The Price of His Bitter Regret

Five years ago, my brother Declan stripped me of our family name and cast me out. Now, I was a cocktail waitress with terminal cancer, desperately trying to save enough money for my own urn.

To make the final payment, I got on my knees on the cold club floor to bark like a dog for a drunk man's cash.

My brother saw it all. But instead of helping, his face twisted in disgust. He fired me on the spot, withheld my final paycheck, and swore I'd never work in this city again, stealing my last chance to die with a shred of dignity.

He grabbed my arm, his eyes burning with a cold fire I once thought was reserved for his business rivals.

"I don't care if you die," he spat.

And in that moment, I knew he meant it. The last flicker of hope died. He had taken my name, my health, and my future. Now, he had even taken my death.

So I wrote a letter, revealing the truth he refused to see for five years-about the stolen watch, the woman who framed me, and the cancer eating me alive.

Then, I walked to the river. If I couldn't live with dignity, I would let my death be the final, undeniable truth.

Chapter 1

CAROLINE POV:

Five years.

That's how long it had been since the Carpenter name was stripped from me, since I was cast out into a world I wasn't built for. Tonight, the cold, smooth marble of the club floor pressed against my knees. It was a familiar ache, a constant reminder of how far I'd fallen.

My body was a canvas of exhaustion, but my eyes remained fixed on the entrance. A hush fell, then a murmur. He was here.

Declan Carpenter strode in, a king returning to his court. His presence was a storm, powerful and consuming. He was everything I once had, everything I lost. The CEO of our family's empire, his suit tailored to perfection, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

Beside him, Camille Preston, a vision in emerald, clung to his arm. Her smile was practiced, her eyes cold. She looked exactly like the future queen she was destined to be.

I was a cocktail waitress, a ghost in the periphery tonight, serving drinks to people who wouldn' t spare me a second glance. My uniform felt thin, cheap. A stark contrast to the silk and diamonds that glittered around me.

Declan didn' t see me. Or maybe he chose not to. We hadn't truly spoken since that day, just a chasm of silence and unspoken accusations.

A hand clamped on my arm, too tight. A man, red-faced and reeking of whiskey, leered at me.

"Hey, little bird," he slurred. "Do a trick for me."

My stomach tightened. I knew this game. It was nightly entertainment for some, a necessary evil for me.

"Bark like a dog," he chuckled, his breath hot on my face. "Do it, and I'll give you this." He fanned out a wad of hundred-dollar bills. A small fortune. More than I'd make all week.

My mind raced. This was it. The final payment for my urn. My last shred of dignity.

Without hesitation, I dropped to my knees. The cold marble bit into my skin. The material of my dress, thin and worn, offered no comfort. A shiver ran through me, not from the cold, but from the coldness spreading in my chest. Dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford anymore.

A wave of laughter erupted, phones flashing. They filmed me, their entertainment. I saw myself, a spectacle, through their eyes. It was like watching a stranger.

I remembered a time when I stood beside Declan, admired and respected, not gawked at like a circus act. Now, this money was my only focus. It meant peace. It meant rest.

I pushed away the shame clinging to my skin. I needed that cash. I had to survive this, even if survival meant selling pieces of my soul. I was a survivor, a creature that adapted to the mud, to the gutter.

The jeers and laughter pressed down on me, heavy, suffocating. My throat was raw. I forced a sound, a broken, hollow yelp. It wasn't a dog's bark. It was the sound of something dying inside me.

My head throbbed. My body ached.

Then, a voice, sharp as glass, cut through the noise. "What the hell are you doing?" Declan. His voice, usually so controlled, was laced with fury.

I looked at him, my face a mask. He couldn't understand. He never would.

"I'm earning money," I said, my voice hoarse. "For my urn."

His jaw tightened. Disgust contorted his features. He didn't even try to hide it.

"Will you pay me, or do I have to finish the trick?" I asked, my gaze unwavering.

The room fell silent, every eye now on us. The silence was heavier than any laughter, pressing down on my chest.

Camille' s voice, sweet and venomous, broke the stillness. "Declan, darling, look at her. How pathetic. Playing the victim again." Her words were a flick of a whip, and a familiar pain flared in my stomach.

She leaned into Declan, her eyes glittering. "Maybe she needs a bigger incentive? Something truly humiliating. For old times' sake." She nodded towards the remaining money on the table, then added another stack.

My eyes flickered to the stack. That was enough. More than enough.

I started to move, to comply. My knees scraped against the floor.

Suddenly, a man in a crisp uniform rushed over, his face etched with worry. Mr. Henderson, the club manager. He tried to speak, to intervene.

Declan' s gaze, cold and hard, cut him off. A silent threat, understood. Henderson flinched, backing away, fear in his eyes.

Declan gestured with his chin, a curt command for me to continue.

I got back into position, the cold seeping through my clothes once more. I glanced at Declan. His face was tight, a strange mix of anger and something I couldn't quite decipher.

Then, his hand slammed down on the table, rattling the glasses. "Enough!" His voice cracked through the room, raw and unexpected.

He pulled me up, his fingers digging into my arm. The pain was a familiar comfort now.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I need the money," I repeated, my voice flat.

I tried to pull away, to snatch the cash from the table. He shoved me back, the force sending a jolt through my already aching body.

"You're a disgrace," he spat, his eyes burning with a cold fire I once thought reserved for his business rivals. "I don't care if you die."