Too Late to Beg: I’m No Longer Yours Chapter 13

Too Late to Beg: I’m No Longer Yours Chapter 13

The words sliced through the air like a guillotine.

Hayes went totally rigid.

I turned around and walked into the building.

Before the elevator doors closed, I saw him still kneeling in the snow.

But this time, I never looked back.

That night, Professor Callahan texted me.

[That guy is still downstairs.]

I texted back.

[Please call the cops for me.]

Ten minutes later, Hayes was dragged away by campus security.

He didn’t put up a fight.

He just kept staring blankly at the science building.

I heard later that he resigned entirely from his startup the moment he returned home.

To pay off furious investors, the Whitmore family was forced to liquidate their Lincoln Park property.

Brie was court–ordered to repay my loan. Her boutique was permanently shuttered.

Cole had to work minimum–wage shifts to survive. He started wiring me small amounts of money every month

It was never a lot. Just odd scraps of cash.

The transfer note was always the exact same.

[Paying my debts]

I rejected every single transfer and bounced them back.

Delaney was indicted for medical forgery, criminal defamation, and fraud. She was released on bail.

The day she walked out of lockup, reporters swarmed her at the precinct steps.

A reporter shoved a mic in her face. Asked if she regretted it.

She wore a face mask. Shook her head, crying hysterically.

“I just loved Hayes too much.”

The absolute audacity of that statement killed any lingering sympathy the public had for her.

She was shredded online.

Her social accounts were permanently banned. She lost her job. The breach of contract fees for her brand deals

drove her straight into bankruptcy.

But none of their misery brought me any satisfaction.

I took Mom’s necklace to a professional jeweler.

The restorer examined it for a long time before shaking his head.

“The photo is too water–damaged. A complete restoration is impossible.”

I nodded.

“Just save whatever you can.”

A week later, I got the piece back.

The warped pendant had been smoothed out. But the photo was nothing more than a hazy silhouette.

Still, I fastened it around my neck.

That night, I dreamed of my mother.

She was standing on a pristine blue coastline, waving at me.

I ran to her, desperate for an embrace.

But she just smiled and gently stroked my hair.

“Nova. Don’t be afraid.”

“Mommy’s home.”

When I woke up, my pillow was soaked with tears.

But the gaping hole in my chest that had ached for so long had finally sealed itself shut.