Too Late for Regrets: His Final Breath

Every single one of Damon’s flings looked exactly like me.

But the day I flew back to the States, he just gave me this cold, halfsmirk. "You look at enough cheap knockoffs, and eventually, even the real thing loses its appeal." Last month, he cleared out his entire roster for a freshfaced college girl.

A girl who didn't share a single feature with me. Damon thought I rushed back because I was terrified he'd finally caught real feelings. He thought I was here to beg.

It had been five years. While he was flying all over the world hunting for my clones, I was busy getting pregnant with my second child.

Chapter 1 The dinner dragged on, and Damon was nowhere to be found.

Holden stared at me across the mahogany table, his lip curling in disgust. "I thought you swore you'd never step foot in this house again.

What, panicked the second you heard Damon found his soulmate?" I blinked, my face completely blank. "Good for him." "Stop faking it." Holden jerked his chin toward the dining room entrance, a nasty sneer plastered on his face. "Damon's here.

Save the waterworks for him." Damon strode into the room. He wore a charcoal buttondown, the collar left casually undone.

Five years had sharpened his jawline, stripped away the boyish edge, and left something much colder in its place. He dropped into the empty chair right next to mine.

I turned my head. A faint, coralcolored lipstick stain was smeared against his collar.

Nathaniel sat at the head of the table, entirely oblivious to the tension suffocating the room. He let out a heavy sigh. "You two have been going at this for five years.

It's enough. When are you marching down to the courthouse to sign those marriage papers again?" I kept my mouth shut. Damon let out a low, dark chuckle. "Grandpa, drop it.

My girl already hates the fact that I've got a starter marriage under my belt.

If she hears you talking like this, she'll tear my place apart." Nathaniel slammed his palm on the table. "Those random girls out there don't even hold a candle to Elena!" "This time is different." Damon slowly shifted his gaze to me.

His eyes were dead, stripping me bare. "This time, I'm serious." The entire table went dead silent, the heavy anticipation in the room practically suffocating as every single pair of eyes locked onto me.

Half of them were swimming in pity, the other half practically salivating for a meltdown.

I lowered my lashes, tracing the rim of my plate. "I appreciate the thought, Grandpa Nathaniel," I said, my voice eerily calm. "But I'm never getting back together with Damon." The air in the room snapped.

Nobody expected me to shut it down so brutally. They all remembered the old Elena—the pathetic girl who would have literally taken a bullet for Damon. Crack.

The crystal wine glass shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. Red wine and fresh blood pooled on the white tablecloth.

Damon casually picked up a napkin, wiping the crimson streaks off his palm. "Slipped." My phone buzzed relentlessly. Delaney: "Elena! How could you hide something this huge from us?

Congrats!!" Dawson: "Damn, Damon really went all out this time." Delaney: "I literally always knew you guys were endgame!!!" I frowned, scrolling up through a hundred unread messages in the main friend group.

Then I saw it. Damon had dropped a picture of a ring, casually announcing his engagement. It was a flawless, teardropcut pink diamond.

The kind of rock that would make any woman stop breathing. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I typed out a quick, flat response. Elena: "Damon isn't marrying me.

We aren't back together." The chat froze for three agonizing seconds. Then, it exploded faster than before. Delaney: "Exactly!

You can't 'get back together' if you never actually broke up!" Dawson: "Longdistance roleplay, nice. Kinky." Delaney: "Hehe, we get it, Elena.

Say no more." A new notification popped up. Damon had just added a new number to the group. Damon: "Let me introduce you all. My future wife, Brielle.

She's young and throws a hell of a tantrum, so everyone play nice—" The text cut off, replaced by an audio message.

I tapped it. "Don't listen to his bullshit, I'm literally the easiest person to get along with!" A girl's voice chimed in, bright and stickysweet.

In the background of the audio, Damon let out a low, rough laugh—a sound dripping with pure, unfiltered adoration. Buzz.

Someone had created a splinter chat, dragging Damon and a few of the guys in, completely forgetting I was still lurking on the member list.

Dawson: "Bro, if you're seriously wifing up someone else, what happens to Elena?" Damon: "If you don't mind sloppy seconds, go ahead and take her off my hands." My stomach dropped.

Dawson: "Damn, man. If you're gonna talk like that, I might actually shoot my shot." Damon didn't reply.

A few other guys chimed in, brutally mocking Dawson for thinking he was in my league.

Dawson: "Hey, she's out of my league, but a guy can dream about getting a taste of something that pristine, right?" The chat went dead. Absolute silence.

Then, three grey dots appeared. Damon was typing.

