Too Late to Regret: My Life Is on Countdown

Start Reading

When my boyfriend got into a horrific car accident, I abandoned him and ran away.

Years later, he spent a fortune and went through hellish schemes just to force me to marry him.

To our friends, we were a match made in heaven. He always told me I was the love of his life, his eternal light.

But later, while I was asleep in our bed, he would bring another woman into our house and make love to her in the next room.

I became the biggest laughingstock in our social circle. Yet, I stayed by his side, acting as if nothing had happened.

My sheer indifference eventually drove him insane.

"Did you ever love me, Jasmine? Even for a second?"

What he didn't know was that I was dying.

Under his endless emotional torture, my life had officially entered its final countdown.

"A blooming jasmine, pure and untainted."

That was how Ethan used to describe me. But now, he used those exact words for someone else.

Chloe Miller. She was the new intern at his company. She was pretty, innocent-looking, and most importantly, she looked exactly like me.

At the office, they were boss and employee. Outside the office, they were tangled up in bed.

They had been together for a year. But Ethan had been my husband for two.

My friends kept warning me about Chloe. They told me to watch my back before this little homewrecker kicked me out of my own marriage.

The first time I saw Chloe was in my own bedroom.

That afternoon, I had just been diagnosed with Idiopathic Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension at the hospital. The doctor told me I only had two years left to live.

I went to bed early that night, only to wake up to my husband bringing her into our suite.

The sound of their heavy breathing and the rhythm of their bodies made me feel physically sick.

When Ethan went to the bathroom to wash up, Chloe, convinced I was awake, leaned down to my ear with a smug, triumphant smile.

"So, you're Ethan's wife? You're literally just skin and bones. Are you dying or something? Touching you must feel like touching a skeleton."

"Everyone says I look like you. But honestly? I think you're inferior to me in every single way. You're not as pretty, and you're definitely not as young."

She was right. I was incredibly thin. I used to be a healthy 110 pounds at 5'6".

Now, I was barely 88 pounds. My ribs stuck out prominently, looking almost skeletal.

The cold moonlight fell over my body. I felt nothing but a hollow, tragic emptiness.

I remembered going to Ethan's office a few days ago. Chloe had stood in front of me with that same victorious posture.

One of her coworkers had tried to warn her out of kindness.

"Chloe, you should keep a low profile. I've seen pictures of Jasmine from a few years ago. She was gorgeous. Honestly, way prettier than you."

"Yeah, you and Ethan aren't even official yet. Don't push your luck. Don't let your pride ruin things."

"I heard she was Ethan's first love. He used to worship the ground she walked on. Be careful, or you'll end up getting shipped off to some remote branch overseas."

Chloe wasn't intimidated by those warnings at all. Instead, a flash of jealousy burned in her eyes.

Clicking her high heels, she walked right up to me, forcing a fake smile onto her face.

"Oh, Jasmine. Why are you waiting out here? Ethan's been in his office for so long and hasn't called you in. Does he not love you anymore? Whenever I want to see him, he practically flies to me. I thought he was like that with every woman, but I guess you're the exception. No wonder he told me I'm his favorite."

I stared at her face. Her fair skin, her long black hair, her expressions, and her body shapeshe really did look like a younger version of me.

Ethan had brought many women home before, but Chloe was the most frequent.

He clearly favored her. Maybe his hatred for me made him use the most brutal methods to punish me.

But his methods were truly sadistic.

I heard he didn't just sleep with Chloe; they were practically in a passionate relationship.

They went out for romantic dinners, went shopping, and traveled together.

He could have just paid for a hooker, but instead, Ethan chose to give Chloe his "love."

Sometimes, I honestly couldn't tell if he actually liked her, or if he just liked sleeping with her to spite me.

I looked up, meeting her gaze, and let a small smile slip onto my lips.

"If he loves you so much, why hasn't he divorced me to marry you? If you're really that capable, go convince him to leave me. Let's see if he'll actually marry a side chick who can't even be shown in public."

As I said this, I gripped my teacup so hard my knuckles turned white.

Chloe glared at me, looking exactly like a humiliated clown.

"So what if I'm the side chick? He sleeps with me every single night, and you can only watch and keep your mouth shut! If you weren't a few years younger than me, the title of Mrs. Vance would already be mine!"

Her coworkers quickly dragged her away, throwing worried glances at me, terrified that I would blow up.

But I wouldn't.

To me, Ethan was already a ghost in my life.

He couldn't trigger any of my emotions anymore. I wouldn't waste my energy getting angry over his disgusting behavior.

I wouldn't even get jealous. Because he was a complete piece of trash.

As the coworkers were dragging Chloe away, she tripped over her own heels.

She fell, apparently spraining her ankle, and immediately burst into tears.

