Chapter 19
The days following the proposal felt like a dream–soft, golden, surreal.
Parker didn’t waste time. “Let’s get married soon,” he told Lindsey as they lay in bed the next morning, sunlight spilling across the room like warm silk. “No more waiting. No delays. I want you as my wife–now.”
Lindsey laughed softly, brushing her fingers over his cheek. “You’re really in a rush, huh?”
“I’ve waited long enough.”
And so, they began planning.
Their days were filled with venue visits, cake tastings, fabric swatches, and soft debates over flower arrangements. Lindsey had taken the lead designing her own wedding gown–a long–time dream she never thought she’d actually fulfill.
“I don’t want a designer dress,” she said one morning, pencil tucked behind her ear as she sketched on parchment. “I want something personal. Something that says ‘me.”
‘You could wear a bedsheet and still outshine every bride alive,” Parker said from across the studio, sipping his coffee with a smile that made her heart flutter.
Their moments were sweet and mundane and filled with quiet love.
Parker insisted they go dancing one night after fittings–just the two of them swaying under the fairy lights of a hidden rooftop garden. Another afternoon, they made a complete mess in the kitchen trying to bake a layered cake and ended up ordering takeout instead, icing smudged across both their faces as they laughed until they cried.
They started making a habit of spontaneous date nights.
One Tuesday, Parker showed up outside her office with a bouquet of daisies and a picnic basket. ‘I kidnapped your lunch break,” he said with a grin. They ended up on a quiet grassy knoll near the Thames, watching boats drift lazily across the water as they shared sandwiches and stories from childhood.
Another evening, he took her on a surprise “passport date.” At first, Lindsey was confused when he handed her a printed sheet labeled “Italy,” but soon laughed when she realized they were cooking homemade pasta together in the kitchen. He played old Italian love songs, twirled her in the middle of the flour–dusted floor, and claimed he was now fluent in “romantic.”
“We’ll make it to the real Italy one day,” he said, brushing flour from her nose. “But for now… I just want to make memories with you wherever we are.”
There were simpler nights, too–laying on the couch in pajamas, trading books and reading favorite lines aloud. Once, Lindsey found him asleep on the floor beside her when she had passed out early from overwork. His arm was curled protectively around her waist, the TV still glowing faintly.
“You’re my peace,” he’d told her another night while they watched raindrops chase each other down the window. “I didn’t know love could feel this quiet, this calm.”
She leaned into his chest, feeling his heart beat steady beneath her cheek. “And you’re my beginning again,” she whispered.
Every glance, every laugh, every shared silence stitched their lives closer together–thread by golden thread.
For the first time in years, Lindsey didn’t feel like she was rebuilding from something broken.
She was finally building something whole.
But it was while Lindsey was finalizing the fit of her gown inside Parker’s boutique that everything shifted.
She stood in front of the mirror, admiring the delicate lines of the lace, the way the dress huggec her body like it had been made by fate itself. A few women entered the shop–fashion influencers who were collaborating on a feature about modern wedding designers.
“That’s gorgeous!” one of them gushed. “Who made it?”
Lindsey turned, cheeks flushed. “I… I did. I’m the designer.”
“Oh my God,” another girl said, pulling out her phone. “This needs to go live.”
Before Lindsey could object, they were already live–streaming the moment–zooming in on her dress, capturing her glowing smile, panning over the boutique walls with her name etched into the branding alongside Parker’s.
“It’s for our wedding,” she admitted softly. “I’m marrying Parker Wilson.”
The chat exploded with hearts and congratulatory messages.
And halfway across the world, a notification pinged on Paula’s phone.
She clicked the video.
And nearly dropped her drink.
“Alex,” she whispered, rage curling in her chest. “You might want to see this.”
Within seconds, she sent the link with a simple message: “There’s your bitch. The one you chose over your own family. Getting married.”
Alex was sitting in his office, pretending to work when the message came through. His jaw tightened. His pulse quickened.
He opened the link.
And there she was.
Lindsey. Radiant. Beaming. Wearing a wedding dress.
A dress she had made with her own hands. A smile she hadn’t worn in years. A glow that didn’t belong to him.
Something inside him snapped.
His phone flew across the room, shattering against the wall.
He stood, breath ragged.
“You can’t marry him,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “You were mine.” Memories crashed through him–her laughter, the meals she used to cook, the way she used to wait up for him even when he came home late. All the moments he had brushed off, ignored, discarded.
N 2/3
84.8%
And now she was slipping through his fingers for good.
No.
He wouldn’t let it happen.
He opened his drawer, grabbed his passport.
Within an hour, his flight to London was booked.
Because if Lindsey thought she could get married without him… she was dead wrong.
Tai Jun is a dreamer and storyteller who believes the sky is never the limit. He spends most of his time with his friend Lian, chasing new horizons and crafting tales that soar beyond boundaries.