Too Late To Mend What He Smashed

Eighty-eight times.

That was how many times I had put on a white dress, or packed my ID, heading to the registry office to marry Harrison Churchill. And eighty-eight times, I ended up in an ambulance.

The first time, it was a street drive-by. A bullet tore through my shoulder just two blocks from City Hall.

The fifteenth time, a car bomb shattered three of my ribs.

The forty-second time, a steel frame plummeted from a construction site, cracking my skull.

......And this time?

The eighty-eighth time. A massive cargo container "accidentally" slipped from a crane at the docks, crushing my car.

I spent two months in the ICU. The doctors issued fourteen critical condition notices.

My family’s old friends, the few elders left from my father's fallen mafia branch, all stood by my bed and begged me to cancel my engagement with Harrison.

But I refused. I clung to the promise made ten years ago.

Today was my discharge day. I headed toward the underground VIP parking lot to wait for my driver.

That was when I heard his voice.

Harrison.

He was standing behind a black SUV, smoking a cigarette. His right-hand man, Marco, stood next to him.

"Did she sign the discharge papers?" Harrison’s voice was cold, devoid of any emotion.

"Yes, Boss. Miss Brooks is officially out of the ICU," Marco replied, checking his tablet. He hesitated for a second before looking up. "Boss... if you really want out of the engagement to be with that broke art student, just tell Miss Brooks straight up. Do you really need to go through all this trouble staging these 'accidents'?"

Marco swallowed hard. "She almost died this time."

Harrison went silent for a long time. The underground lot was dead quiet.

When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy and muffled. "I don't have a choice. Her father saved my life ten years ago, and her mother died because of it. This engagement is a debt I have to pay."

He let out a frustrated breath, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. "But I love Nancy. I don't want to marry anyone but her."

I froze behind a concrete pillar.

"Boss, maybe we should lay off for a while," Marco said hesitantly. "Eighty-eight accidents. People are starting to whisper. If Madam Margaret finds out you’ve been paying rival gangs to orchestrate these hits on Miss Brooks..."

"My mother only cares about that ridiculous life debt," Harrison snapped, crushing his cigarette under his Italian leather shoe. " I refuse to be chained to a bankrupt mafia princess just because her parents died for me ten years ago. I didn't ask them to."

He paused, his voice softening into something I had never heard directed at me. "Nancy was crying all night again. She thinks I’m going to leave her. I can't stand seeing her cry, Marco. "

Standing in the shadows, I slowly looked down at my hands. They were covered in pale, jagged scars. Under my clothes, my body was a map of trauma. I had almost died eighty-eight times, believing I was sharing his burden.

Instead, he was the one pulling the trigger.

I stood paralyzed, the sheer shock stealing my voice.

I clamped a trembling hand over my mouth, biting down hard on my own flesh to choke back the suffocating grief that threatened to tear out of my throat.

I turned around and walked out of the parking lot.

An hour later, a cab dropped me off at the Churchill Estate.

The sprawling, heavily guarded mansion was exactly as I remembered. I walked straight into the main hall. Margaret Churchill, the formidable matriarch of the family, was having her afternoon tea.

"Stella?" She looked up, startled. "Child, you should be resting. The doctors said—"

I didn't speak. I walked to the table and dropped a heavy manila folder right next to her porcelain teacup.

"What is this?" she frowned.

"My medical bills from the last three years," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Eighty-eight emergency room admissions. Fourteen critical condition notices from the last two months alone."

Before she could process that, I took out my phone, placed it on top of the files, and pressed play.

Harrison’s cold voice echoed through the silent, luxurious hall. "...Eighty-eight accidents. People are starting to whisper. If Madam Margaret finds out ....."

Margaret’s face drained of color. The teacup in her hand rattled against the saucer.

I slowly unbuttoned the top three buttons of my blouse and pulled it down over my shoulder. The angry, red burn marks and the fresh, jagged surgical scars from the container accident were on full display.

"Your son doesn't want to marry me, Madam," I said, looking her dead in the eye. "And I no longer want to die for him."

Margaret stared at my ruined flesh. Her lips trembled. She closed her eyes, a tear escaping.

"Your parents..." her voice broke. "Before they drew their last breath, they begged me to take care of you. I promised them you would be protected under the Churchill name. And this... this is how my son repays them."

She stood up, her fists clenched, rage and deep shame radiating from her.

"It's the Churchill family that owes you, Stella," she whispered hoarsely. "We owe you a debt we can never repay."

"You don't owe me anything anymore," I said, pulling my shirt back up. "I just want the engagement cancelled. Officially."

Margaret looked at me for a long time. Finally, she gave a slow, heavy nod. "Ok. But it needs time,Stella."

"Thank you."

I turned and walked out of the estate. I walked down the long driveway toward the main gates. Just as I stepped onto the street, a sleek black Maybach screeched to a halt right in front of me.

The back window rolled down. Harrison was sitting there, looking at his Rolex with an annoyed scowl.

In the passenger seat sat Nancy. She was wearing a pristine white sundress, looking like a fragile, innocent angel. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had just been crying.

"Stella," Harrison barked, not even looking at my bandaged chest. "Get in."

I stood still. "Why?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Get in the car. We’re going to get the marriage certificate. I’m fulfilling my duty."

Nancy turned around, giving me a pitiful, trembling look. "Stella... I told Harrison he has to take responsibility for you. I know you've been waiting for this."

It was the perfect performance. The kind that made Harrison look at her with agonizing guilt, and look at me with absolute disgust.

Normally, I would have scrambled into the car, desperate for his scraps of attention, terrified that another 'accident' would stop us before we reached City Hall.

This time, I just looked at him.

"No, don’t bother." I said smoothly.

Harrison’s hand froze on the door handle. He finally looked up at me, his sharp eyes narrowing in confusion. "What did you say?"

"I said no thanks," I repeated, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "I'm busy today. Let's do it another day."

I didn't wait for his reaction. I turned on my heel and walked down the street, leaving the top mafia heir sitting in his Maybach, staring at my back in absolute, speechless shock.