Too Late For Your Forgiveness Now

My throat was closing up, anaphylactic shock setting in from the peanuts my half-sister, Kecia, had hidden in the macaron.

But Jonathan didn't call 911.

He rolled his eyes, called me "dramatic," and handed Kecia my late mother's vintage Cartier bracelet-the one heirloom I had left-just to comfort her.

I woke up in the ER alone, only to find my father had sold me off to save his company.

I was forced to marry Gage Sawyer, the "Sleeping Prince," a man rumored to be in a permanent vegetative state.

Jonathan stayed with Kecia, believing her lie that she was his childhood savior.

He didn't know I was the one who saved him years ago. He didn't care that she tried to kill me.

But on my wedding day, as I stood by the altar ready to sign my life away, my comatose groom suddenly squeezed my hand.

Gage Sawyer was wide awake, and he wanted revenge just as much as I did.

When Jonathan finally learned the truth and crashed the wedding begging for forgiveness, I looked him dead in the eye.

"You're trespassing, Mr. Chavez."

"I'm Mrs. Sawyer now."

Chapter 1

Kiana Craig POV:

The scream that tore from my throat was swallowed by the roar of the ocean, but the pain in my chest felt louder than any tide. Jonathan Chavez, the man I loved more than my own life, had just crushed my heart into dust, and then, just to be sure, he handed the pieces to my half-sister.

I had spent my entire life trying to be enough for someone. My mother, before she died, my father, before he remarried, and then Jonathan. Always Jonathan. I thought I had him. I thought his coldness was a challenge, his distance a puzzle to solve with my endless love. I was wrong. So terribly wrong.

Last week, Kecia, my half-sister, brought macarons to Jonathan' s penthouse. They were pistachio, she said. But I saw the subtle flecks of almond, crushed and mixed into the vibrant green. My peanut allergy was severe, life-threatening. Everyone knew. Especially Kecia.

Jonathan, standing beside her, a hand casually resting on her lower back, smiled at me. He said, "Kiana, don' t be dramatic. Kecia made these for us. Are you going to insult her by refusing?"

His words felt like a slap. My throat tightened, not yet from the allergy, but from the humiliation. Kecia' s eyes, wide and innocent, dared me.

I looked at Jonathan, searching for a flicker of concern, a hint of the protective man I imagined him to be. There was nothing. Just that arrogant, dismissive smile. He thought I was being "dramatic." He thought I was "jealous."

The macaron tasted like fear and betrayal. My tongue swelled first, then my esophagus. The world tilted. Panic clawed at my throat, but Jonathan was already on the phone, not to emergency services, but to his assistant, telling him to reschedule a meeting. Kecia was holding his other hand, a picture of worried innocence.

I woke up in the ER, my chest burning, my body weak. Jonathan was not there. Kecia was not there. Only a nurse, checking my IV.

"Your father called," she said gently. "He' s sending someone to pick you up."

My father. Not Jonathan. Not the man I was planning to ask to spend forever with me.

Today, just days after leaving the hospital, I found him. Jonathan. Not with me, not checking on me, but at the Sotheby' s Charity Auction. He was bidding, his jaw tight with focus, his eyes fixed on the stage. And then I saw it. The vintage Cartier bracelet. My mother' s bracelet. The one she wore every day, the one she loved more than any other piece of jewelry.

It was mine. It was supposed to be mine. My father had promised it to me after her death, but then Debrah, my stepmother, convinced him to sell it for "charity," which meant funding Kecia's new wellness spa.

Jonathan won the bid. A staggering sum. My heart momentarily soared. He bought it for me. He remembered. He cared.

I almost believed it.

I walked into the penthouse, a proposal speech rehearsed in my head, a diamond ring, my grandmother' s, clutched in my hand. Jonathan stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights a glittering backdrop. He looked magnificent, untouchable.

He turned, the Cartier box in his hand. "Kiana," he said, his voice flat. "You' re back."

