Chapter 8
Alina’s been talking about centerpieces for fifteen minutes. Peonies or roses, velvet or lace runners, should the cutlery be gold–tipped or plain sterling–l don’t know. I don’t care. I’ve been half–listening while flipping through contracts worth more than the average kingdom.
I’m stretched out on the hotel suite’s leather sofa, dress shirt open at the collar, drink in hand. A view of the coast glimmers behind the wall of glass. Everything in my world is calm. Controlled. Owned.
Until the door opens and my cousin strolls in, no knock. Just saunters like he owns the damn place, smirking like he knows something I don’t. In his hand? A
tablet.
“Hey, Winston. You might want to see this.” He tosses it into my lap.
I glance down, already irritated–until I see her.
Scarlett. Wearing black silk and sin. Legs crossed, champagne in hand, lips like warpaint. Caption?
Mid–air, mid–mayhem. I can’t wait to marry my fiancé tonight.
I sit up straight. “What the fuck is this?”
My cousin leans against the minibar, arms crossed, enjoying the show. “If my memory’s right, Scarlett’s marrying Zacharias. Y’know. Alina’s original fiancé- the one she ghosted while he was in a coma.”
I blink. “She married Zacharias? The Colombo heir?”
He nods. “Mm–hmm. She’s not just marrying him, Winston. She’s securing fifty percent of the Colombo empire. The family already confirmed it–legal, binding, power move. Instant royalty.”
My blood goes cold.
Alina chirps from the other end of the suite, “Winston babe, should we go with peonies or roses? I think peonies feel more whimsical, don’t you?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
My jaw tightens, a vein in my temple throbs. My hands grip the edge of the tablet. The screen goes dark but that image–her legs, that look, that caption- it’s burned into my skull.
Why do I feel like someone just punched me in the gut? Why do I care?
My Ex–lover Banned for My Love
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She was supposed to be gone. I made sure of it. I buried that mess, tied it up in a nice little lie and put a fucking diamond ring on Alina’s finger.
But now?
Now Scarlett’s out there marrying Zacharias Colombo and walking into more power than Alina or I ever could’ve handed her. Not as a bodyguard’s girl. Not as some bitter ex.
As a queen. And that burns.
It shouldn’t.
But it does.
“You good?” my cousin asks, brow raised.
I take a slow sip of my drink. “Peonies or roses, huh?”
“You’re really gonna pretend that didn’t gut you?”
I stare straight ahead. “No one guts me.”
But even as I say it, my chest feels like a fucking warzone. And somewhere deep inside, I know the truth. Scarlett just checkmated me.
Hard.
ThenAlina’s phone buzzed. She picked it up with her usual manicured grace. and fake surprise, like the world just couldn’t stop calling her.
“Oh! It’s Papa.”
I half–listened again, eyes still on the dark screen of the tablet in my lap, Scarlett’s last post playing like a loop in my skull. That fucking caption. That smug tilt of her wrist. Champagne flute like a crown.
Alina gasped dramatically. “Wait–what? Papa, are you sure?”
Her eyes widened. She covered her mouth and let out this little laugh, half–giddy, half–relieved. Then she turned to me, nearly bouncing.
“Creed. Creed! Did you hear? Scarlett’s really marrying Zacharias tonight! Papa said the lawyers confirmed it–it’s legit. He’s not waking up forver soon so technically she can sign everything as his fiancée.”
I raised a brow. “And that excites you because…?”
She rolled her eyes like I was being dense. “Because now I’m free. Don’t you. get it? If Searlett marries Zacharias, the Colombos stop chasing me down to fulfill that ridiculous engagement contract. I can finally marry you without
issues. It’s perfect!”
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Then she clapped her hands like a child offered a toy store. I just sipped my
whiskey.
She pranced to me and curled an arm around my neck. “Let’s go. Let’s fly to London. I want to see the wedding. I want to see the hospital bed. I want to watch Scarlett sign her life away to a breathing corpse.”
I chuckled under my breath. Bitter. Low.
“You want to go watch a woman you exiled marry a man in a coma?”
She grinned. “Yeah. Don’t you?”
I paused, stood up, rolled my cuffs. Truth was–yeah, I did.
I needed to see it. Not because I gave a damn about Zacharias Colombo or Alina’s daddy issues. No. I needed to see Scarlett’s face. Needed to look her in the eye as she committed herself to a bloodline she used to mock. I wanted to see the regret in her. The defeat. The ache.
Because she loved me. I know she did. She bled for me. I watched it.
So why the fuck was she marrying someone else?
I glanced at Alina, already on the phone yelling at her stylist to pack the red Valentino.
I exhaled and grabbed my phone. “Tell the jet to be ready in an hour.”
Alina kissed my cheek. “You’re the best.”
I didn’t reply. Just turned to the window and watched the ocean shimmer.
If she thinks I’m going to let Scarlett forget me that easily, she’s dumber than she looks.
And if Scarlett thinks marrying a vegetable makes her a queen… She hasn’t met the king yet.
