Chloe rushed to where Elena sat on the chilly church floor, her white wedding gown stained with dust and tears. Gently, she touched her shoulder.
'Come on, dear. Let's take you home,' Chloe whispered."
Elena didn't move. Her big, glassy eyes were fixed straight ahead, her body trembling.
'Tell me this is a dream,' she mumbled. 'Please, Chloe… wake me up. Tell me I'm dreaming.' Her voice cracked as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. 'Please… wake me up.'
Chloe swallowed hard and pulled Elena into her arms. She could feel her best friend's heartbreak in the way she clung to her—her body limp, defeated."
When they got home, Elena was still not speaking. She barely acknowledged James and Stella—her cousins —who had stayed behind when the rest of the family left. They sat beside her, watching her anxiously, but she showed no reaction.
Her mind was numb, replaying the moment Charles had been torn from her arms. The gunshots, the hysteria, the way his body had gone still in her embrace—it all felt like a dream.
A knock at the door shattered the silence. The police had arrived.
One of the officers stepped forward. "Ma'am, we need to ask you a few questions. Did your husband have any enemies? Was he involved in anything illegal that could have led to this?"
Elena did not say a word. She sat on the couch, staring at the floor.
"Ma'am?" the officer repeated.
But she said nothing.
And then, quietly, she got up. She moved slowly, like an automaton, toward the stairs. Halfway up, she turned to face them.
"He was the kindest man I ever knew," she whispered. "Bring him back, please… I don't care what it costs. Just name your price." Her voice trembled, urgent. "After you bring him back, it's all yours.
"Chloe, please help me brief them on what they need to know."
Without hesitation, she climbed the stairs, her body shifting as if burdened by the weight of the world.
Chloe stayed with the officers, doing her best to answer their questions. Stella, seated nearby, let out a soft sigh.
"Thanks for being here for our sister," she whispered. "Even if she doesn't really know us, we just want to be here for her."
James was too caught up to notice, his thumbs moving rapidly over his phone as he played a game.
Chloe smiled reassuringly at Stella. "Don't worry, dear. She'll get over it. In the meantime, make yourself at home in the kitchen and whip something up for her."
Stella frowned. "Where are you going?"
"Umm… I have things to do," Chloe said with a hint of irritation. "She'll be starving soon, so just cook something and microwave it for her. I'll see you in the morning."
With that, she picked up her bag and left, leaving Stella standing there, staring after her retreating form with a vague sense of suspicion.
---
Inside, Elena lay on her bed, her body still trembling. Tears streamed down her face in silence as she looked up at the ceiling.
Then—his voice.
"My lady."
Her breath caught as Charles's voice echoed in her head, pulling her back to their first encounter.
She was back at Chloe's birthday party. Music played in the background, but she didn't care about dancing or socializing. She fidgeted with her drink, lost in thought, savoring the solitude—until a low, smooth voice shattered it.
"What is a pretty damsel like you doing all by yourself at a bar while the rest party and dance?"
"Elena turned her head, fixing the stranger with an unpleasant gaze.
Charles leaned over her, his lips twisted into a happy smile, his eyes sparkling with laughter. She didn't say anything, expecting him to notice and leave.
Instead, he reached out, trying to run his fingers through her hair.
Instinct kicked in. She seized his wrist before his fingers could make contact. 'You must be kidding. What do you think you're doing?
"Whoa, easy, tigress," Charles chuckled, raising his other hand in surrender. "There was a flower in your hair. I was just trying to take it out."
Elena's eyes widened. "Hell no, there isn't."
Charles silently lifted his hand, a small flower resting between his fingers.
Elena blinked. "Wait… how? From where?"
Charles smiled and nodded toward her glass of wine. She looked down, frowning. Wrapped around the stem of the glass was a tiny sticker with the words:
"From my heart."
She let out a small, surprised laugh.
"Nice trick," she admitted, shaking her head.
Charles's smile widened. "At last, she smiles. For a moment, I thought you were going to eat me alive."
