Too Late For Your Second Chance

entley had chosen his path, and now I would choose mine. The first step was putting distance between us, a chasm so wide he cou

d from the fall, my arm still bandaged from the stabbing, and my chest felt heavy w

mbled slightly, my face pale and drawn. The administrator, a kind-faced woman who reminded me faintly of my mother, looked at m

ile studying. Bentley had fussed over me for an hour, treating the tiny wound like a major injury, his eyes wide with worry. Now, af

ch. I just need to get these papers done." I focused on the task, pouring

approve of you leaving the country for this opportunity?" T

e. My life. Our life." He hadn't wanted me to go, not really. He wanted me close, under his thumb, a beautiful accessory to his empire.

ave a say anymore," I said, the words

one, the one I hadn't yet replaced, buzzed. A message f

a's shoulder. They were at some exclusive restaurant, their faces glowing with a sickening intim

and flew to my chest, a desperate attempt to quell the rising panic. She knew. She knew I

hour ago, while I was dealing with the scholarship. She had orchestrated this, timed it perfectly to send it to m

at you're leaving behind. The anger, sharp and purifying, replaced the hurt. I knew what I ne

aid, handing me a thick envelope. "Your flight is boo

than I expected. My resolve had cemen

her's cooking, a cruel reminder. I remembered the small makeshift sterile room she'd had set up at the back of her food truck that Frida had destro

's family for decades. "Mrs. Green," I said, my voice soft but firm. "I need

d there it was. Not just Frida's car speeding, not just her phone to her ear. But a split second before impact, she had swerved slightly, a deliberate, almost imperceptible movement, as if

ous fury. I discreetly recorded the relevant clips, my jaw clenched so tight

love that had become a battlefield. I reached for it, my fingers brushing against the cardboard. With a decisive yank, I ripped it from the wall, the sound a sharp tear in

time

nd began to fold clothes, to separate my life into 'before Bentley

ar in the bin. "What's this? Did it fall?" He walked over, picking it up, his br

ice flat, devoid of emo

hen to the clothes neatly folded inside. "What are you doing?" he d

e with a sharp click. "

ing to run back to that tiny apartment of yours and play the victim again?" He strode over, his hand sweeping across my

like my life had. A pang of something, not quite sadness, but a dull ache of memory, t

Bentley," I said, my voice da

A new studio? A gallery show? Just name your price, Adelle. Don't be ridiculous." He pulle

n years, all my sacrifices, all my pain, reduced to a transaction? Th

inking straight. Let's go. We'll talk about this when you're lucid." He began to pull me towards the door, his strength overwh