"Yes," I whispered, my voice trembling with a hope I now knew was foolish. "I... I came to see you."

His gaze flickered to the small box in my hand, then back to my face, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "What's that?"

"Nothing," I lied, quickly tucking it behind my back. This was not how I had imagined it. "Jonathan, about the bracelet... I know it was at the auction. Did you... did you get it?"

He nodded, a casual gesture that shredded my nerves. "Yes, I did. Kecia loves vintage jewelry."

My breath hitched. The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. "Kecia?" The word was barely audible.

He raised an eyebrow, a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yes, Kecia. She mentioned how much she admired your mother's taste. I thought it would be a nice gesture."

A nice gesture? My mother' s last tangible memory, a "nice gesture" for Kecia? The woman who almost put me in the morgue?

"Jonathan," I said, my voice rising, the carefully constructed composure shattering. "That bracelet belonged to my mother. It's an heirloom. It means something to me!"

He sighed, a long, exasperated sound. "Kiana, you're always so dramatic. It's just a piece of jewelry. Kecia is sensitive. You scare her when you get like this."

Sensitive? Kecia? The master manipulator who played the victim in every scenario?

I felt a cold dread creeping through my veins. It wasn't just the bracelet. It was everything. The way he always sided with her, always rationalized her cruelty, always dismissed my feelings. He didn' t just tolerate her. He protected her.

"Jonathan," I pleaded, my voice cracking, "please. Give it to me. I' ll buy you something even better for Kecia. Anything she wants."

He shook his head, his eyes hardening. "It' s already hers. I gave it to her." He paused, then added, "Why are you so obsessed with possessions, Kiana? It' s not a good look."

My mind reeled. Possessions? This wasn't about possessions. This was about my mother, about me, about the value he placed on my feelings, which was clearly zero.

A sudden chill ran through me, a clarity so sharp it hurt. This man, Jonathan Chavez, he didn' t love me. He didn' t even see me. I was just someone to "tame," a pretty socialite to have on his arm, a placeholder until someone more convenient came along. Or rather, a placeholder for someone else. Kecia.

"Jonathan," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, despite the earthquake rumbling inside me. "Is that what I am to you? A possession? A problem to be managed?"

He frowned, a ripple of annoyance crossing his face. "Kiana, don' t be ridiculous. You' re my girlfriend." He stepped closer, his hand reaching for my cheek, a practiced gesture of affection. But his eyes were cold, distant. "Now, stop this. You' re overreacting. Kecia is waiting for me."

His touch felt like poison. I flinched away, my skin crawling. "Kecia is waiting for you?" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that didn't reach my eyes. "Of course she is. She always is."

The diamond ring in my hand felt heavy, mocking. The proposal speech was a grotesque joke.

"Jonathan," I said, my gaze fixed on him, my voice dangerously calm. "If you walk out that door tonight, to Kecia, with my mother's bracelet... we are over."

He scoffed, a dismissive sound. "Don' t be childish, Kiana. I' m not going to be lectured by you." He walked toward the door, his movements fluid, unconcerned.

My throat burned. My chest ached. "Jonathan!" I screamed, a raw, desperate sound. "Please! Don't do this!"

He paused at the threshold, turning his head slightly. His eyes, usually so intense, were utterly blank. "You're being hysterical. I'm going to see Kecia. She's upset."

Then he looked at the Cartier box, still on the table. And he picked it up.

He walked out.

The door clicked shut, a final, definitive sound that echoed in the vast, empty penthouse. It wasn' t a click. It was a hammer blow to my heart. He chose her. Again. Always her. He gave my mother' s bracelet to her.

A coldness seeped into me, deeper than any winter night. It started in my bones and spread, numbing everything. The pain was so immense it looped back around to a terrifying calm.

I looked at the ring in my hand. It was beautiful, sparkling under the chandeliers. But it represented a lie. A delusion. My delusion.