Damon: "Even the best toys get boring once you've played with them long enough." Chapter 2 I didn't realize Damon and his new obsession were coming until I walked through the door.

Delaney, who organized the whole thing, shot me a guilty look. "Damon forced his way onto the guest list," she muttered, refusing to meet my eyes. "He left out the part about bringing a plusone." I offered a flat, dismissive hum, letting his provocation roll right off my back.

Brielle was completely unfazed by the tension.

She immediately worked the room, practically vibrating with energy, but she kept orbiting back to me like a moth to a flame. "Elena!" She cornered me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Damon told me everything about your little history.

I totally don't mind." She leaned in close. "I literally begged him all night to let me come see you. You look way better in person. You don't even look seven years older than me.

What's your skincare routine?

You must spend a fortune on highend brands to keep it up, right?" Dawson rolled his eyes, shooting Damon a pointed look across the lounge. "Are you gonna put a leash on your girl?" "I wouldn't dare." Damon let out a low laugh, his fingers reaching out to pinch Brielle's cheek. "My little princess is a nightmare to deal with." Brielle swatted his hand away playfully. "Hmph.

Just remember that!" Damon used to baby people when we were kids. But growing up surrounded by yesmen turned him into an arrogant, volatile bastard.

It had been years since I saw him cater to anyone's temper like that. Brielle stuck her tongue out at me, playing the innocent card. "Sorry, Elena.

I didn't mean anything by it." She grabbed two glasses of red wine off a passing tray and shoved one into my hand. "Let me make it up to you." Without missing a beat, she tipped her head back and downed her entire glass.

I didn't even pretend to lift the rim to my lips. "Hard pass." Brielle's lower lip immediately trembled, her eyes welling up with tears. "Do you think you're better than me or something?" The temperature in the room plummeted.

Damon's eyes locked onto mine, dark and dangerous. "Elena, I'm letting you off too easy." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "You're drinking that damn wine tonight whether you like it or not." Delaney quickly jumped between us. "Elena, come on, it's just one glass.

We all know you can drink anyone under the table." I let out a tired breath and set the glass down on a side table. "I'm pregnant.

I'm not drinking." Dead silence swallowed the room. "Pfft!" Brielle shattered the quiet, bursting into a fit of giggles. "Oh my god, Elena, I've seen this trolling trend on TikTok.

You're not fooling anyone." The tension broke.

A few guys chuckled nervously. "Should've just said you were on antibiotics, much more believable." "Jesus, Elena, don't drop a bomb like that, my freaking heart stopped." Damon aggressively snatched the untouched glass off the table. "Fine.

You want to play the saint? Whatever." Brielle leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He didn't give you the full breakdown?" she asked.

Before I could process the question, she let out a soft whine. "He just feeds me sweet talk to keep me happy. I don't buy a word of it.

I want to hear the real story from you." What the hell was there to say? I was the foster kid. The stray orphan Damon dragged out of the system when we were young.

I wasn't a partner. I was a rescue animal he felt sorry for. A shiny toy he got obsessed with.

Even our first time crossing the line had just been two hormonal teenagers wanting to test the waters. The memory hit me. We were trapped in that suffocatingly narrow stairwell.

The space between our bodies practically evaporated, the air thick and radiating heat. My blood roared in my ears.

I couldn't form a single word, every breath fracturing in my throat. A hot, pathetic tear slipped down my flushed cheek. Damon leaned in.

The rough friction of his jaw brushed against my skin, sending a wicked shiver down my spine.

His tongue darted out, slowly, deliberately licking the salty drop from the corner of my eye.

I felt the rumble in his chest before I heard it. "Crying over a single kiss?" he murmured, a raw, gravelly edge bleeding into his laugh. "So pitiful.

You're going to be shedding a lot more tears later." I ripped myself out of the flashback. "There's nothing to tell," I said, my voice deadpan. "We signed the divorce papers.

It's done." Brielle slapped a hand over her mouth, feigning shock. "God, Elena, you're a vault.

No wonder Damon was so hung up on you before I came along." She leaned closer, her eyes glittering with malice. "Do you want to know what he told me?" I just stared at her, an icy wall of silence. "Damon said…" Chapter 3 "What are we whispering about?" Damon leaned in, crowding the space between us.

Brielle pressed a sloppy kiss to his jawline, but her eyes stayed deadlocked on mine. "It's a secret!" Actually, I already knew Damon's answer.

Shortly after the ink dried on our divorce papers, an unknown international number lit up my screen.

