Too Late For Regret: My Cold Husband's Tears

Julian dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the toe of his loafer. He walked toward her, his eyes fixing immediately on the white gauze on her forehead.

"Who did that? Marcus?"

Frederica took a step back. "None of your business, Julian. Move your car."

Julian let out a bitter laugh. "You are still so stubborn, Freddie. If you had chosen me back then..."

Frederica cut him off. "You sold me, Julian. You traded me to Easton for shares. Do not rewrite history."

Julian flinched. "That was Father's deal. I had no choice. I was the spare."

He stepped closer, invading her space. "I have my own capital now. I can take you away from him."

Frederica felt bile rise in her throat. "I am your sister-in-law."

Julian's face twisted. "Easton does not love you! He is using you to control the Mccullough voting block!"

"At least he pays well," Frederica spat. "And he does not pretend to be a saint."

Julian snapped. He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging in. He leaned in, trying to kiss her.

Frederica reacted on instinct. She brought her knee up, but the dress was too tight. Instead, she stomped her heel down, driving the stiletto into his shin.

Julian yelled and let go, hopping back.

Frederica scrambled for her car door.

Suddenly, the driveway was flooded with light. High beams cut through the darkness, blinding them both.

A black stretch Lincoln rolled silently up the gravel drive. It stopped right next to the Ferrari.

The back window rolled down.

Easton sat there. His face was in shadow, but his eyes caught the light. They were cold, dead calm.

Julian straightened up, ignoring the pain in his leg. The fear on his face was instant. The spare facing the heir.

Easton didn't look at his brother. He looked at the blood on Frederica's cheek, at the gauze.

"Get in," Easton said.

Frederica hesitated. She didn't want to go with him. But looking at Julian's desperate, grabby hands...

"Unless you want Julian to be on the front page for harassment tomorrow," Easton added.

Julian turned pale. He stepped back, head bowed.

Frederica made the calculation. She walked to the Lincoln. The driver opened the door, and she slid into the warmth of the backseat.

As the door closed, Easton spoke to the window, his voice projecting clearly to his brother.

"Stay away from my assets, Julian."

The car pulled away.

Frederica slumped in the corner, exhausted. Her head was pounding a rhythm of pain.

Easton didn't speak. He opened the small refrigerator console. He took out an ice pack. He wrapped it in a silk handkerchief.

He held it out to her.

"Put this on."

Frederica took it. The cold was shocking against her hot skin, but the relief was instant. She closed her eyes, trapped in the dark with the husband she was leaving, who had just saved her from the man she used to love.

They entered the penthouse in silence. Easton didn't let her go to her room. He steered her by the elbow to the living room sofa and pushed her gently down.

He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a sleek, metal medical kit. It wasn't a standard first-aid box; it looked military grade.

Frederica watched him snap on a pair of latex gloves. "You know how to do this?"

Easton didn't answer. He reached up and turned on the floor lamp, angling the bright light onto her face.

He peeled back the tape. Frederica hissed as it pulled at her skin.

Easton paused. "Sorry," he murmured.

He cleaned the wound with iodine. His movements were incredibly precise, almost gentle. It was a jarring contrast to the man who had dragged her out of the gallery hours ago. His fingers were steady. He checked the depth of the cut.

"It does not need stitches," he said, his voice clinical. "But it will scar."

Frederica let out a shaky breath. "I am not a model. It does not matter."

Easton peeled off the gloves and tossed them in the bin. "Marcus did this?"

"Meredith," Frederica corrected. "Marcus just watched."

Easton's jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes went flat, terrifyingly empty.

He stood up and walked to the bar cart. He poured a glass of whiskey, his back to her.

"I will handle it."

Frederica sat up straighter. "What are you going to do? Do not touch the stock price, Easton. My trust is tied to it."

Easton turned, sipping the amber liquid. "You are worried about money? I thought you wanted a divorce."

"Because I want a divorce, I need the money," she snapped. "I am moving to a hotel tonight."

Easton set the glass down. The sound of crystal hitting glass was sharp.

"No."

Frederica stood up. "You cannot keep me here."

Easton crossed the room. He loomed over her, using his height to box her in.

"As long as you are my wife, I have an obligation to keep you alive. You are bleeding from the head. You are not going anywhere."

He pointed toward the guest room. "Go to sleep. I have a briefing at six. Do not wake me."

He turned and walked into his study, closing the door with a definitive click.

Frederica stood there, looking at the expensive medical kit, confused by the contradiction of his gentleness and his commands.

Inside the study, Easton didn't work.

He picked up his encrypted phone.

"Yates," he said. "Freeze all Mccullough shipments at the Jersey Port."

There was a pause on the other end. "Sir? That will cost us millions in delays. The supply chain..."

"Do it," Easton ordered. "Keep them frozen until Marcus Mccullough calls me personally to beg."

He hung up. He looked at the monitor on his desk, showing the living room feed. He watched Frederica walk slowly into the guest room.

"No one touches you," he whispered to the screen. "Except me."

Breakfast was a silent affair. Frederica picked at her toast, the gauze on her forehead throbbing. Easton sat across from her, reading news on his tablet. He looked relaxed. Too relaxed.

The TV in the corner was on a financial news channel.

Breaking News: Mccullough Logistics faces massive supply chain halt. Stock opens down 5%.

Frederica's head snapped up. She looked at Easton. He didn't look up from his tablet, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Before she could accuse him, her phone rang.

It was the hospital.

"Miss Mccullough? It is the ER at New York Presbyterian. Your mother..."

Frederica dropped her fork. It clattered loudly onto the china. "What happened?"

"She attempted to jump from the second-floor balcony of the estate. She is in critical condition."

The room spun. Frederica stood up so fast her chair tipped over.

Easton was there instantly. He caught her arm. "Freddie?" As he steadied her, he was already speaking into his watch. "Get the car. New York Presbyterian. And get Hoffman on a jet. Now."

She shoved him away. "I have to go."

"I will drive," he said, grabbing the keys.

The ride was a blur. When they arrived at the ICU waiting area, Marcus and her sister, Dominque, were already there. They weren't crying. They looked annoyed.

Frederica ran up to them. "Is she alive?"

Dominque rolled her eyes, checking her nails. "She's in surgery. I've already spoken with the estate lawyer. If she remains incapacitated for more than seventy-two hours, Father's guardianship becomes permanent. The surgery's outcome is, from a legal perspective, irrelevant."

Frederica raised her hand to slap her, but Easton caught her wrist, pulling it down.

The doctor came out. He looked grave. "Multiple fractures. Cranial swelling. It is bad."

Marcus stepped forward. "Doctor, if she survives... quality of life?"

The doctor hesitated. "Likely vegetative. Long-term care will be extensive."

Marcus nodded, as if closing a deal. "Then we should consider palliative care."

Frederica gasped. "She is alive! You cannot just let her die!"

"She is a vegetable," Marcus said coldly. "It is bad for the stock."

"You murderer!" Frederica screamed. "I have her medical proxy!"

Dominque laughed. "That expired two years ago, sis. Daddy is the guardian."

Frederica looked at Easton. Help me, her eyes pleaded. Do something.

Easton stood there, his face unreadable. He looked at Marcus, then at the doctor. He didn't speak.

Marcus took his silence for agreement. "See? Even Easton knows it is a waste of resources."

Frederica felt her heart shatter. She turned and ran toward the ICU doors, trying to break through. A nurse grabbed her, holding her back.