Hearing the commotion, Ethan aborted his meeting instantly. He ran out of the conference room, leaving a room full of executives behind, and rushed straight to Chloe's side.

Everyone in the office crowded around to watch the drama unfold.

Ethan knelt beside her, his face dark with fury. He roared at the crowd:

"Who did this to her?!"

Classic protective billionaire behavior. The surrounding employees immediately lowered their heads, their faces turning pale.

I stepped forward and stood right in front of him.

"I did. She has a big mouth, so I taught her a lesson."

Chloe cried even harder, her innocent eyes wide with tears as she looked at Ethan.

"Did I say anything wrong? Is it a crime to love a married man? Why does she get to call me a homewrecker? Everyone knows you love me, Ethan! And I love you too! As long as we love each other, nobody can tear us apart. Not even her!"

What a bold statement. Love knows no order, sure, but this was the first time I had seen someone paint homewrecking as something so noble.

Before I could even speak, Ethan let out a soft laugh.

He gently stroked her hair and wiped her tears with a tissue.

"You're so cute, baby."

The contrast between being loved and being ignored was glaringly obvious at this moment.

But I didn't want to waste any more words on him.

"It's our second anniversary today. I want you to give me the downtown penthouse."

The penthouse was where I currently lived, the place they frequently used to disrespect me.

I knew if I asked for cash, he would just call me materialistic. So I wanted the property. I could sell it and use the money for my medical treatments.

In Ethan's eyes, I was already a materialistic gold-digger who only cared about money.

He had accepted that when we got married, claiming that as long as I stayed with him, he would give me whatever I wanted.

So, I wasn't going to be polite. But this time, he hesitated.

He looked at me with a smirk, pinching my chin tightly.

"Still as materialistic as ever, Jasmine. I can give you the penthouse. But first, apologize to my baby."

He glanced at Chloe, his twenty-two-year-old "baby."

How the tables had turned. He used to call me that, too.

He loved using money to crush my dignity. He loved showing off how much he adored his new toy.

I did my best to control my expression, ignoring the physical pain in my chest, and smiled back at him.

"An apology? That will cost you extra."

He looked at me with pure disgust, releasing my chin and pushing me back slightly.

"Your appetite is getting bigger and bigger."

"If we can't reach a deal, then forget it."

I didn't want anything that had to be begged for.

Whether it was love, or money.

I was actually quite curious. If Ethan found out one day that this was my life-saving money, would he regret his decision today?

He of all people knew how terrified I was of pain, and how much I hated bitter medicine.

They say you have to go through the worst pain to appreciate life.

I had tasted enough bitterness, yet here I was, left with nothing but a broken, failing body.

When I got home, I didn't even want to turn on the lights. A person like me belonged in the dark.

I sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the city lights outside.

Once upon a time, I had a light of my own.

Suddenly, a warm, metallic taste rushed up my throat. Blood erupted from my mouth and nose, instantly staining my clothes and splattering onto the floor.

If I couldn't see it, it didn't happen. If there was no visible wound, it wouldn't hurt.

Staring up at the white ceiling, the blank space slowly transformed into a projector screen of my memories.

It was the peak of my relationship with Ethan.

That year, I was twenty, and he was twenty-two.

He was incredibly wealthy, yet he fell head over heels for a completely ordinary girl like me.

On Christmas Eve, heavy snow was falling.

We walked down the street like any other deeply in love couple, letting the snow cover our heads. We joked that we were growing old together.

I had secretly wished back then that the person I grew old with would be him, must be him, could only be him.

He had suddenly wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his warm coat.

"Jasmine, it's almost Christmas. What do you want?"

"I want a table full of delicious food. Made by you."

I didn't actually expect him to cook. It was just my deep-seated insecurity acting up.

I always felt so ordinary, so unworthy of him. I constantly looked for proof that he didn't love me just so I could prepare myself for the inevitable heartbreak.

He didn't say anything at the time. I knew cooking was hard for him.

He was used to a pampered lifestyle. With a house full of maids and private chefs, he didn't even know where the grocery store was.

Sure enough, on Christmas Day, he vanished.

I couldn't reach him anywhere. Just as I was moping in my dorm room, my roommate yelled that Ethan was waiting downstairs.

Though I was a bit annoyed, I went down.

A stretched Lincoln limousine was waiting at the curb.

"Miss Jasmine, Mr. Vance requested that I escort you to a special location."

Confused, I got in.

When I arrived at the destination, I was shocked to see him standing at the entrance.

He looked like a prince waiting for his princess.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Jasmine. Please, follow me."

He led me to a beautifully set table.

A feast of nine dishes and one soup caught my eye.

As he proudly introduced each dish, I noticed his hands were covered in tiny, painful-looking blisters.

My heart ached with guilt. I had no idea he would take my random, selfish request so seriously. I felt so incredibly foolish.