A chaotic blast of heavy bass and clinking glasses bled through the speaker, but his voice pierced right through the noise. "Bullshit about her being some untouchable standard.

I just find girls who look like Elena. That's the only reason. I'm just not used to looking at a different face.

Even a fleshlight takes time to break in." Before the line went dead, a breathy, highpitched voice purred into the receiver. "Did you hear that?

He literally doesn't give a shit about you." "I heard," I replied, my tone entirely flat. "You aren't the first girl to hunt down my number, but I hope you're the last." Clearly, she wasn't.

The rules of the game left no room for error.

Pick out your partner based entirely on the lipstick stain they left on a wine glass. "Damon goes first!" Brielle squealed, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. "If you don't pick mine, you are so dead!" Damon let out a low chuckle, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

Someone in the lounge murmured, "I've never seen him let anyone walk all over him like this…" Damon rarely gave anyone the time of day.

But when he fixated on a girl, he practically worshipped the ground she walked on.

Delaney, who handled the drinks, caught my eye and mouthed a silent plea. "Help me out." The crowd practically buzzed with anticipation as they lined up a dozen smeared crystal glasses in front of Damon.

He arched a dark brow, his gaze sweeping over the table.

He didn't even hesitate. "This one." His thumb dragged deliberately across the coral smudge on the rim, a dirty, knowing smirk pulling at his lips. "Too familiar.

Definitely my future wife." Delaney’s eyes blew wide.

She opened her mouth to correct him, but I cut her off. "You got it." Brielle shoved herself out of her seat, glaring at Damon with fake outrage. "You idiot, mine is the one on the top left!" "Elena broke the rules of the game," Brielle announced, clapping her hands together. "She has to take a penalty.

Blindfold her. She has to pick Damon out of a lineup of five guys!" Brielle flashed a venomous, sicklysweet smile. "If you're gonna play, you can't back out.

Right, Elena?" I forced a polite smile. "Let's play." The second the silk blindfold plunged me into darkness, the air in the room shifted. I took a slow, tentative step forward.

Dawson reached out first.

My fingertips grazed the fabric of his sleeve, and I immediately dropped my hand. "Not him." A collective gasp ripped through the room. "Holy shit, that was fast!

How did you know?" Simple. Damon wouldn't be caught dead in cheap synthetic silk. The second guy proved even easier to eliminate.

A suffocating wave of overpowering cologne hit my lungs before I even reached him. Damon didn't wear that garbage. I hesitated at the third guy.

A sharp, stinging scent of tobacco clung to his shirt. Damon didn't smoke. But… My palm flattened against his forearm. The muscle instantly jumped beneath my touch.

I trailed my fingertips upward. Over the hard ridge of his bicep. Across the sharp slope of his shoulder. Up to the thick, pulsing vein in his neck.

The heat radiating off his skin felt scorching, burning right through his shirt. I could feel his heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against his ribs.

He let out a ragged, fractured breath. The heavy, rough vibration of his Adam's apple rolling against my thumb echoed in the deadsilent room.

A low, wet swallow tore through the silence. I froze. My breath hitched in my throat. "Let's check the fourth," I whispered, pulling my hand back like I'd touched an open flame.

The fourth guy lacked the broad chest. His narrow frame gave him away instantly. Only the fifth guy left. I kept my movements rigid and robotic.

The first thing my fingers found was the cold metal of a cufflink. I traced the engraved logo.

It matched the exact brand Damon wore earlier. "It's the fifth," I stated, dropping my hand. "Wrong!" Brielle ripped the blindfold off my head from behind. "Looks like you really don't know him at all.

God, I feel so much better." The dim lounge lights stung my retinas. Damon stood dead center in the lineup. The third guy. His eyes were pitch black. Cold and impossible to read.

The fifth guy tossed a familiar charcoal suit jacket straight at Damon, bursting into obnoxious laughter. "Baitandswitch, Elena!

Got you!" Chapter 4 Years ago, he had accompanied Nathaniel to the charity drive at the children's home where I grew up.

His eyes locked onto me in a sea of faces, his small fingers wrapping around mine with a death grip. "Grandpa, Elena doesn't have a home or parents. I like her.

I want to share my things with her!" Nathaniel tested him on purpose, an amused smirk on his face. "If you agree to practice your violin every single day, I'll allow it." Damon’s brow furrowed in utter agony.

He was a hyperactive terror who despised sitting still for lessons. But that day, his fingers dug deeper into my palm, and he agreed without missing a beat.

He kept that promise for over a decade. I sat beside him through every grueling lesson. When I first arrived at the estate, I was skin and bones.