She smirked. "Oh, you can be sure I still could."
Charles's voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "You're welcome to, my lady. But let me warn you—I bite back."
Elena's face grew hot, but she refused to let him see. Instead, she sipped her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass.
"Tell me, Charles," she said, setting her glass on the table. "Do you always use magic tricks as a way to flirt with women, or am I just special?"
Charles placed a hand over his heart. "Oh, princess, you have no idea how precious you are."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile on her lips.
And that was it. Charles had struck a crack in her walls.
Charles leaned against the bar, his glass of whiskey cupped between his fingers as he watched Elena with a smile that promised trouble. "So, my lady," he drawled, his voice smooth as sin, "what haunts your dreams?"
Elena took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes unreadable. "Nothing worth saying."
His smile widened. "Oh, don't. A woman like you doesn't waste her nights tossing and turning."
She set her glass down on the table, tilting her head. "And what kind of woman am I, then?"
"The kind who thinks too much, feels too much… and hides it too well." His gaze locked onto hers, daring her to prove him wrong.
Elena's lips curled into the ghost of a smile. "Maybe I just prefer silence."
He leaned in, close enough for her to catch the faint scent of whiskey and something darker.
"Silence can be deafening. Especially when you're trying to outrun your own thoughts."
Her fingers tightened around her glass for just a second. Then, just as quickly, she exhaled softly and let the moment pass.
"You sound like someone who knows a thing or two about that."
His eyes flickered with something unreadable—like a shadow of amusement. "Maybe. But tonight, I'd rather figure out what you know."
Elena held his gaze, the space between them charged with uncertainty. Then she smiled, slow and deliberate. "Good luck with that."
Charles swirled the whiskey in his glass, then asked, "Tell me about yourself."
Elena took a slow sip of her wine before setting the glass down. "There's not much to tell."
Charles smirked. "Come on, I don't believe that."
She shrugged. "I'm nobody, really. Just a clerk at some company."
Charles raised an eyebrow. "A nobody? I find that hard to believe."
She shrugged. "Believe what you want."
He chuckled. "Alright then, Miss Nobody. Since you refuse to tell me about yourself, I'll go first."
He straightened up, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. "I'm Charles, a humble philanthropist who dabbles in real estate."
Elena smirked. "A humble philanthropist? That's new."
"I swear I am," he said, grinning. "I build homes, help the needy, and charm beautiful women who pretend to be clerks."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her lips.
Lowering his voice, he said, "So, Miss Nobody, how do I find you again after tonight?"
"You don't," she said simply, setting her glass down.
He clutched his chest as if she had just wounded him. "You're breaking my heart already? And our chemistry hasn't even started."
Elena laughed. "You'll survive."
"I'm not so sure," he mused. "At least give me your number so I can text you sad poems about my fate."
She grinned. "No chance."
Charles gazed at her for a second, then smiled. "Okay, I won't ask for your number. I'll win it instead."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how are you going to do that?"
"He extended his hand toward her glass. 'Let me see that.'
Curious, Elena handed him her drink. Charles took out a pen, scribbled something on a napkin, and folded it neatly. Then, with a magician's flourish, he slid the napkin beneath the glass and spun it.
'Pick it up,' he said."
Elena hesitated before lifting the glass. Beneath it, the napkin held a simple message:
Say yes to dinner tomorrow, or risk a lifetime of regret.
She chuckled and shook her head. 'You're impossible.'
"'And yet, you're still talking to me,' he pointed out smugly.
Elena sighed, pretending to be annoyed. 'Fine. One dinner.'
Charles smiled triumphantly. 'I knew you had a soft spot for tragic poets.'"
She handed him her phone. "Just put your number in before I change my mind."
Charles took his time, typing with flair. "And thus, our love story will begin."
Elena snatched her phone back. "Don't push your luck, Mr. Philanthropist."
He laughed. "Too late, princess. See you tomorrow."
As she walked away, she could still feel his eyes on her. And for the first time in a long while… she didn't mind.