The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love

Allen had already left by the time Mia woke up.

She noticed his absence in small, ordinary details that seemed insignificant on their own but impossible to ignore when taken together.

The other side of the bed had already gone cold. The sheets were smooth and neatly arranged, and the faint impression his body usually left on the mattress had disappeared. His phone charger had been unplugged, and the wardrobe door stood half open with one of the hangers turned the wrong way.

She remained on her back for a moment, staring at the ceiling while she listened to the silence around her.

There was no sound of running water from the bathroom. She could not hear his footsteps moving through the apartment or the low murmur of his voice on one of those early morning business calls he always believed she never noticed. The only sounds that reached her were the distant traffic outside and the steady ticking of the clock resting on the bedside table.

She reached for her phone and checked the time.

It was only 6:12 a.m.

Allen rarely left the apartment that early unless something demanded his immediate attention. His work often consumed him, but even then he usually left after breakfast.

A quiet disappointment settled inside her before she could stop it. It spread slowly through her chest like the ache of an old bruise that had never truly healed.

Today, of all days, she had hoped he would still be there.

She pushed the feeling aside before it could grow. Over the years, she had learned how to silence disappointment before it had the chance to break her heart. Lowering her expectations had become a habit she no longer realised she had developed.

She rolled onto her side and unlocked her phone.

There were no new messages. He had not even left a note.

Even so, a faint smile curved her lips. Perhaps he was trying to surprise her.

The thought filled her with cautious hope. Today marked their fifth wedding anniversary. Surely he had not forgotten something so important. She refused to believe that he could.

She climbed out of bed and walked barefoot into the kitchen. The cool marble floor sent a chill through the soles of her feet while the apartment greeted her with the same polished perfection it always wore.

Every surface gleamed, every piece of furniture sat exactly where it belonged, and yet the place never truly felt like a home. It looked beautiful, but it lacked the warmth that made people want to stay.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee and made it stronger than usual. As the steam curled upward, she closed her eyes and let its warmth brush against her face.

Today mattered.

She repeated those words to herself until she almost believed them.

By nine o'clock, she had already changed her clothes twice.

The first dress felt too optimistic, as though it revealed how desperately she wanted the evening to be perfect. The second looked too restrained, as though she had already accepted disappointment before the day had even begun.

In the end, she chose an ivory dress she had not worn in years.

The moment she zipped it closed, an old memory resurfaced.

She had worn the same dress during their first anniversary dinner. Allen had looked at her throughout the evening with an expression she had never forgotten. Back then, his eyes had carried the quiet fear of a man who believed he could still lose the woman he loved.

Remembering that look tightened her throat.

She gathered her hair into a loose knot, resisting the urge to spend too much time perfecting her appearance. She wanted to look beautiful without appearing as though she had tried too hard.

The surprise she had planned came together quietly.

She had reserved a table at the restaurant where they had celebrated their first anniversary. Earlier that afternoon, she had arranged for white roses to be waiting at the table before they arrived.

Hidden beneath a stack of sweaters in her wardrobe was the gift she had purchased weeks ago—an expensive watch Allen did not need but had once admired while they were walking past a shop window.

She imagined the surprise on his face when he realised she had remembered such a small detail.

She pictured the brief look of astonishment that always crossed his face whenever she caught him off guard. She even allowed herself to imagine the genuine smile that used to soften his features before work and endless responsibilities had slowly stolen it away.

Shortly after noon, she picked up her phone and sent him a message.

Mia: I am stealing you tonight, so please do not make any other plans.

Three dots appeared on the screen before disappearing again.

A moment later, his reply arrived.

Allen: I have a busy day. I might be late.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

After a long pause, she typed another message.

Mia: Today is our anniversary.

Several seconds passed before another notification appeared.

Allen: I know.

She stared at those two words for a long time.

There was no heart emoji, there was no smile.

There was nothing beyond those two cold words.

Even so, she refused to cancel the reservation.

As evening approached, the silence inside the apartment became almost unbearable. She lit a candle in the living room, then another beside the dining table. Their soft glow warmed the room, but they could not chase away the loneliness that lingered in every corner.

Before leaving, she stood in front of the mirror one last time.

She smoothed the front of her dress and drew in a slow breath.

"You are not asking for too much," she whispered to her own reflection. "You only want him to spend this evening with you."

The restaurant welcomed its guests with soft lighting, quiet music, and the gentle sound of laughter drifting between tables. Crystal glasses caught the warm light while waiters moved gracefully through the crowded dining room.

The hostess smiled when Mia gave her name.

"Your table is ready, Mrs Hale."

Mia hesitated for only a moment before returning the smile.

"Thank you."

The table overlooked the window exactly as she had requested.

It was the same table where they had celebrated their first wedding anniversary five years earlier.

The white roses she had ordered were already waiting for them.

They had always been Allen's favourite.

She took her seat.

She ordered a glass of water, followed by a glass of wine.

Every few minutes, she checked her phone.

No messages arrived.

Time seemed to lose its rhythm. Minutes stretched endlessly before suddenly disappearing all at once.

By half past eight, the chair opposite her remained untouched. The neatly folded napkin rested exactly where the waiter had placed it, waiting for a man who had not come.

She reached for her phone again. That was when she heard his voice.

It was not coming through a phone speaker. He was close enough for her to recognise him instantly.

Her entire body stiffened before she consciously reacted. She had listened to that voice for five years. She knew every change in its tone and every subtle shift in its rhythm. She knew the warmth it carried whenever he let his guard down.

She did not turn around immediately.

Instead, she listened.

"You are impossible," Allen said. His voice carried genuine amusement.

It was followed by laughter, a woman's laughter.

It sounded comfortable and familiar, as though they had shared many moments like this before.

Slowly, Mia turned her head.

Allen stood only a few metres away.

His suit jacket had been removed, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He looked completely relaxed, a version of himself she had not seen in a very long time.

The woman standing beside him rested her fingers lightly against his wrist.

The gesture was effortless.

It carried the confidence of someone who had touched him many times before.

Allen leaned closer and said something Mia could not hear.

The woman looked up at him with a bright smile. Without hesitation, Allen smiled back.

That was the moment that hurt the most.

He was the man she had fallen in love with. He simply no longer looked that way when he was with her.

Mia remained silent; she did not call his name. She did not walk over to confront him.

She simply stood from her chair with quiet dignity.

She smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, picked up her handbag, and walked away.

Allen never noticed her.

As she passed her table, the candle she had lit flickered once before the flame quietly disappeared.

The cool night air greeted her the moment she stepped outside.

She inhaled deeply, hoping the fresh air would steady the trembling inside her.

Her hands had begun to shake.

Without thinking, she placed one hand over her stomach, searching for something solid to hold on to.

She still refused to cry.

She walked down the pavement, her heels striking the ground with slow, measured steps that echoed through the quiet street.

Behind her, laughter drifted from the restaurant.

Glasses clinked together, and conversations continued.

Life carried on as though nothing had happened.

She had spent five years loving her husband.

She had spent weeks planning a celebration for the two of them.

Yet she was the only one walking home alone.