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Too Late For Regret, Mr. Carlson Novel Cover

Too Late For Regret, Mr. Carlson

I stood at the edge of the ballroom, a black blot on my husband’s perfect canvas. While Jensen Carlson stood under the crystal chandeliers as the master of his universe, the guests whispered that his "friend" Aubree was a much better match for him than I ever could be. My stomach was twisting in sharp, jagged cramps from what I knew was acute appendicitis, but to the Carlson family, I wasn't a wife—I was a utility. My mother-in-law called me a "drill bit" and ordered me to drive Jensen home like a servant because his "optics" mattered more than my internal organs. When I arrived, Jensen didn't ask why I was shaking; he just snapped that my black coat was "depressing" and told me to stop "fidgeting" with my medication. He spent the night whispering to Aubree, then came home and fed my divorce papers into a shredder, mocking me for thinking I could survive a week without the Carlson name. The next day, he humiliated me in front of my entire department, accusing me of flirting with staff just as I was about to collapse from the pain. I had given up my PhD for this man and secretly written the code that built his billion-dollar empire, yet he viewed me as nothing more than a "depreciating asset." Even as I lay shivering on the hardwood floor because his mother locked the guest rooms to force me into his bed, he only sneered, asking if he was "that repulsive" when the pain made me vomit. "If you're not in the car by seven, I'll cut off your grandfather's medical funding." That was the final thread. I didn't go to the gala. Instead, I reclaimed my original patents, wiped my server access, and met him on the curb with a cardboard box and a resignation letter. "I'm not your wife anymore, Jensen. And I'm not your employee." As my Uber pulled away, leaving him clutching a revoked patent and a divorce petition, I realized I wasn't losing everything—I was finally starting to breathe.
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Chapter 8

The doctor was young, tired, and blunt.

Your white blood cell count is elevated, and based on the location of the pain and your rebound tenderness, I strongly suspect acute appendicitis, she said, looking at the chart. "This isn't something you can ignore, Mrs. Carlson. You need to go to an emergency room for a surgical consult. Immediately."

She handed Alexia a referral form. "You need to reduce stress. You need to rest. And you need surgery. If you keep going like this, you're going to end up in the ER with a rupture, and that's life-threatening."

Alexia took the form. Her hands were shaking. "Can I… can I wait a day? I just need one more day."

The doctor looked at her like she was crazy. "Can you? Maybe. Should you? Absolutely not. I'm prescribing you the strongest painkillers I can, but this is a temporary, dangerous solution."

Alexia swallowed two of the pills she gave her right there in the office.

Her phone buzzed.

Aubree: Hey girl! I feel terrible about last night. Let me make it up to you. Lunch at Le Coucou? Just us girls. We need to talk about Jensen's birthday. I want to make sure I don't step on your toes!

It was a trap. Alexia knew it was a trap.

But if she didn't go, Aubree would tell Jensen she was being difficult. She would spin it.

Fine, Alexia typed. 12:30.

Alexia arrived at Le Coucou early. She ordered hot water with lemon.

Aubree swept in ten minutes late. She looked radiant.

Alexia! She kissed the air beside Alexia's cheek. "You look… cozy."

She sat down. "I ordered for us! The seafood tower. It's to die for."

The mere thought of food, let alone raw seafood, made Alexia's stomach clench. The smell of brine and shellfish from a nearby table was already making her feel lightheaded. "Aubree, I can't eat. I'm not feeling well."

Aubree waved her hand. "Oh, stop it. You're always on a diet. Live a little."

Then, Alexia saw him.

Jensen walked through the door.

He spotted them and walked over. He looked annoyed, but when he saw Aubree, he relaxed.

Bree said you guys were making up, he said to Alexia, sitting down next to Aubree.

Alexia stared at Aubree. Making up?

Aubree grabbed his arm. "I just wanted to clear the air!"

The waiter brought the tower. Oysters. Clams. Sashimi. It smelled of the ocean and raw flesh.

Jensen picked up an oyster. "Eat, Alexia. It's rude to stare."

I can't, Alexia said, her voice tight. "The doctor said-"

Jensen slammed his fork down. "God, you are impossible. Aubree is trying to be nice. Eat the damn oyster."

Aubree held one out to Alexia, a smirk playing on her lips. "Just one, Lexie. For peace?"

Alexia looked at the glistening oyster. She could feel a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead, the pain in her side a sharp, insistent pulse. She looked at Jensen. He was looking at her with pure contempt.

Something inside her snapped. It wasn't loud. It was quiet. It was the sound of a thread finally breaking.

Alexia stood up.

She reached into her bag. She pulled out the copy of the divorce agreement she had printed at a shop near the clinic.

She slapped it onto the table, right on top of the crushed ice and the oysters.

I'm not hungry, she said. Her voice was steady.

Jensen stared at the papers soaking up the melting ice.

Since you're both here, Alexia said, looking from him to her. "You can celebrate. Aubree, make sure he signs it. You're good at making him do things."

The restaurant went silent.

Jensen's face turned purple. "Sit down," he hissed.

Alexia turned around.

She walked out. She didn't look back. She didn't hold her side. She walked tall.

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