Blood And Ashes: His Ultimate Regret

For three years, I called the police one hundred and eighty-eight times just to force Hudson to marry me.

When he abandoned me with a high fever to take care of his ex-girlfriend, Fiona, I reported him as a missing person.

When Fiona called him in the middle of the night to fix her plumbing, I called the cops to report illegal prostitution.

Walking out of the precinct after the 188th time, I asked him if he was annoyed. He stayed silent for a long time before saying, "Since I promised your father, I will take responsibility for you."

Later, an avalanche trapped us on a snowy mountain in Aspen. Hudson used his body to shield me, his lower half crushed by a massive boulder, yet he desperately refused to let me go.

"Do you hate me?" I asked, crying. "Hate me for getting you killed and tearing you away from Fiona?"

His tone was completely calm. "I am truly sick of you after all these years. But I won't let you die. I don't owe you anymore in this life. In the next life, please let me go."

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my past life. This time, I planned to do exactly as he wished.

Chapter 1

Emerson Caldwell POV:

"Put the knife down, Emerson," Hudson said, his voice flat, completely devoid of fear or affection. "You do this every time Fiona has an asthma attack. You know she is clinically unstable. If you want the Aguilar fortune and the status of a billionaire's wife so desperately, my father promised you a wedding, and I will give you one. You don't need to butcher yourself to prove you're an opportunistic leech."

I was standing in the center of our Manhattan penthouse. In my right hand, I held a silver kitchen knife pressed against my left wrist. Hudson stood three feet away from me, his charcoal suit pristine, his jaw clenched in familiar, bone-deep annoyance.

I stared at the edge of the steel blade. The memory of his dying breath in the snow hit me like physical trauma. My chest seized, but not with anger. It was an overwhelming, hollow quiet.

When my father, a brave Fire Captain, died pulling Hudson's father, Ernesto Aguilar, from a burning building twenty years ago, Ernesto promised me to Hudson. For three years, I turned that promise into a cage. In my past life, I foolishly thought everything would be fine once we got married. I used suicide as a threat, and it worked. But to rush off and care for Fiona's asthma, he drove me to City Hall in the last ten minutes before closing. There was no preparation, no veil, no vows-it was less formal than the fake weddings we played as children.

He stepped forward, reaching out with an impatient sigh to wrest the blade from my grip. As his fingers caught the steel, the sharp edge sliced across his palm. A thin line of crimson welled up, dripping onto the imported marble floor.

Blood.

The color made my stomach twist violently. My mind flashed back to Aspen, to the dark red pooling around his shattered ribs beneath the gray boulder.

I immediately let go of the handle. The knife clattered against the floor tiles with a sharp, ringing echo.

"Are you satisfied now?" Hudson asked, pulling a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wrapping it tightly around his hand. "Do you feel better seeing blood?"

I looked at his wrapped hand. His words from the snowstorm echoed in my ears: In the next life, please let me go.

I took a step back, putting distance between us. I looked at the man I had loved for fifteen years. I had convinced myself that his coldness was just stress, that his loyalty to Fiona was just pity, and that my relentless devotion would eventually soften him.

It was all self-delusion.

"I'm sorry," I said. My voice was raspy, but steady.

Hudson paused, his eyebrows drawing together. He was used to my screaming, my tears, and my frantic accusations. He was not used to an apology.

"We don't need to get married, Hudson," I continued, looking directly into his dark eyes. "I am breaking off the engagement. Let's end this."

Hudson let out a short, mocking breath. He adjusted his cuff over his bandaged palm. "Emerson, stop the theatrics. I told you, I am tired. I worked a fourteen-hour shift at the firm, and I don't have the energy to play your reverse-psychology games."

He stepped toward me, knelt on one knee, and picked up the fallen knife, placing it high on the kitchen counter out of reach. Then he took a box of antiseptic wipes from the cabinet, grabbed my wrist, and began checking my skin for scratches. His touch was mechanical, the way a dutiful caretaker handles an unruly patient.

"Fiona had a panic episode because her mother's anniversary is coming up," he said in that quiet, patronizing tone he always used. "She is fragile. You have a roof over your head, my family's fortune, and my name. You don't have to compete with a sick woman. Just behave, Emerson. You've successfully climbed the social ladder using your dead father's legacy; don't cause a scene that lands Dad in the hospital."

He was binding me with duty, just like his father had bound him with gratitude.

I didn't pull my hand away, but I didn't lean into him either. I simply looked down at the top of his head.

Five, four, three, two, one, I counted silently.

On cue, his phone vibrated loudly on the marble counter.

The caller ID displayed the name: Fiona.

Hudson's entire posture changed instantly. The cold, mechanical patience vanished, replaced by sharp, genuine urgency. He dropped my wrist, snatched the phone, and answered before the second ring.

"Fiona? Where are you? What happened?" he asked, his voice full of protective warmth I had never once received in two lifetimes.

I couldn't hear her words, only high-pitched sobbing through the receiver.

"Take a deep breath," Hudson murmured, turning his back to me and walking quickly toward the foyer. "I'm coming right now. Don't touch anything sharp. Sit on the sofa and wait for me."

He ended the call, grabbed his trench coat from the coat rack, and shoved his arms into the sleeves. He didn't even look back at me as he reached for the doorknob.

"I'll be back late," he threw over his shoulder. "Order dinner. We'll discuss the wedding invitations tomorrow."

The heavy oak door slammed shut.

The penthouse fell completely silent.

I stood in the vast, empty living room, looking at the faint drops of blood on the floor. In my past life, every time he walked out that door, I would throw vases, shatter wine glasses, and call his phone fifty times until he switched it off. I had thought it was a test of love, a contest between me and Fiona.

It was never a contest. You cannot win a race against someone the other person actually wants to protect.

I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a damp paper towel, and wiped the blood off the floor until the white marble was clean.

Then I took out my phone.

I opened my email and found the appointment confirmation for the Vera Wang bridal suite on Madison Avenue. I tapped the screen and canceled the custom dress fitting I had booked six months in advance.

Next, I opened a travel app. I looked up the Appalachia region in West Virginia, specifically McDowell County, where a rural teaching initiative had posted urgent openings for primary school educators.

I clicked Apply, uploaded my teaching credentials, and bought a one-way train ticket departing in seven days.