Chapter 3 Too Late

Johnson

“Betty.”

The name slipped from my lips before I was fully awake, rough and instinctive. The way it always did when I reached for her in my sleep. Sunlight streamed through the window, warm against my face, but my body felt heavy, drained. I shifted closer, reaching for comfort.

Then my chest tightened.

The scent was wrong.

My eyes flew open.

Amelia stared back at me.

“Amelia?” I demanded.

Her eyes widened, fear flooding them as her lips trembled. “I… I…”

I sat up too fast, the blanket slipping away, exposing my naked body to the morning light and to her stunned gaze.

“What are you doing here?” I growled, my voice low, dangerous.

She swallowed. “It was Rose. She suggested we remove your clothes after we brought you in so your wounds could be treated.”

Pain flared through my shoulders, dragging memories back with it. The club. The fight. The betrayal. Betty. I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the sharp protest in my body.

Amelia watched me, worry etched across her face.

“What are you still doing here?” I barked.

She flinched and rushed out of the room.

I stood there, my heart pounding, fragments of last night replaying in my head. I remembered calling my sister after I finally made it into my car, my hands shaking on the steering wheel before everything went black. Rose must have sent Amelia.

I stayed still for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to steady the chaos raging inside me. My thoughts were loud, relentless. Betty. Where is Betty? I dressed quickly, every movement stiff, every pull of fabric scraping against pain. When I finished, I grabbed my phone and dialed Matthew.

No answer.

I called again. Voicemail.

“Fuck!” I shouted, slamming my fist against the bedside table. The sharp crack sent pain shooting up my arm, but I welcomed it. It grounded me.

Amelia rushed back in. “Johnson, are you okay?” Her voice wavered, concern written plainly on her face.

“Get out!” I roared.

She bolted, the door slamming behind her. I dropped back onto the bed, dragging in a deep breath, forcing my lungs to cooperate as I fought to calm my frantic breathing.

Then the banging started.

The sound thudded against my skull, each knock sending a fresh wave of pain through my head. I pressed my fingers into my ears, but it didn’t help. The pounding only grew louder.

“Who the hell is there?” I growled, anger burning hot in my chest.

“Johnson.”

The door burst open, and my mother’s high-pitched voice pierced the room. My stomach sank. I did not have the strength for her.

“I won’t let you ruin everything we’ve worked for because of that girl,” she spat, striding in with a familiar look of disgust etched into her face.

“What are you talking about, Mom? Betty is my girlfriend.”

“Not anymore, she’s not.” She sneered and flung a pile of newspapers at me.

The headline screamed back at me in bold print. Billionaire Son Fights Over a Woman in a Club.

Shame crawled up my spine, heavy and suffocating. My life was no longer mine. It was ink on paper, gossip for strangers. I looked up at my mother in disbelief. She met my stare without flinching.

“You clean that mess up and fix yourself, Johnson.”

She turned sharply to Rose, who had slipped into the room without a sound. “Rosabella, talk some sense into your brother,” she said, then stormed out.

Rose walked to my bedside and sat beside me, her expression soft, cautious. I watched her in silence, anger coiled tight inside my chest. I saw the hesitation in her eyes as she reached for my hand.

“Jo,” she said gently. “You know everything is going to be alright.”

I hissed, cutting her off. “Why didn’t you come pick me yourself ?” My voice was calm, cold, controlled.

She opened her mouth to answer, but the door opened again.

Matthew walked in.

His attention immediately shifted to Rose, a sheepish smile spreading across his face. Matthew had always had a soft spot for my sister.

“Rose, darling.”

On any other day, she would have smiled, basked in his attention. Today, she stood abruptly and walked out without a word. His gaze fell back on me.

“Johnson, what the hell happened to you?” he asked, concern and confusion battling across his face.

“I lost her,” I whispered.

The words cracked on the way out.

“Who?” Matthew asked.

I stood too quickly, pain tearing through my shoulders, but I ignored it. The only thing louder than my body’s protest was the voice in my head screaming her name.

“I need to find Betty.”

Matthew’s eyes widened, but he didn’t argue. He simply nodded and followed me out.

* * * * * * * *

The drive to Betty’s house was silent. Every turn tightened the knot in my chest, my heart racing harder the closer we got to her neighborhood. I felt Matthew’s gaze on me, heavy with questions he didn’t dare ask. One look at my scowl kept him quiet.

The moment we stopped, I jumped out of the car before it fully settled, sprinting to her door. Dread wrapped around my ribs, squeezing tighter with every step.

I raised my hand to knock.

But silence answered.

Matthew joined me moments later, placing a hand on my shoulder. We knocked again, waiting, listening. Nothing.

“You know Betty sleeps with her light on. She is not home,” Matthew said quietly.

“Just knock,” I ordered, my eyes narrowing. Panic clawed its way up my throat. Something was wrong. I could feel it.

“Maybe she is at work,” he offered gently.

“She doesn’t work when we have issues. Betty, open the door!” I screamed, kicking the door in frustration.

The sound echoed through the air.

A door across flew open. Betty’s neighbor stormed out, her face twisted in anger.

“Betty moved out,” she yelled.

My heart dropped. “What? When? Where?” I asked at once.

She shrugged. “I have no idea. Now get the hell out of here. You are constituting a nuisance.” She slammed her door shut.

My stomach twisted violently. The world tilted, and I stumbled back, barely catching myself before I fell. Matthew was there instantly, gripping my arm, holding me upright.

“Johnson, you need to calm down,” he said, his voice firm but soothing.

I grabbed his jacket, desperation spilling out of me. “I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her. I’m ready to forgive her.”

The realization hit like ice in my veins. Betty was gone. And I might never see her again.

“Call Bruno. He should know her whereabouts,” Matthew said.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and dialed Bruno’s number. His voice answered, cold and clipped.

“What?”

“Where is Betty? I can’t find her. She is not at her apartment,” I said, barely holding myself together.

There was a pause.

Then, he spoke.“You’ll never find her.”

The line went dead.

And so did everything in me.