Too Late for Your Regret

The Morning After

The light in Cap Ferrat didn't just shine; it glowed. It filtered through the sheer silk curtains of the master suite, casting soft, golden ripples across the bed that felt more like a cloud than furniture. But it wasn't the light that woke me. It was the weight.

A heavy, muscular arm was draped across my waist, pinning me firmly against a broad, warm chest. The heat radiating from the man behind me was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the three years of cold, lonely mornings I had spent in Julian's penthouse. I could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Cyrus's breath against the back of my neck, his scent-sandalwood, skin, and a lingering hint of the passion from the night before-wrapping around me like a brand.

The memory of the previous night hit me in a dizzying rush. The way he had claimed me, the intensity in his grey eyes that promised I would never be "just a secret" again, and the way he had touched me as if I were the most precious thing he had ever owned.

I tried to shift, my heart thudding, but as I attempted to slide out from under his arm to escape to the safety of the bathroom, a sharp, dull ache blossomed between my thighs. I gasped softly in pain, my legs feeling heavy and uncoordinated.

He was thorough, I thought, a flush creeping up my neck and staining my cheeks. The physical evidence of our first night was undeniable. Every muscle in my body felt used, cherished, and utterly overwhelmed.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice was a low, sleep-roughened growl right against my ear. Cyrus's arm tightened, pulling me back until my spine was pressed flush against him. He didn't let me go; instead, he buried his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent softly, his stubble grazing my sensitive skin.

"I... I was going to wash up," I whispered, my voice sounding breathy and weak even to my own ears.

"You're trembling, Maya," he murmured, his hand sliding from my waist down to my hip, his palm hot against my skin. He felt the way I winced as my muscles protested the movement. He went still, then slowly propped himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His dark hair was a mess, falling over his forehead, and his eyes were hooded and dark with a satisfaction that made my toes curl. "Are you in pain?"

I bit my lip, refusing to look at him. "I'm just... a little sore."

Cyrus sighed, a sound that was half-frustration and half-protectiveness. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw until I was forced to meet his gaze. "I told myself I'd be patient with you. But after three years of waiting for Julian to step aside, my self-control was thinner than I realized."

He leaned down, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to my forehead. "The training is postponed. You aren't sitting through a six-hour lecture on market volatility when you can barely walk."

"But you said we had no time to waste," I argued weakly, though the thought of staying in bed was dangerously tempting.

"I'm the Master of this house, Maya. I decide what we have time for." He sat up, the sheets falling away to reveal the powerful, scarred landscape of his chest and shoulders. He looked like a god carved from obsidian. "Today, we aren't doing business. We're doing a different kind of preparation.""What kind?"

"The kind that involves replacing every single thing Julian Vane ever bought for you," he said, his eyes flashing with a possessive fire. "I want his scent, his taste, and his memory scrubbed from your life. We're going to the city. I'm going to buy you a wardrobe that matches the name you're about to carry."

Two hours later, after a long, soaking bath that Cyrus had insisted on drawing for me himself-his hands lingering on my shoulders as he washed my hair-we were in the back of a luxury SUV winding down the cliffs toward Nice.

I was dressed in one of the few items from the jet: a simple white silk slip dress and a light coat, but I felt exposed under Cyrus's constant, heavy gaze. He hadn't stopped touching me since we left the villa. His hand was firmly planted on my thigh, his thumb stroking the silk in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, we didn't go to a mall. We went to a private street where the doors were locked to the public.

The first boutique was a name I had only ever seen on the red carpet. As we walked in, the entire staff bowed. Not to me, but to the man whose hand was possessively curled around my waist.

"Mr. Thorne," the manager said, her voice trembling slightly. "Everything has been prepared. The private suite is ready."

Cyrus led me to a plush velvet sofa and sat down, crossing his long legs. He looked perfectly at home in the den of extreme luxury. "Bring out the new collection. Everything in her size. And I want the Thorne sapphires brought from the vault."

For the next three hours, I was a doll in his hands. He didn't ask me what I liked; he watched me. If I lingered for a second too long on a gown, he bought it in three colors. He bought silk suits that cost more than my college tuition, heels that looked like pieces of architecture, and furs that felt like liquid.

But it was the jewelry store that broke me.

Cyrus stood behind me as the jeweler laid out a necklace of deep, oceanic sapphires and diamonds. He picked it up, his fingers brushing the back of my neck as he fastened the heavy gold clasp. The stones rested against my collarbone, cold and brilliant.

"Julian gave you a secret wedding and a silver band he was too afraid to show the world," Cyrus whispered into my ear, his reflection in the mirror appearing like a dark king standing behind his queen. "I'm giving you the Thorne jewels. These have been worn by women who ruled empires, Maya. From this moment on, when people see you, they won't see a scholarship girl. They will see the woman who has the power to buy and sell theVanes ten times over."

I looked at the woman in the mirror. She was draped in blue stones, her skin glowing, her eyes finally beginning to lose the shadow of fear.

"Is this part of the revenge?" I asked, my voice steadying.

Cyrus turned me around, his hands resting on my waist, pulling me into the hard heat of his body. He looked down at me, his gaze intense enough to burn.

"This is the beginning of the end for them," he murmured. "But for us? This is just the morning."

He leaned down, claiming my lips in a deep, possessive kiss right there in the middle of the store, indifferent to the staff watching. In that moment, I knew I was never going back. I was a Thorne now. And the world was about to find out exactly what that meant.