Even though my heart was breaking for him, I scolded him to hide my tears.

"Ethan! Why did you do this to yourself without my permission? Nobody is allowed to hurt you, not even yourself!"

I knew how deep and fierce his love was. But I felt I didn't deserve it.

He had just laughed, kissing my forehead gently.

"Baby, this is how I show my love. How could it be hurtful?"

He told me he had spent days watching cooking tutorials and practicing every night.

I always knew he was brilliant, but I didn't expect him to learn so fast.

To show my appreciation, I cleaned out every single plate.

It had been so long since I had a home-cooked meal. I could still taste it to this day.

Maybe the memory was too beautiful, because I found myself smiling in my sleep.

Through the haze of my dream, I heard someone calling my name.

"Jasmine."

It was Ethan's voice.

I smiled, whispering back, "Ethan... I miss you. I miss your cooking."

At 4:00 AM, I woke up.

I reached out to the other side of the bed. It was cold.

When I walked out of the bedroom, I saw Ethan standing in the kitchen.

The last time I saw him in this house, he and Chloe were making out in my walk-in closet.

Ever since he started dating Chloe, he barely came back here. He lived with her.

They ate together, slept together.

Their romance was the envy of everyone.

He took off his apron, looked at me, and frowned. His eyes held a flicker of genuine concern.

"Why are your clothes so baggy? Have you lost weight?"

His tone was so gentle. He looked so much like the man I used to love.

He looked as if he still cared.

Setting the apron down, he walked over and cupped my cheek.

I had indeed lost weight. My face had lost all its roundness.

I slapped his hand away with all the strength I could muster.

"Don't touch me, Ethan!"

He lowered his gaze, a flash of disappointment crossing his eyes.

When he stepped aside, I finally saw the table. It was covered in a fresh, delicious feast.

It wasn't a dream. It was real.

I couldn't believe that a single whisper in my sleep had actually made him cook for me again.

What was he trying to do? I didn't understand.

And I didn't want to. I was just dragging out my final days anyway.

I didn't need love, I didn't need his food, and I certainly didn't need Ethan Vance.

With a violent sweep of my arm, I pushed all the dishes off the table. The clean dining room was instantly turned into a chaotic, messy disaster.

Hearing the crash, Ethan stared at the mess in disbelief. Slowly, he approached me, pinning me against the wall.

His face was contorted with rage, his eyes burning with fury.

"Jasmine! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I was just joking in my sleep, and you actually took it seriously? Don't you find yourself pathetic? You cook just because I ask you to? You might not be tired of this game, but I'm sick of your dirty hands!"

He stared at me as if I had been possessed.

I spat out the cruelest words I could think of. His eyes grew colder by the second.

Suddenly, he scooped me up and threw me onto the sofa. A dark desire flared in his eyes, his breathing turning ragged.

I struggled wildly, but I couldn't break free from his grip.

"Ethan, you bastard! Let me go!"

He bit my lip hard, making me gasp in pain.

"Is it really that hard to say you love me?! All these years, I've just been waiting for you to apologize to me! Why won't you just give in? You said you wanted my cooking tonight, and I made it without a second thought. Why do you have to humiliate me?!"

"Do you enjoy playing with my feelings?!"

His sharp accusations made it impossible for me to look him in the eye, fearing he would see the tears pooling in them.

We stared at each other in a suffocating silence until he began to unbutton my shirt.

He unbuttoned, and I quickly buttoned it back up. He refused to back down, and neither did I. His movements were fluid, far too familiar with my body.

Suddenly, his phone rang. It was Chloe on Snapchat.

Without hesitation, he answered it and put it on speaker.

Chloe was crying hysterically.

"Ethan... why did you leave me? Is Jasmine really worth it? You said I was your favorite! I drank way too much at the bar... my head is spinning and I feel like throwing up. Can you please come pick me up? There are so many guys staring at me, I'm so scared... please come get me..."

Ethan didn't answer her. Instead, he stared at me, covering the microphone with his hand.

"Jasmine, kiss me."

Seeing that I remained silent, he pleaded, "Say you love me. Say you're sorry. If you say it, I'll never leave you again."

Though he kept his voice low, I could hear it trembling.

He was begging me. I knew.

But this was exactly how I used to be. I used to beg him for love just as desperately.

"Ethan, please don't leave me, okay?"

"Ethan, can we go back to how we were?"

"Ethan, let's stop fighting, please..."

Back then, he had only left me a cold text message:

"Jasmine, stop being so pathetic."

So, loving someone was considered pathetic.

Loving someone meant dragging your dignity through the dirt.

I didn't understand his love, and I certainly didn't want it anymore.

The scars of his cruel words were permanently engraved on my heart. They would never heal.

I didn't want to forgive him. I wanted him to feel exactly what I felt.

