Too Late To Beg: My Suffocated Heart

I sold my late mother's only estate and starved myself working three grueling jobs just to pay off my fiancé's massive gambling debts to the Syndicate.

But when our car was stuck at a scorching, hundred-degree highway checkpoint, Julian gave the last bottle of cold water to his delicate mistress, Chloe.

When I gasped for air and begged him to turn up the AC because of my severe asthma, he simply pulled the keys from the ignition and locked the doors from the outside.

"Chloe can't stand the heat," he said coldly through the glass. "You can stay in there and reflect on your attitude."

I pounded frantically on the window as the suffocating heat instantly triggered my asthma. "Julian... open the door... I can't breathe..."

Outside, Chloe took a slow sip of the cold water, pointing at my struggling figure with a sweet, mocking giggle. "Look at her, Julian. She's still faking it."

Julian rolled his eyes, his face twisting with deep annoyance. "Stop acting! You're just throwing a tantrum because I let her sit in the front seat. I've spoiled you too much."

To show off his ruthless authority to the low-level cronies around him, he grabbed a sunshade and completely sealed off the windshield.

"Let her roast in there until she cures that pathetic habit of faking illness for attention," he sneered, wrapping his arm around Chloe's waist and walking away toward the shaded rest area.

The 160-degree cabin quickly turned into my blazing coffin.

My vision blurred as my throat closed completely.

Just a few feet away in the cool shade, Julian was laughing with Chloe, casually telling his cronies that he would unlock the door once I cried and begged for his mercy.

He had no idea that the woman he left to "roast" was already a stiff, purple corpse.

Chapter 1

Mia POV

Half an hour later, my fiancé finally strolled back, talking and laughing with his mistress clinging to his arm.

"Look at her, Julian. She is even rolling her eyes now."

Chloe giggled, her perfectly manicured fingers wrapped tightly around a can of ice-cold cola.

She pointed her acrylic nail at the locked car window, completely unbothered by the blistering heat outside.

Julian followed her gaze.

He let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes in profound annoyance. "I have spoiled her too much. She is full of disgusting habits."

I hovered six feet above the boiling asphalt of the Syndicate highway checkpoint, staring coldly down at them.

In the backseat of the locked Mercedes, the limp body slumped against the leather interior was mine.

My face had swollen into a terrifying, purplish-red hue.

My eyes were rolled completely back into my skull, and my stiff neck was jammed tightly against the glass.

A burly truck driver hauling a large cooler of ice water passed by them.

He stopped in his tracks, his heavy work boots scraping against the ground, and narrowed his eyes at the darkly tinted window.

"Hey, man," the driver shouted, pointing at my face. "That lady does not look right. Her lips are turning purple! You need to open that door right now!"

Julian's face darkened instantly.

He strode over and violently shoved the man backward. "Mind your own business! My fiancée is just throwing a tantrum."

The truck driver stumbled, nearly dropping his heavy cooler. "A tantrum turns a person's face purple? It is over a hundred degrees out here. That heat will kill someone!"

"She will not die!" Julian barked, glaring fiercely at the growing crowd of low-level Syndicate associates. "She loves playing these sick mind games to challenge my authority. Today, I am teaching her a lesson in respect!"

Chloe stepped forward, putting on a sweet, fake smile.

"Do not worry, gentlemen," Chloe told the crowd. "Julian's fiancée is just a jealous drama queen. She is deliberately holding her breath to scare us because she did not get to sit in the front seat."

The bystanders murmured among themselves.

In the ruthless mafia world, women were often viewed as dramatic liabilities. They bought Chloe's lie instantly.

Their initial concern quickly shifted to disgust toward the "spoiled woman" inside.

Drunk on this validation and his own display of fake authority, Julian walked to the trunk.

He pulled out a thick, silver sunshade and slapped it aggressively against the windshield.

Then, he grabbed discarded cardboard and dirty rags from the side of the road, jamming them tightly into every gap of the side windows.

He completely sealed off all light and visibility into the boiling cabin.

"Let us see how long you can keep this up," Julian sneered, glancing at his expensive Rolex. "It has only been thirty minutes. She can fake an asthma attack on the living room floor for half a day."

Chloe clung to his arm. "Julian, you are being too hard on her. What if something actually happens to her?"

She spoke words of concern, but there was not a single trace of worry on her face.

"What could possibly happen?" Julian scoffed. "She just takes advantage of my good temper, always using that pathetic asthma as an excuse. If I do not cure her of this habit today, she will be walking all over me after we get married!"

I had suffered from severe asthma since I was a child.

To fund his startup business, I had worked three grueling jobs.

When an attack hit, I could not bear to buy the expensive medicine, opting only for the cheapest pills.

And now, he firmly believed I was just faking an illness to fight for his attention.

"Let's go sit in the shade." Julian wrapped his arm around Chloe's shoulder, leading her toward the rest area. "Ignore her. When she cannot take it anymore, she will naturally knock on the glass and beg for mercy."

He did not look back.

I looked down at the car.

The temperature inside the cabin was still climbing.

My corpse lay in the backseat, the skin baking red under the relentless heat.