"We are over," I whispered to the silent room, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "We are absolutely, completely over."

My hands started to tremble, then clenched. Jonathan Chavez, the man I loved, had betrayed me. Humiliated me. And he didn't even care.

My eyes swept around the opulent penthouse, his penthouse, where I had poured so much of my love, my hope, my dreams. Every piece of art, every carefully chosen cushion, every lingering scent of his cologne. It was all a lie.

A terrible, furious energy surged through me. My hand shot out, sweeping a collection of expensive glass sculptures from a side table. They crashed to the marble floor, shattering into a thousand glittering shards, each fragment reflecting the broken pieces of my heart.

The sound was deafening, exhilarating.

I wasn' t just going to leave Jonathan. I was going to erase him. Every memory, every trace, every last shred of the life I had so foolishly built around him.

He wanted Kecia? He could have her. He could have all her lies, her manipulations, and her fake innocence. I was done being the victim. I was done being the placeholder.

I would burn it all down. And then, I would rise from the ashes.

But first, I needed to get out. Get out of this cage of gold and heartbreak.

I closed my eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, and opened them again. The fire in my soul had been extinguished by Jonathan's cruelty, but another fire, a colder, harder one, had just ignited.

I wouldn't just leave. I would make him regret the day he ever thought I was just a party girl he could tame.

I stepped over the shattered glass, the sharp edges biting into the soles of my satin slippers. I barely felt it. The numbness was a shield. But the rage, that was a weapon. I walked to the bedroom, my mind a blank slate, but my resolve as solid as concrete.

I grabbed a large duffel bag from the closet. The first thing I packed was my mother's jewelry box, the one Jonathan hadn't found, the one with her simpler, more cherished pieces. Not the Cartier, but the pieces that held true memories.

Then I went to his desk, my eyes scanning the documents. I knew he kept everything here. And I knew exactly what I was looking for. The contract. The one my father had mentioned, the business arrangement that could save our crumbling family company. The one that required me to marry a man currently in a vegetative state, Gage Sawyer.

It felt like a lifetime ago that my father had proposed it. Back then, it was a threat, a desperate measure. Now, it was an escape.

My fingers brushed against the cold metal of the heirloom ring, still clutched in my left hand. I looked at it, then tossed it onto his perfectly made bed, where it landed with a soft bounce. A silent accusation. A final farewell.

I found the contract. My name, Kiana Craig, was already printed on the dotted line. A faint, bitter smile touched my lips.

My father would get his signing. And I would get my freedom.

Jonathan Chavez would learn that some fires, once kindled, cannot be easily put out. He would learn that a woman scorned was not a party trick, but a force of nature. And I would start by erasing every trace of him from my life, starting with this penthouse, with this city.

The bag was packed. I looked back at the wreckage of our shared life, then turned. There was nothing left for me here.

The elevator doors closed behind me, sealing me away from the ruins of my love, and into an unknown future where I would finally belong to myself. I pressed the button for the garage, my heart beating, not with fear, but with a fierce, cold determination.

This was not an ending. This was a beginning. A bloody, painful, but utterly necessary beginning.

I opened the car door, the chill of the night air a sharp contrast to the fire burning within me. Jonathan would regret this. I swore it.

And he wouldn't even know I was gone until it was too late. I was done being his tame little socialite. I was done being Kecia's punching bag. I was done.

The engine roared to life, a promise of escape. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, saw Jonathan' s name flash across the screen, and without a moment' s hesitation, I blocked him. Then Kecia. Then my father.

A clean break. A new life.

I drove away, the city lights blurring behind me, leaving behind the shattered remnants of Kiana Craig, the party girl, and embracing the woman who was about to rise from the ashes. Or rather, the woman who was about to set the ashes on fire.

This was my goodbye. A silent, violent promise that he would pay for every tear, every humiliation, every stolen heirloom.

He would learn.

I had no idea how much.