Leaning close to his ear, I whispered with a cold smile:

"Ethan, stop being so pathetic."

He froze, then let out a bitter laugh.

He uncovered the phone. "Baby, hang tight. I'm coming to get you."

In the end, he didn't even look back at me as he slammed the door shut.

I couldn't sleep that night because of the excruciating pain, coughing up blood periodically.

The penthouse was terrifyingly quiet. The next morning, the sun was bright, and I wanted to go out for a walk.

But as soon as I stepped outside, I noticed people staring at their phones, whispering.

Curious, I opened my phone and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

It turned out my dear husband had gotten into a massive street fight last night to protect Chloe. As the son of New York's biggest jewelry tycoon, his reputation was massive.

Within hours, it had become the biggest entertainment scandal in the city.

The moment I reached the gates of our gated community, a swarm of paparazzi and live-streamers rushed at me.

"Mrs. Vance, have you seen the news? Did you know your husband is cheating on you?"

"Mrs. Vance, are you going to divorce him?"

"Mrs. Vance, the intern is younger and prettier than you. Are you jealous?"

Every question felt like a poisoned needle piercing my skin.

Still, I forced a tight smile and stopped walking.

"You should be interviewing the man who cheated, and the woman who chose to be a homewrecker. Not me."

A female reporter who looked about Chloe's age refused to let me go.

"Is that so? I heard that years ago, when Ethan got into that horrible car accident, you abandoned him for money. You only crawled back crying for a second chance after you saw he recovered perfectly. What kind of dirty tricks did you use to get him back?"

"Honestly, Ethan and Chloe look like a perfect match. Are you refusing to divorce him just because you couldn't agree on the alimony? You call her a homewrecker, but everyone knows that in a relationship, the one who isn't loved is the real intruder."

"Don't you think they're true love, and you're the actual homewrecker here?"

She spoke with perfect articulation. She was clearly sent by someone.

I stared at her, noticing the custom college tote bag on her shoulder.

"You're defending Chloe so passionately. Are you classmates? You look like an intern reporter, but your professional skills are honestly embarrassing. Making up stories without doing proper research... aren't you worried about losing your job?"

"Ethan went through hell and back just to marry me. I guess you've never been loved like that, which is why you're projecting your jealousy onto me. Or did Chloe send you here today specifically to disgust me?"

Her eyes flickered with panic. She subconsciously tried to hide her bag, but she kept arguing.

"So what if I know Chloe? I'm just stating facts! You claim Ethan forced you to marry him, so if you hate it so much, why don't you divorce him and let them be together? Or are you just holding out for a massive payout? Since we're all here, if you're too embarrassed to say the number, we can pass the message to him for you!"

She smiled triumphantly, and the other reporters chimed in.

The retort died in my throat, replaced by a sudden surge of warm, metallic fluid.

I tried to cover my mouth, but there was too much of it. The white snow on the pavement was instantly stained a violent red.

The reporters gasped in shock. One of them quickly recovered and sneered:

"Wow, that fake blood looks incredibly realistic. Where'd you buy it? My friend works in movie props, I should ask for the brand."

"Just a second ago she was acting like she was forced to marry him, and now she's coughing up fake blood. Pathetic actress."

I let out a weak, bitter laugh.

"I wish this blood were fake, too. Sorry to disappoint you all... but I'm actually dying."

Their expressions froze. They looked at each other in silence, the mock smiles instantly vanishing from their faces.

Until the intern reporter spoke up again:

"Stop acting so fake! You can't win the argument so you're playing the cancer card? How shameless!"

"No wonder we can't beat you older women. Your manipulation tactics are truly on another level!"

Her behavior perfectly proved the saying: birds of a feather flock together.

The truly shameless ones were themhighly educated but completely devoid of basic humanity.

The sky turned dark with heavy clouds.

Within an hour, my interview was trending everywhere on Instagram.

Knowing my days were numbered, I didn't care about the internet gossip. I just wanted to spend my remaining days in peace.

But Ethan went into complete damage control mode.

He edited his Instagram statement three times.

"Jasmine and I will not be divorcing. I apologize for taking up public resources. Please stop harassing my wife and leave her alone."

Strangely, Chloe's reporter friend was fired immediately and blacklisted from the entire media industry.

Even though he cleared the air, some toxic netizens still kept attacking me.

"That woman is so dramatic. She married him but acts like she's a victim. I bet she screams his name in bed."

"Ugh, look at her skeletal body. Who would even want that? If I knew Ethan was that easy to get, I would've shot my shot."

"Ethan is defending her so hard, it proves he's obsessed with her. I admit, I'm jealous."

"She's clearly faking innocence. She abandoned him when he was crippled in a car crash, then crawled back when he got better. She's got some serious tricks up her sleeve."

Suddenly, one comment caught my eye: