Chapter 24
Denver sat behind the wheel of his parked car, engine humming low, eyes trained on the image glowing on his phone screen,
Alicia in a wedding gown. Smiling.
The post wasn’t meant for the public–it had been leaked by one of the vendors working at the upscale boutique. The caption was simple: Final fitting before the big day.
His hand tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
He had thought hoped prayed that the wedding wouldn’t happen.
He had told himself it was all a show. That Alicia was just trying to get back at him. That she’d come to her senses. That there’d be time. Another chance. But now… that dress.
She looked so radiant in it–glowing, soft, and alive in a way he hadn’t seen in years. A vision wrapped in ivory lace and new beginnings.
And she wasn’t smiling for him.
Denver exhaled a sharp breath and leaned his head back against the seat. He wanted to send her one last letter. A proper goodbye. Maybe flowers, like the old days. Something simple. Something to show that he… he still cared.
But he didn’t. He didn’t send anything.
Instead, he stared at her photo and whispered, “Let it go.”
And for the first time, he meant it. Until the call came.
“She’s in the hospital.”
His world twisted. Apparently, it had been Paula–her mother. He arrived at the hospital before he could even process what he was doing. Barreled through the white hallways like a storm in a suit. The nurses barely had time to call security before someone recognized him and waved him
through.
Room 407. His feet slowed. The ache in his chest returned. And there she was.
Alicia sat on the hospital bed, laughing gently, Julian Thorne stood beside her, feeding her a spoonful of cake from a plastic container. Her wrist was wrapped in gauze, but her smile was unbroken. Her head tilted toward Julian like she belonged there. Like he was home.
Denver stood at the doorway and watched her. Watched them.
Alicia’s eyes sparkled when she looked at Julian,
That sparkle used to be his.
Julian leaned in and kissed her temple. Alicia closed her eyes, leaned into it, and whispered something that made Julian grin like a fool. Her hand rested on her stomach. Light. Unconsciously protective. Peaceful.
Denver didn’t step in. He couldn’t.
He turned around, left the hospital, and by midnight, he was seated on the cold marble floor of his penthouse, a bottle of bourbon half–empty and silence choking him.
He cried.
212 02.07
3:01 pm DDDD
For the first time in years. Not out of anger. Not from pride.
But from loss. Because she was really gone. And he had no one to blame but himself.
Inside the hospital, Alicia leaned against Julian’s shoulder. Her heart still hurt–not physically, but from the fractures her mother had left behind. But Julian was there. Always there.
And Denver? He never came.
She waited for a while. Part of her still thought he might show up with another apology, another plea. A letter, a flower–anything.
But the silence remained. Until it didn’t. He sent letters. He sent white roses. Dozens. Then
hundreds.
He sent her their old photo album, a note attached in his scrawl: “I know I can’t undo the past. I just want you to know I see it now. And I’m sorry. For all of it.”
But Alicia never opened the letters. She never responded.
She didn’t need to. She had already chosen peace. And Julian.
The wedding was held in a blooming estate outside Oxfordshire, surrounded by open skies and old trees. Rain wore navy and stood proudly as Alicia’s maid of honor, her speech both hilarious and heartfelt.
Julian looked nothing short of perfect in his slate grey suit. When Alicia walked down the aisle, the guests gasped. Her dress shimmered under the morning sun, her eyes bright but calm. She wasn’t nervous. Not at all.
Because this time, she was marrying someone who saw her. Who chose her. Every day.
The vows were soft but fierce. The kiss was long and filled with everything she thought she’d never have again–security, devotion, love.
Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Julian twirled her during the first dance, and Rain screamed, “That’s my girl!” from the sidelines. The air smelled of roses and vanilla. Guests laughed. Children ran across the grass.
Alicia looked around the garden and realized something: this was the life she was meant to live. Not one wrapped in lies or forced legacy–but one she built, brushstroke by brushstroke.
She was finally happy.
But life, as always, had its own timing.
The next morning, just before they were to leave for their honeymoon, Alicia got the call.
Paula Montero was dead.
