Love Too Late When She's Gone

Chapter 2

Rachel’s pov

The first drops of rain felt like tiny pinpricks against my skin.

I'd been standing in the courtyard for an hour when the sky opened up. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, a low warning that went unheeded. Within minutes, the drizzle turned steady, soaking through my thin dress until the fabric clung to my body.

I walked to the window where the maids stood staring at me. I knocked on it, pleading for an umbrella, but no one did or said anything.

I turned, dejected, and went back to my spot.

Where would I go? Vincent had told me to stay here. The same Vincent, who'd looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was worse than a stranger, a threat to someone he actually cared about.

The rain mixed with the tears running down my cheeks. I could taste the salt in them, bitter on my tongue. My arms were still wrapped around myself, but they did nothing against the cold that had settled deep in my bones.

How did we get here?

I closed my eyes and let myself remember.

The ski resort in Aspen had been beautiful that day. I'd been training for the regional championships, flying down the slopes with the kind of freedom I'd never found anywhere else. Skiing was the one thing in my life that made sense because it was something I was good at.

Vincent had been standing at the bottom of the run when I finished my practice session. He'd smiled at me, and something in my chest had shifted.

"You're incredible," he'd said. "I've never seen anyone move like that."

Two dates—that's all it had taken.

Dinner at a restaurant where the waiters wore white gloves and the wine list was thicker than a novel. A walk through the resort town, his hand warm in mine.

He'd talked about his business, Ashford Technologies, a company worth billions that had revolutionized cloud computing. I'd talked about my dreams of going professional, of maybe competing internationally one day.

On the second date, he'd proposed.

"I know this is fast," he'd said, holding out a ring that caught the light like a trapped star. The diamond was so large it seemed almost vulgar, but I'd thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. "But I've never been more sure of anything. Marry me, Rachel. Let me give you the world."

I should have questioned why a man like Vincent Ashford, who was wealthy, powerful, featured in Forbes' "30 Under 30" would propose to an orphan with nothing to her name but a pair of skis and a dream.

But I'd been so lonely for so long.

"Yes," I'd whispered, and he'd kissed me like I was the answer to every question he'd ever asked.

The wedding had been small, rushed. His mother Sabrina had watched the ceremony with barely concealed distaste, her lips pressed into a thin line. She'd worn a Chanel suit and held herself like royalty forced to attend a commoner's event. I'd told myself it didn't matter. Vincent loved me and that was enough for me.

It wasn't until after the ceremony that I'd met Camilla.

She'd been standing in the corner of the reception hall, elegant in a black dress that highlighted her delicate features. Vincent's brother Wyatt had his arm around her waist, but her eyes had been fixed on Vincent.

"So you're the new Mrs. Ashford," she'd said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. "How...delightful."

The way Vincent had looked at her in that moment should have told me everything.

His gaze had softened, filled with something longing.

"Camilla," he'd said quietly.

Later, I'd learned the truth. Camilla had been a professional ski racer too, one of the best. She and Vincent had been together for years before she'd chosen Wyatt instead. The Ashford fortune was split between the two brothers, but as the eldest, Wyatt stood to inherit the controlling shares of the company. Camilla had made her choice based on numbers in a bank account and Vincent had married me to fill the space she'd left behind.

I'd given up everything for him after that. My training. My career. The national championships had been three months away, but Vincent had asked me to skip them. "We're newlyweds," he'd said. "Don't you want to spend time together? I can take care of you. You'll never have to worry about money again."

So I'd withdrawn. Told my coach I was retiring. Packed away my skis and my dreams and tried to be the wife Vincent needed.

But after Wyatt's death, everything changed.

The car accident had been brutal. Wyatt's Bugatti had wrapped around a tree on a winding mountain road. One moment he was alive, successful, grooming himself to take over the family business. The next, he was gone.

And Camilla had become Vincent's responsibility.

He'd held Wyatt's hand in the hospital, listened to his brother's final words. Take care of Camilla. Please. She'll need you.

From that day forward, I'd become invisible.

Vincent spent his evenings at Camilla's penthouse in the city, making sure she was "okay." He took her to doctor's appointments for the baby in his private car, the one he'd never offered to let me use. He held her when she cried, his arms around her in a way they'd never quite held me.

I'd tried to be understanding. She was grieving and she was pregnant, I knew she needed the support. But the way he looked at her. God, the way he looked at her.

Like she was the sun and I was just a shadow passing across it.

The resentment in his eyes when he looked at me now was unmistakable. As if I was the obstacle between him and the woman he really wanted. As if our marriage was a chain he was desperate to break.

The initial love, if it had ever really been love had slowly faded, leaving me heartbroken and alone in a mansion full of expensive things that meant nothing.

The rain intensified, coming down in sheets now. My dress was completely soaked, my hair plastered to my face. I shivered a little but overall, I felt strangely numb.

Thunder cracked overhead, closer this time.

A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, I gasped and doubled over. My hands went to my stomach, pressing against the place where our baby grew.

Another wave of pain crashed through me, stronger this time. My knees buckled.

"No," I breathed. "No, no, please—"

The courtyard tilted. I felt myself falling, the wet stone rushing up to meet me. My shoulder hit first, then my head, the impact sending stars across my vision.

The pain in my stomach intensified, radiating outward in waves that made me want to scream. But I couldn't find my voice.

Somewhere far away, I heard shouting.

"Mrs. Ashford!" The head housekeeper's voice, high with panic. "Someone call an ambulance! Quickly!"

Footsteps running across the wet stone. Hands on my shoulders, trying to turn me over gently.

"Don't move her!" Another voice. One of the maids. "She's bleeding—oh God, there's so much blood—"

Was there? I couldn't tell anymore. Everything was red and gray and fading.

I heard the frightened voices calling out for towels and speaking to the emergency services.

"Tell them it's the Ashford estate," a man's voice said. The groundskeeper, maybe. "They'll send someone immediately."

Of course they would. The Ashford name opened every door and smoothed every path.

Except it couldn't save the baby I was losing.

My consciousness wavered, slipping away like water through my fingers. I tried to hold on, tried to stay present, but the pain was too much and I was so tired.

"Vincent," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if any sound came out. "Vincent, you know, I feel like I'm losing our child, just like I'm slowly losing you."

The darkness rose up to claim me, and I let it.