Chapter 61 The anniversary

Chapter 61 The anniversary


Jocelyn’s POV

“Was that Richard?” Lilian entered the living room looking absolutely beautiful.

She wore a floral dress in soft peach and ivory tones, cinched elegantly at the waist, paired with a wide-brimmed hat that made her look like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.

“You look stunning,” I commented genuinely.

“Thank you so much! I have to look my best today,” she replied, beaming with excitement.

“What’s the occasion?” I settled into the sofa.

“You forgot? I need to go shopping for the anniversary,” she replied.

“Last I checked, we hired a professional event planner, so…” Confusion brewed inside me. The anniversary arrangements were already settled. All we needed to do was show up.

Lilian let out a soft chuckle and pinched my cheeks playfully.

“It’s actually a girlie hangout with my friends. We decided to wear matching outfits for the anniversary!” She handed me a glass of juice with the enthusiasm of someone half her age.

“Why so sudden? The celebration is tonight and you’re going shopping in the morning?”

“My goodness, Jocelyn, you worry so much. Is it a crime to go shopping on the morning of the anniversary?” She walked briskly to the shoe rack and slipped on a fancy flat shoe.

“It fits perfectly,” I said, still admiring her overall appearance. She looked so vibrant and youthful that one might almost mistake her for a woman decades younger.

“You said I looked like a spinster?” she said and I gasped.

“I said that out loud?”

“Of course you did. And you aren’t wrong, dear. I just wish my husband Asher were here to see me.” Her voice almost cracked.

“Oh dear,” I sympathized softly.

“You are very lucky to have someone like Richard in your life. My husband was just like him, completely obsessed with me.” She whispered the last few words directly in my ear and I felt heat rush to my cheeks.

“I only regret one thing,” she said, and I grew curious immediately.

“What’s that?”

“Not preventing him from being killed.”

“He was killed?” My eyes widened.

“I’ll tell you the story, but not today. I have somewhere important to be.”

“Please! I want to hear this,” I pleaded.

“Not today, my dear,” she said firmly, picking up her handbag.

“Fine. Just know that I will remind you of this story someday,” I sulked.

“Take care of yourself, Jocelyn. We’ll meet at the party.”

“Wait, you’re not coming home first?”

“Are you missing me already?”

“Yes,” I admitted, and she patted me gently on the back.

“Martha will be here to keep you company. And make sure you dress beautifully tonight. Not that you need much help.” She winked and moved toward the door.

As her figure was about to disappear, I called out after her.

“It was Richard on the phone. He said he’s fine.”

I noticed a genuine, relieved smile spread across her face. She turned and waved.

“Bye, Jocelyn.”

“Bye,” the word hesitated before leaving my lips.

I dragged my feet slowly back into the house as the distant hum of Lilian’s car engine faded down the driveway, growing quieter and quieter until it dissolved entirely into the afternoon silence.

This woman I’d once found sitting alone on a beach, looking completely lost, had somehow become the mother I lost years ago.

He was killed. Those words rang in my ears, feeding a curiosity I couldn’t quiet.

What if this darkness ran in their blood? Because I refused to believe Colton had been acting independently. Eric Asher had a hand in everything, I was certain of it. Mr. Asher had died, but Richard was not going to meet the same fate.

I would make sure of that.

But why?

Why was I so consumed by all of this?

Lauren’s face flashed through my mind immediately. She had warned me to stay far away from anything concerning the Asher family. And I had betrayed her trust completely.

Or had I?

God, I missed Lauren.

If only she were here, supporting me through all of this. Everything would feel so much lighter.

But I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I didn’t harbor romantic feelings for her, no matter how much I loved her as my closest friend. What John did to her had broken something inside her, and I understood the pain of betrayal. But that pain didn’t justify closing the door on love entirely.

Men could be terrible. But not all of them.

Not Richard.

Your Richard? Lauren’s voice surfaced in my head so vividly I startled.

Was he really mine?

Girl, he sees you like just another gold digger. Nothing good ever comes out of the Asher family.