Damon practically spoonfed me himself. For years, we shared plates, rooms, and even the same bed. "Eat more, Elena! You have to grow as tall as me!" "Don't be scared.

I'm right here with you." "I lied to Grandpa earlier.

I told him he was my favorite, but I actually love you the absolute most in the whole entire world!" Childhood Damon treated me like gold. My screen lit up the pitchblack bedroom.

A relentless stream of texts flooded in from the present Damon.

Damon: "Elena, we need to talk." Damon: "I know you're reading this." Damon: "Elena… text me back." Damon: "Elena." An unsent message hovered in the thread, the contents permanently deleted.

I ignored him, swiping past his name and tapping on a familiar profile picture instead. Elena: "How much longer until you're back in the States?

I miss you and Flora so much." The reply was instantaneous. Zane: "Almost there." Zane: "Flora and I miss you more~" Outside the lounge, Damon chainsmoked his third cigarette.

Earlier that night, Dawson had cornered him, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "When we were playing the game, I saw a notification pop up on Elena's lock screen." Damon’s pupils dilated.

His fingers clamped down, viciously snapping the cigarette in half. "Bro, you and Elena might have a fouryearold daughter." "What a coincidence!

Are you flying solo today too, Elena?" Brielle breezed up to me in the middle of Fifth Avenue, a saccharine smile stretching across her face. "I left Damon at home.

He just nods and swipes his Amex no matter what I try on.

It's honestly exhausting." She linked her arm through mine, dragging me into a highend designer boutique. "You recognize this brand, right, Elena?" She plucked a few displays off the glass shelf and shoved a heavy orange box into my arms. "A Birkin in Craie.

The matte white really suits your… age bracket." I didn't reach for it. The box dropped onto the velvet counter.

Brielle pouted, tilting her head. "Consider it a thankyou gift." She stepped closer, her perfume cloying and sweet. "Damon used to be such a player.

If you hadn't stuck around and swallowed all that trauma to train him, he never would have settled down the second he met me. I grew up with nothing.

So when I finally get my hands on something good, I dig my nails in and never let go." Her eyes gleamed with mock sympathy. "You probably understand that desperation better than anyone, right, Elena?" "I do," I replied, my tone flat and hollow. "But with some men, the second you choose them, you've already lost." Brielle’s smile sharpened into a victorious smirk. "You lost.

I didn't." Damon wasn't always rotten to the core. When we first crossed the line, he was suffocatingly obsessed.

He would have carved twentysix hours out of a day just to breathe the same air as me.

While everyone else was tossing pennies into the campus fountain wishing for Ivy League acceptances, Damon carved something else into the stone. Damon and Elena.

Growing old together in a house full of kids.

He stood in front of our entire senior class, his voice echoing over the quad. "The second Elena graduates college, I'm putting a ring on her finger!" Later, he buried his face in my neck, his hot breath brushing my skin as he let out a frustrated groan. "Wife, that's still so damn far away." Yeah.

Far enough for everything to rot and decay. Chapter 5 Panic had clawed at my throat the night Damon got blackout drunk. I had driven through the dead of night to drag him home.

Outside the VIP booth, the heavy oak door stood slightly ajar. No one inside knew I was there. "Damon, you cycling through anyone new lately?

That Blist actress from last week is blowing up. Hook a brother up?" Damon’s voice slurred, thick with alcohol. "Give it a few days.

I’m playing house with Elena right now." "Only you could manage a roster that packed, bro," someone laughed. "Seriously.

The dutiful fiancée holding down the fort while you run through half the city." "Fuck off.

Don't ever compare those easy lays to my future wife." A violent thud echoed through the room as Damon's boot connected hard with leather, followed by a sharp groan. "I'm just getting it all out of my system before I put the ring on her finger.

Trying out all the flavors." My hand fell away from the brass handle. The hallway spun. A sharp, violent ringing pierced my eardrums. My lungs forgot how to pull in air.

I staggered backward. One step. Then another. The bile rose hot and acidic in my throat. I sprinted for the nearest restroom, slamming into the stall. My knees hit the cold tile.

I threw up until my ribs ached and there was nothing left to heave. By the time Damon finally stumbled through our front door, I was buried under the duvet, faking a dead sleep.

The mattress dipped.

He pressed his lips to the crown of my head. "Such a clingy baby," he murmured. "Can't even sleep unless I'm right here." He dragged me backward against his solid chest.

The crisp, sterilized scent of expensive hotel soap flooded my senses. I hated the smell of cigarettes.

