Chapter 9
The island was breathtaking, encircled by turquoise waters and soft, white sand. It felt like stepping into an entirely different world, unspoiled by the chaos I’d left behind.
Wesley had meticulously arranged everything for the wedding–quick, intimate, and discreet. The ceremony unfolded beneath a beachside canopy with only a select few as witnesses: Wesley’s men, who stood quietly in the background.
I wore a simple white dress that Wesley had somehow acquired, while he faced me in a crisp white shirt and slacks. The entire experience felt surreal.
“I do,” I declared, my voice unwavering.
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Wesley grinned, gently slipping the ring onto my finger. His touch lingered, and for a brief moment, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in years.
As we strolled hand in hand along the beach after the ceremony, clarity hit me–I had always been drawn to Wesley. I just hadn’t realized it before, blinded by Quentin’s deceit and manipulation. But now, standing beside him, I couldn’t deny how he made me feel.
We dined at a quaint island restaurant, surrounded by the symphony of waves and the sporadic crackle of fireworks that lit up the night.
When dessert arrived, I paused, staring at the yogurt ice cream before me.
“How did you know?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
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Wesley leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “I used to notice you eating it all the time in college. You always had that little cup with you after class.”
A flood of memories washed over me. Had he really noticed me back then?
“Even Quentin never paid attention to that,” I muttered under my breath. Wesley heard me.
“Quentin never paid attention to anything important,” he said simply.
I smiled–a small, genuine smile–as I picked up the spoon. For the first time in ages, I felt valued.
When I glanced up at Wesley, I caught him watching me. His gaze was steady and
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intense, yet soft, sending a flutter through my heart.
Neither of us spoke. Fireworks lit up the sky once more, casting flashing colors across his face. Without thinking, I leaned closer.
Our lips met, slow and tentative at first, then deepening as the world around us faded
away.
It was just us, the fireworks, and the rhythmic crashing of waves.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window, and I awoke to the comforting weight of Wesley’s arm draped over me.
I turned my head to find him still asleep, his features relaxed and peaceful. Reflecting on the night before–the kiss, how we’d fallen into each other’s embrace–I realized I didn’t
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regret a single moment.
Wesley stirred, his eyes fluttering open. When he saw me observing him, he smiled.
“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice low and rough from sleep.
“Good morning,” I replied softly.
He leaned over to kiss my forehead. “I’ll make breakfast,” he offered. “Then we can spend the day exploring the island.”
I nodded, watching as he rose and left the
room.
Once alone, I reached for my phone. The first notification revealed alarming news about Quentin–he had been released from custody. The evidence was damning but insufficient to hold him. Authorities were
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now attempting to locate the doctors involved in my mother’s surgery.
Additionally, the report mentioned that my funeral was planned for tomorrow.
An idea crystallized in my mind, sharp and undeniable.
When Wesley returned with breakfast, I shared everything with him.
The following day, as the funeral service for
Iris Keaton commenced, another story was capturing media attention.
“Breaking: Billionaire Wesley Dorne marries mysterious woman on private island.”
The accompanying photo was of me–or rather, Lyra. My features were subtly altered with makeup, the angle, and a strategically
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placed mole. Yet, it was unmistakably me.
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