“But Lilian is different. And Richard is too,” I defended aloud.

You speak about him like you’re absolutely sure. This man has always been hesitant about you.

“You can’t blame him. You know the circumstances.”

Yeah, the rebirth story. Come off it, girl.

“I know what I experienced, Lauren!” I said out loud, and Martha came rushing in from the kitchen, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong, ma’am?”

“Nothing, nothing. Can you get me a glass of cold water?” I smiled reassuringly.

She disappeared and reappeared almost instantly, handing me a glass with both hands.

“Thank you.” I took several long gulps and handed it back.

“Ma’am, your outfit for tonight is ready whenever you need it,” she said quietly, lowering her head. “And I’ll be here whenever you need me.”

“Thank you, Martha.”

She hesitated. “Can I ask something?”

“Go on. Don’t be scared.”

“When will Mr. Richard be back? Are we meeting him at the anniversary?”

I took a slow breath. “I think we’ll meet him there.”

“Okay, ma’am.”

“I’ll take a short nap. Can you make lunch in the meantime?”

“Of course.” She nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.

I stretched out on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, and let myself drift.

By evening, Martha had transformed.

She wore a simple but elegant burgundy dress, her usually tied-back hair falling softly around her face. She looked nervous and proud at the same time, tugging at her hem as I inspected my own reflection.

I wore a deep emerald gown that gathered at the waist and flowed beautifully over my small bump. Martha had laid out Richard’s gift shoes, still impossibly comfortable and the sapphire necklace sat perfectly against my collarbone.

“You look like a queen, ma’am,” Martha breathed.

“And you look wonderful,” I told her genuinely.

She almost smiled. Almost.

We arrived at the venue as the evening deepened into a rich, velvety blue. The Asher anniversary celebration was held at one of the city’s most prestigious event halls, a grand space with soaring ceilings, cascading floral arrangements in white and gold, and chandeliers that threw warm light across every surface.

Guests were still arriving in elegant clusters, laughter and perfume filling the air.

But Richard wasn’t there yet.

I stayed close to Martha, exchanging polite smiles with guests who recognized me, accepting congratulations on the pregnancy with gracious nods. But my eyes kept drifting to the entrance.

Where was he?

He’d said he was boarding the flight. He’d said he was on his way home. The meeting had ended, the contract whatever the outcome was behind him. So where was he?

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.

My fingers found the sapphire pendant at my throat and held it.

Then the energy near the entrance shifted.

I looked up.

Richard walked in.

He was dressed in a fitted charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt, no tie, slightly undone in the way that looked deliberate on him rather than careless. He looked tired around the eyes, the way long travel always settled into a person, but he carried himself with the same quiet authority that filled every room he entered.

Beside him, Lilian appeared, radiant in a matching outfit with her friends, already laughing at something. She spotted her circle immediately and squeezed Richard’s arm before floating away to join them.

Richard’s eyes found mine across the room.

Something in his expression shifted, the tiredness softening into something warmer. He moved toward me through the crowd, and I stayed exactly where I was, letting him come.

“You’re here,” I said when he reached me.

“I told you I would be,” he replied quietly. His eyes moved over me slowly, taking in the dress, the necklace, the bump. Something flickered in his gaze that he didn’t put into words.

He didn’t need to.

He placed his hand gently at the small of my back, and we moved into the celebration together.

He was tired. I could feel it in the slight heaviness of his movements but he stayed present. Shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, standing close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him throughout every conversation.

I stayed at his side, matching his pace, filling in where his exhaustion left gaps.

We were halfway through the evening when something made me look up from our conversation.

Across the crowded room, partially obscured by a cluster of guests near the far entrance, stood a familiar figure.

Colton.

He was dressed impeccably, a glass in his hand, his posture relaxed and deliberate, as if he belonged there. As if the suspension meant nothing. As if he had every right to be standing in that room.

His eyes met mine across the distance.

And he smiled.

My blood ran cold.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.