“Okay,” I whispered. “Then I’m staying too.”
There was a knock on the door. A stylist entered, carrying a garment bag.
“Mr. Thorne,” she said. “The dress you ordered.”
Julian nodded. “Change,” he told me. “We have a reception to attend. And I believe you need a color that fights back.”
I opened the bag. It wasn’t white. It was a deep, defiant crimson red. A ballgown fit for a queen, not a victim.
“I figure,” Julian said with a smirk, “if they want to stain you red, you might as well own the color.”
Part 6: The Last Laugh
One Year Later.
The flash of the cameras was blinding.
I stepped out of the limousine, the cool night air hitting my skin. I was wearing gold tonight—shimmering, liquid gold that hugged every curve.
Julian stepped out behind me. He buttoned his tuxedo jacket and immediately took my hand. His grip was as firm and protective as it had been on that altar.
We were at the Titan Corp Annual Gala. It was the biggest social event of the season.
We walked the red carpet. Reporters shouted questions.
“Mrs. Thorne! Mrs. Thorne! Is it true you’re spearheading the new Trauma Center at the hospital?”
“Yes,” I smiled at the camera. “We break ground next month.”
We entered the ballroom. It was filled with the same people who had been at the church a year ago. But the atmosphere was different. They didn’t look down on me anymore. They looked at me with respect—and perhaps a healthy dose of fear.
A waiter approached with a tray of red wine. I flinched, just a fraction of an inch.
Julian squeezed my hand. “It’s just wine, my love,” he whispered. “It washes out. And if it doesn’t, we buy a new dress. We buy the whole store.”
I laughed, taking a glass. “To new beginnings?”
“To destiny,” he corrected, clinking his glass against mine.
We made our rounds. I heard the whispers, but they were different now.
“She’s the one who runs the foundation.”
“They say he’s obsessed with her.”
And then, the gossip about the others.
Mrs. Vance had sold her house six months ago. She was living in a small apartment two towns over. She wasn’t invited to galas anymore.
And Ryan…
“I heard a rumor today,” Julian said, leaning close to my ear as we swayed to the music on the dance floor.
“Oh?”
“Ryan Vance was fired from his retail job at the mall,” Julian said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Apparently, his girlfriend broke up with him publicly in the food court.”
“Girlfriend?” I asked.
“Yes. Remember Isabella? The actress?”
“You didn’t,” I gasped, looking at him.
“I hired her again,” Julian admitted shamelessly. “She started dating him three months ago. She waited until he bought her a promise ring—on credit—and then she dumped him. She told him she found someone richer.”
I burst out laughing. It was petty. It was vindictive. It was perfect.
“You are terrible,” I said.
“I am protective,” he replied.
A reporter leaned over the velvet rope near the dance floor.
“Mrs. Thorne! One question! Is it true that you were originally engaged to Mr. Thorne’s employee? Some sources say you were just a placeholder for him.”
The music seemed to fade. I looked at the reporter. I looked at Julian, who was ready to snap the reporter in half.
I squeezed Julian’s shoulder to stop him. I turned to the reporter and smiled—a genuine, dazzling smile.
“I was never engaged to him,” I said, my voice carrying clearly. “I was just holding his place in line until I realized I was the destination, not the waiting room.”
I turned back to my husband.
“And,” I added, looking at Julian, “I was waiting for a man who knew the value of what he was holding.”
Julian kissed me. The cameras flashed, capturing the moment.
“I love you, placeholder,” he teased softly against my lips.
“I love you, villain,” I replied.
As we danced, I rested my head on his chest, listening to the heart I had saved, which had, in turn, saved me. The red wine stain was long gone, but the mark this man had left on my soul would last forever.
The End.
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