Sorry I Love You So Late

“Jonathan Darley," her mother announced over breakfast, buttering toast like this wasn't the end of Flora's world, “has formally proposed. The wedding will be in three months." The silver knife slipped from Flora's fingers and clattered onto the porcelain plate. “Excuse me?" Charlotte Monroe didn't even glance up. “It's what everyone expected. You've liked him for years, haven't you? Well, here's your chance to be Mrs. Darley." “That was—when I was seventeen," Flora said, standing. “I've changed." Her mother looked at her now, brows pinched with polite disbelief. “Flora. You pursued that man like he was the cure to cancer." “And I was wrong." Flora's voice hardened. “I'm not marrying him." “You don't get to decide that," her uncle cut in from the end of the table, voice laced with warning. “This is a strategic alliance." Across the room, Flora's cousins stilled mid-bite. One of them—Serena—was already fishing her phone from her lap, no doubt to text the entire inner circle of bored heiresses: *Flora's going rogue.* Flora inhaled sharply, recalling the dream that had shaken her awake at 3:17 a.m.—a twisted marriage, Fiona's smirk at a charity gala, Ellis screaming her name in a sterile hospital ward. Her death, cold and unattended. “I said no," Flora repeated, quieter now. “I won't marry Jonathan." “Stop being dramatic," Charlotte said, standing. “Do you think this is about love? It's business. You'll get over whatever silly fear you have." “I died," Flora whispered. The room froze. “I saw it. I married him and I died. Alone." Charlotte's face paled before she scoffed. “A nightmare?" “A warning," Flora said. “I'm not signing my life away to a man who never loved me, just so you can boast to your bridge club." The tension fractured. Her uncle stood, voice rising. “You'll disgrace the Monroes over a dream? That man is the Darley heir. He's offering you everything—" “He's offering me a prison." Footsteps echoed behind her. Ellis. “Miss Monroe," he said softly. “Your car is ready." She turned. “Cancel the brunch with the Darleys. I'm not going." “Flora," her mother snapped, “don't you dare walk away." Flora faced them all—family, staff, society parasites—and smiled like porcelain. “Watch me." — In the elevator, Flora pressed her forehead against the mirrored wall. Ellis stood a step behind her, silent as always, but present in that comforting way she'd come to rely on. “You heard all that, didn't you?" she said. “Yes, ma'am." “Stop with the ma'am. You were there in the dream too." A pause. Ellis blinked. “I was?" She turned to him, lips trembling. “You were the only one who didn't betray me." He didn't smile, but something in his eyes shifted. “I'd never betray you." “You said that there too." The elevator dinged. Flora stepped out, heels clicking across marble. “Take me somewhere with coffee and no surveillance." Ellis nodded once. “Yes, Flora." — The riverside café was deserted at mid-morning. Flora sank into the bench across from Ellis, wrapping cold fingers around her mug. “I need you to listen without judgment," she said. “I had a dream. No, more than a dream—it was like I lived an entire second life. I married Jonathan because my mother forced me. At first, I thought he'd warm up. He didn't. There was another woman—Fiona. He loved her. I thought… if I tried hard enough, I could earn affection." Ellis stayed quiet, gaze fixed on her. Flora swallowed. “He used me. Used my name. Ruined my family. Took my kidney to save Fiona. I died." Silence. Then Ellis leaned forward, voice low. “I've had flashes. Of you. In pain. Of standing over a hospital bed. Guilt I didn't understand." Her eyes widened. “You… too?" He nodded. “Didn't make sense until now." Flora exhaled like a dam breaking. “Then it wasn't just a dream." Ellis's jaw tightened. “You're not marrying him." “No," she said. “I'm rewriting the story. This time, I choose my own ending." “And if they fight you?" “They already are." He leaned back, folding his arms. “Then let them. I'll be here." She looked at him across the steaming mugs, and something warm sparked between them. Not fireworks, not obsession—just safety. Steady. Real. “Thank you, Ellis." “Always." — By noon, Monroe lawyers had received her written rejection. By 3 p.m., Jonathan's name was blocked on her phone. By 5, the gossip forums lit up with: > *BREAKING: Monroe Heiress Rejects Darley Heir—Was It Love or Leverage?* Flora didn't care. In her private study, she opened the laptop and began restructuring Monroe Industries' finances. Emergency liquidity plans. Contingency divestments. Her heart beat in tandem with action. Ellis entered without knocking, holding takeout. “You need to eat," he said, setting down noodles. She smiled faintly. “Still the same as in the dream." He sat beside her. “Still want to protect you." She looked at him. “Then let's protect each other." He lifted a noodle with chopsticks, offering it to her. She leaned forward and took the bite, laughter bubbling up despite the storm behind them. This time, she thought, I'm not walking into the fire blind. This time, I know how it ends—unless I change it. And she would. Together.