Chapter 242

**Evelyn’s POV**

My throat seized. I saw Dorian—not grinning, but crawling, screaming my name, blood soaking the street. I thought I loved Hunter. Three years ago, Dorian’s sins broke me—I ran to Hunter’s safety. But now? Hunter had his life back, and I… I was a fraud. My heart wasn’t his. It was with the man who’d lost his legs to save me, who’d loved me through every ugly piece.

“I—” My voice faltered. Hunter frowned, worry creasing his face. I stepped back, hands slipping free. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Hunter.”

Gasps echoed. Riley’s jaw hit the floor. Hunter’s eyes shattered. “Evelyn, what—”

“I don’t love you,” I said, tears falling. “Not like this. I thought I did, but it’s him. I’m so sorry.” My voice broke, raw and true.

The doors slammed open. Dorian rolled in—wheelchair gleaming, black suit sharp, that grin fierce despite the scars. “Too late, Hunter,” he shouted. “She’s mine.”

Chaos exploded. Riley gaped, clutching her purse. James stammered, “Boss?!” Hunter lunged. “Get out!”

“No,” I said, firm, moving to Dorian. “He’s right.” I faced Hunter, guilt drowning me. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Hunter’s face twisted, pain etched deep. I grabbed Dorian’s hand—warm, alive—and we fled, him wheeling, me running, sand flying as we hit the beach. Shouts faded—Riley’s “What the hell?”, my dad’s bellow—but the ocean roared with us.

We stopped by the waves, breathless. Dorian looked up, eyes raw. “You ran.”

“I had to,” I said, kneeling to him, hair wild. “You saved me—gave up your legs. It’s you, Dorian. Always.”

He pulled me close, voice thick. “You broke me, choosing him. Then that car—I couldn’t let you die. I’d do it again.”

“I hated you,” I confessed, sobbing. “Three years ago, you wrecked me. I ran to Hunter. But I’m sorry—I love you. I can’t fight it.”

He cupped my face, wiping tears. “I was a bastard—lost you, hated myself. Then I saw you in danger, and I knew. I’m sorry, Evelyn.”

I laughed, broken. “We’re a disaster.”

“Our disaster,” he said, grinning, and kissed me—deep, desperate, perfect.

Three years later, I stood in a cliffside chapel, the Pacific shimmering below. Small, simple, ours. I was Scarlett Reynolds now—new name, new life, unbroken spirit. Dorian waited, black tux against the sunset, wheelchair steady, his grin softer but still mine. Riley laughed, “You’re crazy, Scarlett.” James nodded, “Boss, you’re a legend.”

We’d fought, cried, rebuilt—him adapting to his legs’ loss, me learning to trust. But we’d made it, raw and real.

“I, Scarlett, take you, Dorian,” I said, tears welling, “to be my husband. You saved me, loved me when I couldn’t love myself. I’m yours.” My voice shook, remembering that street, his blood, his sacrifice. Guests sniffled—Riley dabbed her eyes.

“I, Dorian, take you, Scarlett,” he said, voice thick, “to be my wife. I’d give anything for you—did, will. Always.” His ring slid on, his hand trembling with emotion. The kiss was tender, fierce—tears mixed with salt air as we clung, the crowd weeping with us.

That night, in our beachside cottage, we tumbled into bed, a tangle of need and love. His wheelchair sat close—he pulled me onto his lap, strong hands peeling my dress slow, reverent. “You’re mine, Scarlett,” he murmured, lips brushing my neck, soft where he’d once bitten. I shivered, unbuttoning his shirt, tracing his chest—scarred, beautiful.

“And you’re mine,” I whispered, heart racing. He lifted me, laying me back, his arms caging me as he kissed down my jaw, my throat. I pulled him closer, legs wrapping his waist, feeling him—hard, ready—against me. “Dorian,” I breathed, as he entered me, slow, deep, his rhythm steady despite the chair. Our bodies moved, a dance of heat and trust, my fingers in his hair, his breath on my skin. It was gentle, wild—love in every thrust, every gasp. We peaked together, a quiet, shattering bliss, and I clung to him, his heartbeat mine.

“I love you,” he said, voice husky, eyes locked on mine.

“I love you too,” I replied, soul bare.

After a year, our daughter, Ivy, arrived, dark-eyed and fierce. I held her, exhausted, joyful, Dorian beside me, awed. “She’s us,” he said, kissing us both.

We lived by the coast now—open, alive, messy with toys. Hunter had moved on—married, happy, I hoped. I’d apologized, and silence was his peace.

That night, Ivy asleep, Dorian pulled me outside, ocean humming. “Happy?” he asked, holding me.

“Completely,” I said, smiling. “You?”

“Beyond words,” he grinned. “You’re my everything.”

Under the stars, I saw it all—his sacrifice, our battles, this love. Be brave, I’d say. Love fiercely. It’s worth every tear.