Too Late For Regrets, Mr. Billionaire (Brianna Meyers and Brandon Levy) novel Chapter 171

Chapter 171 The Curtain Falls

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The news that Darcy had been sentenced to death blew up the entertainment headlines like a bombshell.

The once “ballet princess” was now behind bars, and the story racked up over a billion views overnight. The whole internet was buzzing, keyboard warriors went wild, and the top five trending searches were all dominated by the words “death sentence.”

Early in the morning, the sky was still gray. Brianna, wearing heels, was circling the ring road in her car.

She rolled down the window, letting the cold wind pour in, but it couldn’t wipe away the icy smirk on her lips.

On her third lap, she finally took the exit and slammed on the brakes in front of a newsstand. “Give me one of every newspaper and magazine,” she said.

She handed over the cash with the same effortless grace as if she were ordering a latte.

The passenger seat was piled high with headlines, the bold black letters practically screaming: “Death Sentence,” “Poisonous Woman,” “The Fallen Swan.”

Brianna let out a soft laugh, floored the gas pedal, and headed straight for the asylum on the west side of

town.

The tires crunched over dead leaves, the sharp sound echoing like the opening notes of a funeral dirge.

The iron gate slammed shut, and the air was thick with disinfectant and a musty smell.

Blanca was locked behind the iron gate, disheveled and grimy. Her former elegance had been shattered by repeated rounds of electroshock therapy.

She wasn’t insane. Blanca was just holding on to one last hope that her daughter Darcy might someho

survive.

The ward was chilly and bleak, the lights harsh and pale.

Brianna’s coat hem brushed the floor, trailing behind her like the Grim Reaper’s cloak.

She tossed a thick stack of newspapers in front of Blanca, the cover screaming in blood-red letters: “Death Sentence. Immediate Execution.”

“Go on, take a look. Your swan,” Brianna said, her tone airy but every word stinging beneath the softness.

Blanca’s eyes went wide with shock, her hands trembling as she grabbed the newspaper. With just one glance, an animalistic scream burst from her throat. “No way-”

She tore at the pages, shredding them into pieces like falling snow, but those bold black words still sliced through her, sharp as blades.

Her piercing scream echoed down the corridor. By the time the attendants rushed in, Blanca was foaming at the mouth, her eyes bulging, her hands curled up like chicken claws.

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Too Late For Regrets, Mr. Billionaire

Alarms blared from the monitors, her blood pressure shot through the roof, and she suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage.

Doctors and nurses rushed in, strapping an oxygen mask to her face, but Blanca latched onto Brianna’s sleeve. her nails digging in like she wanted to choke the life out of her..

“Bury me… with your father…” Blanca gasped out.

She was panting like a broken bellows, but there was no remorse in her eyes-only a venomous, twisted satisfaction, like sharing a grave would let her haunt her stepdaughter for the rest of her life.

Brianna leaned in close, her red lips nearly brushing Blanca’s ear, her voice as gentle and intimate as a lover’s

murmur.

“Thank you,” she laughed softly, her breath sweet as orchids. “Thank you for your cruelty. Because of it, I don’t have a drop of pity left for any of you.”

She straightened, looking down at Blanca from above, her eyes glinting with a chill.

Brianna said, “You won’t have a grave or a headstone. No one will remember you, no one will know where you went. The only thing you’ll take with you is your sin.”

Blanca’s throat rattled with a harsh, choking sound as her body convulsed violently, and the monitor flatlined.

Her eyes, once brimming with schemes, clouded over with lifeless gray in an instant.

The doctor announced the time of death: 12:47.

Brianna stood at the bedside, staring at the flat green line on the monitor. Suddenly, a laugh broke from he lips.

At the end of the hallway, sunlight poured in through the window, harsh and blinding. She lifted her hand to block it, and the gold spilling between her fingers washed over her face-so warm it felt almost like a lie.

She grabbed the death certificate, called the funeral home, and arranged for the cremation-all in one smooth, efficient motion.

When the funeral home staff delivered Blanca’s ashes in the cheapest urn available, they glanced at Brianna’s striking beauty and impeccably tailored clothes, a bit surprised.

They had assumed anyone choosing such a cheap urn must be from a struggling family.

But to their surprise, she was an elegant, wealthy woman.

Brianna stared at the urn but didn’t take it. “Just keep it here for now. Her daughter will be joining her soon enough.”

She didn’t even bother with their surprised looks-Brianna just turned around and walked away.

At that moment, Brianna felt a weight lift off her shoulders like never before. ‘So this is what it’s like to be the villain. Damn, it’s actually pretty awesome,’ she thought.

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Too Late For Regrets, Mr. Billionaire

The day was still young, and the dying sun smeared the ridge like dried blood.

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Brianna parked at the cemetery gate, her heels crackling over the gravel with a piercing sound. It was her first time back since Whitney was laid to rest.

The cold wind whipped her hair, like countless icy fingers clawing at old dreams she never wanted to revisit.

She stopped in front of the tombstone, staring at the man’s face in the photo-delicate brows, a faint smile, that polished, hypocritical look of a fake gentleman.

“Everyone you ever loved is coming down to hell to keep you company,” Brianna murmured, her words slicing through the long-stifled silence.

“Does that make you happy?” she asked.

The man in the photo kept smiling, but he would never answer her again.

Suddenly, a wave of alienation crashed over Brianna-an all-consuming strangeness that left her feeling utterly disconnected.

The man labeled as “father” was now nothing more than a passerby. The illusion of kinship had been completely eroded, ground down by years of scheming and betrayal.

Her memories felt like waterlogged old film-patchy images, muffled voices, everything blurred and distorted.

Brianna reached for the childhood hugs she’d once yearned for, but all she found was a handful of icy emptiness.

Turned out, all that so-called fatherly love was just a fairy tale she made up for herself.

And the ending? Her mother’s lifeless eyes in a pool of blood, the gut-wrenching sound of a child never born, and her own hopelessness as she knelt outside the operating room, powerless to change a thing.

The wind fell silent, as if the world itself paused.

And in that moment, all her hatred faded away, carried off by the stillness.

She didn’t cry, nor did she smile. She simply lifted her hand, fingertips gently touching the cold tombstone, as if brushing against a nightmare sealed away long ago.

Then, she turned and walked away.

The sound of her heels grew fainter and fainter, until it was swallowed by the dusk.

She knew that from this moment on, there would be no such thing as “father” in her life; her path was finally untainted.

By the time Brianna got back to the Harper family, it was already late.

She sank into the sofa, only then realizing she’d been running like a precision machine-calm, sharp.

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FR, Aug

Too Late For Regrets. Mr. Billionaire

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