Damon didn't smoke, but he always claimed the scent clung to his clothes after business dinners. He always took a hot shower before crawling into my bed.

It hit me like a physical blow. He wasn't washing off the smoke. He was washing off the other women. He pressed a tender, loving kiss to the back of my hand. "Go to sleep, baby.

I'm right here." A notification violently pulled me back to the present.

Brielle had sent a voice memo. "Elena, Damon is being so unreasonable!" Her voice was breathy, laced with fake sympathy. "I just acted a tiny bit jealous, and he immediately swore he'd kick you out of the estate!" I glanced over my shoulder at the two suitcases I’d just zipped shut.

Perfect timing. Downstairs, Nathaniel was practically vibrating with rage. "I am not in the grave yet!

That arrogant brat doesn't run this house!" I let out a tired sigh. "Nathaniel, it has nothing to do with Damon. I secured a new apartment days ago." He wasn't having it.

He whipped out his phone and hit dial. "Damon! Are you trying to put me in an early grave?" "Let me guess.

She went crying to you?" Damon’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding entirely too amused. "If you ever want to hold a greatgrandkid, you need to let her walk." Nathaniel unleashed a string of curses. "This estate is massive!

You could move a dozen random bimbos in here and still have room! There is zero reason to force Elena out!" "Just drop it. Stop coddling her." Damon killed the call.

The line went dead. "Ungrateful bastard," Nathaniel hissed. He slowly turned to me, his stern eyes softening with heavy, crushing guilt. "Elena… it's Damon's loss.

He doesn't deserve you." "Nathaniel…" He waved a weathered hand, cutting me off. "Go.

You should have left a long time ago." I swallowed the lump in my throat, offering him a deep, respectful nod. I grabbed the handles of my suitcases.

Just as the heavy oak door began to click shut, Nathaniel's gravelly voice slipped through the crack. "Elena. I was biased for years. I always protected Damon.

But there are plenty of men out there who would treat you like a queen." I know.

Because I already found him. "You seriously kicked Elena to the curb for some new flavor of the week?" Damon didn't even look up from his phone. "Why the hell are you so worked up?" Holden yanked out a barstool and dropped into it. "I'm not worked up.

I'm just mindblown.

Without the family backing her, where the hell is she supposed to go?" Holden muttered, shaking his head. "She's not gonna pull a vanishing act and skip the country again, is she?" "I know exactly where she is," Damon shot back flatly. "The Flora." "That ultraluxury highrise Zane's family developed a couple of years back?" Holden rubbed his jaw, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Wait.

Word on the street is Zane is flying back to the States this week.

Someone even leaked paparazzi shots of him carrying a kid…" He whipped out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. "Damn. Nothing.

His PR team must have scrubbed the internet." Holden leaned back, staring at Damon with a strange, heavy expression. "You know, if you hadn't screwed things up with Elena back then… your kid would probably be around that age right now." Chapter 6 Damon’s voice dropped, losing its harsh edge. "She probably looks exactly like her." Marshall hammered his fist against the heavy mahogany door, bursting in before getting an answer. "Sir!" The ice barely had time to melt in my glass before a shadow dropped over my table.

Damon stood there. A tailored suit jacket hung carelessly over his forearm.

The sharp crease in his trousers and his heavy breathing screamed he just sprinted here straight from a boardroom. He yanked off his wirerimmed glasses.

A lethal, terrifyingly confident smirk tugged at his mouth. "Elena.

Still going to freeze me out, or are we finally going to talk?" "Talk about what?" I didn't even look up from my glass.

He leaned in, lowering his voice into a dangerous, silken purr. "I found out." My face remained a total blank wall. "Elena…" The arrogance bled out of his voice, leaving something raw and painfully gentle. "You gave me a daughter." "Mommy!" A bright, impossibly sweet voice shattered the tension.

Zane stood a few feet away. A perfectly manicured, deeply entertained smirk played on his lips. Damon’s gaze snapped to the little girl perched securely in Zane’s arms.

He forgot how to blink. Flora kicked her legs, completely oblivious to the radioactive energy in the room.

She wore a tiny plaid skirt set and aggressively waved her chubby hands at me. Zane didn't miss a beat.

He lowered his head, whispering loudly into her ear. "Flora, if you want that ice cream we talked about, what do you have to call me?" Flora’s eyes practically turned into stars.

She threw her little arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. "Daddy!!" The blood entirely drained from Damon’s face.

His eyes flared a violent, bloodshot red as his neck snapped back toward me.

I held his gaze, dealing the final, lethal blow. "Exactly what it looks like." "Serves you right!" I shot back