Too Late For Regret: The Unbothered Bride

s Marsh. The waistline on this French la

e Beverly Hills bridal boutique, her manicured fin

lection in the gilded

d hand-embroidered pearls pressed down on her shoulders, feeling

e," the director gushed, looking u

st for this veil. A billionaire tech titan marrying California's sharpes

e, faint curve of he

eflection, landing on the empty lea

o had long gone cold

ng into her supposed "happily ever after," and she was doing i

turally tracing the worn silver buckle

Back then, they were just two broke college students eating instant

on-dollar NASDAQ giant. She had worn it every si

vibrated sharply o

y lace rustling heavily agains

Mathis, Basil's twenty-something executiv

urquoise water, and two glasses of champagne on a wooden table.

tion instantly locked onto the oversized designer sun

hit the back of her neck. She

f the dark lenses, a man stoo

one. And just beneath his right earlobe, a distinct, tiny d

seized. All the air eva

e phone so hard her knuckles went white. That mole. That

of Instagram and opened

five hours ago, stared bac

ts grounded. Stuck in a freezing hotel

the boutique suddenly felt blind

. Eight years of building his empire from the ground up, of sacrificing her weeke

ry for a beach trip with a girl who b

forcing down the wav

litigator, she needed verbal confirmatio

ct name and raised t

ng times. Then, the c

through the receiver, followed immediately by a

warm, apologetic voice of a man who missed his fiancée.

terrifyingly calm. "I'm at the bridal salon, Basil. Trying on the

st tell me you're not in a blizz

othly, his tone dripping with the arrogant aut

w at two feet of snow. The board members are waiting for me to r

, unmistakably female gigg

turned into

the background, Basi

ng so needy. I'm out here freezing and working my ass off for our future, and you're fussing o

fu

r future while baking in the Ca

stantly shattered, crystallizing into something

ing into a flat, lethal chill. "Don

ht.

hun

e stepped forward, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you feeling fa

ace no longer looked like a bridal gown. It looked like

Alex

tab of the concealed zipper, and yanked it a

ard. "Miss Marsh! Please, the delicate hand

t it," A

nto the floor like dirty snow

ressed in her tailored charcoal-gray power suit. She smoothed the sharp creases of he

is," Alex told the director, slappi

d by the sudden, terrifying shift in her aura. "S-shall we deli

ing at the empty,

"Or burn it. I don't care.

f the boutique and stepped out into the dr

am one last time. She had just posted a new story: two

thought she was just some obedient corporate wife wh

was the most ruthless, undefeated corporate litigator in Los Angeles. And if he