Chapter 21
Paula’s breath caught in her throat. Her expression twisted into one of raw betrayal. Then- before anyone could register what was happening–her palm cracked sharply against Denver’s check.
The sound echoed like a thunderclap.
“You disgusting little coward,” she hissed. “You let her suffer. You lied to us. You stood there every single day, watched Alicia fall apart… and you said nothing?!”
Denver didn’t defend himself. He didn’t move. He just stood there, breathing hard, as the sting of her slap radiated through his jaw–and deeper still, into the cavern of regret that had been consuming him since Alicia left.
“You deserve that divorce,” Paula spat, stepping back with disgust. “In fact, you deserve worse.”
She turned away, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor. “You’re not welcome neal my daughter again. Do you understand me? Not near her. Not near her name. Not even near her shadow.”
And then she was gone.
Paula stormed into her private quarters and immediately pulled out her secure phone. With one swipe, she dialed her private security team.
“Status report on Patricia Montero,” she barked.
The voice on the other end was crisp. “She has arrived in Macau, ma’am. We’ve locked her dowr in the villa. No access to phones, press, or flights, She’s under 24/7 surveillance.”
“Good. Make sure she doesn’t step within a thousand miles of Alicia ever again.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She hung up and exhaled, pacing back and forth. Her face, once contorted with rage, now shifted into something heavier–guilt. The kind that sits in the bones. The kind that whispers too late Over and over.
She reached for her pen and started writing a list–furniture, rare books, luxury paints, antique easels, the finest fabrics and oils, anything that might bring Alicia even an ounce of joy. She called her assistants.
“Send everything,” she said. “From the Montero vaults. From Paris. From Milan. If it’s rare, if it‘: expensive, if it’s beautiful–I want it delivered to Alicia’s new address.”
“But ma’am….” her assistant stammered. “She hasn’t responded to any communication.”
“I know,” Paula whispered, her throat tight. “She hates me. But I’ll fix everything. Even if I die trying”
She rose, dizzy. Her hands went cold. The room tilted slightly. Then–her stomach churned violently
She clutched the edge of her desk just before vomiting into the crystal trash bin.
“Madam!” the butler rushed to her side.
“I’m fine,” she said, breathless.
Chapter 20
2:59 pm D DDD
“You need a doctor.”
“No doctors. Not here.”
An hour later, she was rushed discreetly to a private hospital, her blood pressure dropping, he skin pale. The diagnosis came quietly–complications from her untreated condition. The stress had accelerated it.
As they placed an oxygen mask on her, the butler stood nearby, uncertain.
“Should we notify Alicia?” he asked softly.
Paula turned her head, the plastic mask fogging slightly with her breath.
“No,” she rasped. “She’s finally happy. Don’t bother her. Don’t let her know.”
“But if something happens-”
“I’m not her obligation anymore. I lost that right.”
Tears slid down her cheeks, but she turned her face toward the window, hiding them. She could endure pain. But not the thought of Alicia crying for her again.
Denver was spiraling.
He had tried everything–every number, every email, every possible route to reach Alicia. But she was silent. He called her old friends. He contacted Rain. He sent flowers, letters, poems. He even had the audacity to leave a voicemail begging her for a conversation.
“Alicia, please. Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
Nothing.
He researched Julian Thorne. The name brought a bitter taste to his mouth. Wealthy. Educated. Respected. Artistic. Loved. The kind of man Alicia deserved–though Denver would never admit t aloud.
Jealousy gnawed at him like rust.
He sent her gifts she returned unopened. Wrote letters she tore without reading. She didn’t block his number, and that, ironically, made it worse. It meant she saw the calls. She chose not to
answer.
Every time her silence stretched another hour, another day, Denver’s obsession clawed deepe
nto him.
One afternoon, unable to take it anymore. He stood outside her apartment building, flowers in ne hand, a handwritten note in the other. He waited for hours. When she walked out, dressed in
sleek black coat, looking brighter and freer than he’d ever seen her, he approached.
Alicia,” he called out.
She stopped. Turned. Her eyes were blank.
Please,” he said, stepping closer. “I need to talk to you.”
the stared at him. Then turned away.
The next day, he waited at the gallery. Again, ignored.
Then outside a small art cafe. Nothing. And again. And again.
Intil one evening, as Alicia stepped into the building lobby, she saw him.
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2:59 pm
Still there. Still clinging. She paused.
Denver’s eyes lit up. “Alicia. Thank God.”
He stepped forward. “I know I don’t deserve a second of your time. I know what I did–how much I hurt you–but I’m begging you to let me fix it. Just let me explain—”
She raised her hand.
Smack. Her palm connected with his cheek. Hard. The kind of slap that carried two years of
agony.
He staggered back. Shocked. She stared at him, her chest heaving, her voice low but burning “You don’t get to ask for forgiveness. You don’t get to cry now. You cried when I was breaking and you walked away.”
Denver opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
“You destroyed me. And you want redemption now that you see someone else loving what you discarded?”
She shoved the flowers back into his chest. Hard. “Take your apologies. Your flowers. Your fak regret.
Then, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small gift box. The one he’d sent earlier.
She hurled it at his feet.
It cracked open–inside, a sapphire pendant. Alicia’s birthstone.
“I don’t want reminders. I don’t want memories. I want peace. And you are the opposite of it.”
With that, she turned and walked away, heels clicking with purpose, leaving Denver alone in the dim lobby. Surrounded by broken things.
Alicia hadn’t meant for it to go this far.
