Too Late For The Ruthless Don's Regret

The crystal chandelier swayed violently above the dinner table. In that fraction of a second, time seemed to stop.

My husband, Dante, didn't hesitate. He didn't reach for me.

He dove across the table, tackling his "fragile" first love, Mia, to the floor. He shielded her body with his own.

Gravity took over. The heavy metal slammed into my legs, crushing them instantly.

While I lay buried under the debris, bleeding into the beige carpet, Dante was screaming for a medic—because Mia had a paper cut.