Too Late for Your Regret

The Shore of Something Real

I woke up the next morning expecting the lash of a trainer's tongue. I expected spreadsheets, debt ratios, and Cyrus's cold, analytical gaze. Instead, I found a single white rose on my pillow and a note written in that bold, elegant script that I was beginning to realize was the only thing that could make my heart skip a beat.

"Wear something light. No notebooks allowed. Meet me at the docks at 11:00 AM."

I stared at the note, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. No notebooks? For a man who seemed to breathe data, that was a radical concept.

I chose a sundress from the wardrobe Cyrus had bought me-a pale lavender silk gown that flowed around my legs like water. I left my hair down, the dark curls bouncing against my shoulders, and skipped the heavy Thorne sapphires for a simple gold chain. When I walked down to the private dock of the villa, the sight I saw nearly took my breath away.

Cyrus was standing on the deck of a classic Riva wooden boat, the kind that looked like a piece of vintage art. He was wearing white linen trousers and a navy polo, looking less like a titan of industry and more like a man who was truly at peace. When he saw me, he didn't check his watch. He just looked. And for the first time, his gaze wasn't possessive or calculating-it was soft.

"You're late," he murmured as he reached out a hand to help me onto the boat.

"You said no notebooks," I teased, stepping onto the polished wood. "I had to spend twenty minutes deciding what a woman without a notebook actually does with her hands."Cyrus laughed-a real, deep sound that I felt in my chest. He didn't let go of my hand once I was on board. Instead, he led me to the cushioned seating at the back. "She holds onto her date, Maya. That's the rule."

As he steered the boat away from the cliffs of Cap Ferrat, the wind whipping through my hair, the weight of the last few years seemed to evaporate into the salt spray. We didn't talk about Julian. We didn't talk about the Vane Group.

We docked in a hidden cove where the water was so clear you could see the silver fish darting over the white sand. Cyrus had a picnic prepared-not a stiff, five-course meal with waiters, but a basket of fresh bread, local cheeses, and sun-ripened peaches.

"I have a confession," I said, leaning back against the cushions as I bit into a slice of peach. "I thought you were a robot. I thought you were made of circuits and cold hard cash."

Cyrus leaned back, his arm draped along the back of the seat, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with a strand of my hair. "I was, for a long time." He paused like he was wondering if he should speak or not. "In my world, if you show a soft spot, someone sticks a knife in it. But then I saw a girl at a St. Jude's fundraiser three years ago." He continued with soft voice.

I froze, the peach halfway to my mouth. "Three years ago? That was my first event with Julian."

"I know," Cyrus said, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Avoiding my gaze. "You were wearing a dress that clearly didn't fit right, and you were trying so hard to hide the fact that you were bored out of your mind. Julian was busy bragging about a merger, and you were standing by a dessert table, hidden by a fern, feeding pieces of chocolate cake to a stray cat that had snuck into the garden."I felt my face heat up. "You saw that?"

"I watched you for an hour," he admitted, a playful smirk touching his lips. "I thought, 'Who is this girl who cares more about a hungry cat than a billion-dollar merger?' I wanted to walk over to you then, but Julian came back, and you put on that 'perfect wife' mask. I hated that mask, Maya. I spent three years wanting to rip it off and see the girl with the chocolate cake again."

I laughed, the sound bright and clear over the water. "I didn't think billionaire rivals spent their time watching people feed cats."

"Only the billionaires who realize they're looking at something they've been missing their whole lives," he said. The playfulness dropped away, replaced by a sincerity that made my eyes prick with tears. He reached out, his thumb catching a drop of peach juice on my lower lip. "You don't have to be a 'Thorne' today, with me Maya. You don't have to be a vengeful Ex.' Just be you. I like you."

"I like you too, Cyrus. Even if you are a bossy teacher."

"I can be less bossy," he whispered, leaning in. His breath hot on my ear. "If the reward is right."

"And what's the reward?"

He didn't answer with words. He leaned down and kissed me-a slow, sweet, sun-warmed kiss that tasted of peaches and the sea. It wasn't the hungry, desperate claim of the night before. It was a promise of safety. It was a "date."

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything and nothing. I told him about the library I wanted to build one day. He told me about the first time he failed a business deal and how he cried in his car for three hours (which I still find hard to believe). We laughed until my sides ached,and for a few golden hours, I wasn't a pawn in a game of empires. I was just a girl on a boat with a man who looked at her like she was the sun.

As the sun began to set, casting long, orange shadows over the water, Cyrus turned the boat back toward the villa. He pulled me into his side, his chin resting on the top of my head.

"Thank you, Cyrus," I whispered.

"For what?"

"For the notebook-free day. For the chocolate cake memory. For... making me feel like I'm not just a weapon you're building."

He squeezed my shoulder, his voice a low, warm vibration. "You're the heart of the machine, Maya. Never forget that. And the machine is going to protect its heart at any cost."As we walked back up to the villa hand-in-hand, our hands swinging slightly. I realized the "Revenge" was going to be sweet, but this? This feeling of being truly seen? This was the real victory.