Chapter 8
Father’s arms were warm–just like they had been when I was little, waking from nightmares in the middle of the night. The moment
I leaned into him, everything broke. I cried until my chest ached, until the pain, the humiliation, the betrayal all spilled out at once.
“I’m not getting married,” I sobbed. “I don’t want any of it anymore.”
“Alright,” my father said quietly, one hand smoothing my hair. “Whatever you want.”
He didn’t ask for reasons. He didn’t accuse me of acting rashly. He simply held me tighter, as if that alone could shield me from the
world.
“Take her home,” he instructed the bodyguards.
They guided me into the Rolls–Royce. My father sat beside me, solid and steady. The car pulled away, leaving that nightmare behind
- us.
At home, my mother was already waiting.
The moment she saw my face, she asked nothing. She just wrapped her arms around me and let me cry into her shoulder.
“Mom’s here,” she murmured. “Everything will be alright.”
Three hours later, the lawyer arrived, briefcase in hand.
“All gifts from Mr. Grayson have been fully cataloged,” he reported. “Jewelry, real estate, stock holdings. Everything is ready to be
returned.”
“Good,” my father said. “Send it all back immediately.”
“There’s a complication, sir,” the lawyer hesitated. “The Grayson family… is refusing the annulment.”
“What did you say?”
“Their stance is firm. Either the wedding proceeds as scheduled, or they consider it a declaration of war.”
My father’s expression darkened. “Are they threatening us?”
“Damian Grayson called personally,” the lawyer replied. “He said Elara belongs to him–and that no one takes what’s his. He intends to
have her, in this life or the next.”
My stomach twisted. Even now, he was still trying to cage me.
“Tell them this,” my father said coldly. “The Winterss are not afraid of anyone.”
After the lawyer left, the living room fell silent. Just the three of us,
“Elara,” my mother said gently as she sat beside me, “Whatever you want to say, I’m listening.”
I looked at them–the two people who loved me enough to stand against an entire mafia family.
“Mom,” I asked quietly, “why do people betray each other?”
She paused before answering, “Sometimes it’s desire. Sometimes fear,” she said softly. “But most of the time… it’s jealousy.”
“Jealousy?”
“Jealousy of what others possess. Jealousy of happiness.” She squeezed my hand. “It wasn’t just Damian, was it?”
Chapter 8
Tears welled up again. “It was Scarlett,” I whispered. “My best friend.”
My mother nodded. “I suspected as much.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice shaking. “Mom, what did I do wrong? I was good to her. Why does she hate me?”
“You did nothing wrong,” my father said firmly. “Kindness is not a crime.”
“But why her?” I asked. “Damian betraying me–I can almost accept that. Men can be cruel. But Scarlett… she was my sister.”
“When someone shines too brightly,” my mother said, brushing my cheek, “it forces others to face the darkness within themselves.
And some people hate the light for that.”
I leaned against her shoulder, exhausted and hollow.
Outside, New York was still loud and brilliant. But my world lay in ruins.
Damian’s POV
A week later, I sat alone in St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
Today, it should have been filled with guests–flowers, music, laughter. Elara should have been walking down the aisle toward me,
dressed in white. We were meant to exchange vows. She was supposed to become mine, forever.
Instead, there was only silence.
I sat in the front pew, staring at an empty altar, unable to understand how everything had fallen apart.
I gave Elara everything–the ring, the estate, the status. Every luxury I could think of. I believed that was enough.
Scarlett was just an accident. A distraction. A release. Any woman who understood this world would have accepted it as part of the
rules.
But Elara didn’t. She shattered everything and tried to erase herself from my life.
No matter how I chased her these past few days, she refused to answer. She was slipping away–completely beyond my control.
Footsteps echoed through the empty cathedral,
Hope flared in my chest.
Elara?
I turned.
The hope died instantly.
It was Scarlett.
She walked toward me in a tight black dress–provocative, reckless, alive. Everything Elara was not. She dropped into the seat beside
- me.
“You look terrible,” she said lightly.
“Shut up.”
“Damian,” she murmured, her tone softening. “It’s over. Why are you still obsessed with a woman who never understood you?”
Chapter 8
I said nothing.
Her hand lifted, brushing my cheek. “Even without your saint,” she whispered near my ear, “you still have your sinner.”
She smiled slowly. “We still have each other, don’t we?”
Chapter 9
