepmother, convinced him to

. My heart momentarily soared. He boug

t belie

g, my grandmother' s, clutched in my hand. Jonathan stood by the floor-to-ceiling

is hand. "Kiana," he said, hi

mbling with a hope I now knew was

my hand, then back to my face, a faint

as not how I had imagined it. "Jonathan, about the bracelet.

t shredded my nerves. "Yes, I d

lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. "

"Yes, Kecia. She mentioned how much she admired your

le memory, a "nice gesture" for Kecia? T

tructed composure shattering. "That bracelet belonged t

always so dramatic. It's just a piece of jewelry. Kec

r manipulator who played th

was everything. The way he always sided with her, always rationalized her cruel

"please. Give it to me. I' ll buy you somethi

. I gave it to her." He paused, then added, "Why are you

sions. This was about my mother, about me, about the

me. He didn' t even see me. I was just someone to "tame," a pretty socialite to have on his arm, a p

spite the earthquake rumbling inside me. "Is that wha

rlfriend." He stepped closer, his hand reaching for my cheek, a practiced gesture of affection.

"Kecia is waiting for you?" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound

lt heavy, mocking. The proposa

angerously calm. "If you walk out that door tonight,

Kiana. I' m not going to be lectured by you." He wa

Jonathan!" I screamed, a raw, despe

is eyes, usually so intense, were utterly blank. "You're

tier box, still on the ta

alke

t, empty penthouse. It wasn' t a click. It was a hammer blow to my hear

started in my bones and spread, numbing everything. The pa

tiful, sparkling under the chandeliers. But

room, the words tasting like ash in my mo

Jonathan Chavez, the man I loved, had betray

ed so much of my love, my hope, my dreams. Every piece of art, every carefu

xpensive glass sculptures from a side table. They crashed to the marble floor, shattering

s deafening,

to erase him. Every memory, every trace, every last

r lies, her manipulations, and her fake innocence. I was

own. And then, I woul

t out. Get out of this ca

again. The fire in my soul had been extinguished by Jonathan's c

him regret the day he ever thought I

slippers. I barely felt it. The numbness was a shield. But the rage, that was a weapon

mother's jewelry box, the one Jonathan hadn't found, the one with her simpler,

t I was looking for. The contract. The one my father had mentioned, the business arrangement that could save ou

had proposed it. Back then, it was a threat

ed in my left hand. I looked at it, then tossed it onto his perfectly made b

ig, was already printed on the dotted li

his signing. And I w

ld learn that a woman scorned was not a party trick, but a force of nature. And I would sta

e wreckage of our shared life, then tur

nto an unknown future where I would finally belong to myself. I pressed the button fo

a beginning. A bloody, painful,

air a sharp contrast to the fire burning wit

oo late. I was done being his tame little socialite

ket. I pulled it out, saw Jonathan' s name flash across the screen, and w

break. A

emnants of Kiana Craig, the party girl, and embracing the woman who was about to

romise that he would pay for every tear,

uld l

o idea