Chapter 177

Chapter 177
Willow's POV

A heavy silence fell over the table. Ava's expression shifted from satisfaction to something harder, more determined.

"That is not an option," she said quietly.

"It's not your decision," I replied, my hands trembling slightly. "It's mine."

Ava's gaze softened slightly. "Willow, dear. I understand you've had a difficult past with your first pregnancy. These are different circumstances entirely."

"How do you know about that?" I demanded, shocked.

"I make it my business to know everything that affects this family," she replied simply. "And you, my dear, are now part of this family."

Damian reached for my hand under the table, squeezing it gently. "Grandmother, while I appreciate your... enthusiasm, Willow and I need time to discuss these matters privately."

Ava studied us both for a long moment. "I see. Well, the arrangements are in place regardless. October 15th. I've reserved The Pinnacle Los Angeles as a backup in case of rain." She took a sip of water. "Now, shall we discuss the guest list? I was thinking five hundred as an absolute minimum."

---

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of wedding talk that Damian and I neither confirmed nor denied. We offered vague responses, neither committing to nor rejecting Ava's plans outright. It felt like navigating a minefield—each careful step designed to avoid an explosion while not conceding ground.

When we finally escaped to the estate's west terrace, the night air was a welcome relief after the suffocating atmosphere inside.

"I'm sorry," Damian said immediately, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of frustration. "I had no idea she would do this."

"She contacted my parents, Damian," I said quietly. "She's making plans for a baby I haven't even decided to keep."

He stepped closer, his expression serious. "Nothing has changed, Willow. This is still your decision—entirely yours. I'll handle my grandmother."

"How? She seems pretty determined."

"Let me worry about that." He took my hands in his. "I meant what I said at the hospital. I will support whatever choice you make."

I nodded, grateful for his reassurance yet still feeling trapped. Before I could respond, Damian's phone buzzed. He checked it with a frown.

"I need to take this," he said apologetically. "It's about the Sinclair situation. Will you be alright for a few minutes?"

"Go," I urged him. "I could use some time alone anyway."

After he left, I wandered through the mansion until I found myself in the estate's library—a two-story room lined with leather-bound volumes and featuring a massive fireplace. It was quiet, peaceful, the perfect place to think.

I sank into a comfortable leather chair by the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of Los Angeles below. How had my life become so complicated? Just months ago, I was Willow Clark, ordinary cashier by day, bar dancer by night. Now I was pregnant with Damian Blackwood's child, living in his family estate, being pushed into an October wedding, and trying to process the fact that my best friend had taken a bullet for me before confessing his feelings.

My hand drifted to my stomach again. Was I ready to be a mother? Could I give this child the life it deserved? The image of my previous pregnancy—ended before it truly began—flashed through my mind. The emptiness I'd felt afterward. The grief I'd never fully processed.

This time was different. This time, the choice was mine.

Or was it? With Ava making wedding plans, with the weight of the Blackwood name bearing down, did I truly have freedom to choose?

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting Damian or maybe Carlos checking in.

Instead, I saw Beckeet's name on the screen. Not just one message, but a series of them.

Wild, there's something I need to tell you. Not easy typing this with one functioning arm, but needs to be said.

I tensed, instantly alert. Another message came through.

First, I think I must explain to you clearly why I chose to collaborate with Chloe. After you chose Damian at Wildfire's opening, I was messed up. Drunk. Angry. When Chloe approached me that night, I agreed to help her sabotage Wildfire.

My breath caught. He had confessed this in the hospital, but seeing it written so starkly, so plainly... The depth of his feelings, so persistent and destructive, still sent a shock through me.

She convinced me if Wildfire failed, you'd lose your connection to Damian & come back to Sunset... to me. I was stupid & jealous & hurt. No excuse, just truth.

The night Carlos was taken, I realized how far Chloe would go. That's when I switched sides for real. Not some hero move - just finally doing the right thing way too late.

I closed my eyes, processing. When I opened them, more messages had arrived.

Been thinking a lot about us. About you & Damian & me. About what I said when I thought I was dying. I meant it - you're worth taking a bullet for, Wild. Always will be.

But I've been selfish. Trying to keep you in my orbit, competing with Damian, pulling you between two worlds. You deserve better than being caught in some ridiculous love triangle.

The honesty was breathtaking. My finger hovered over the screen, not sure if I should respond yet or keep reading.

And here's the truth: I care about you too much to make your life harder. Blackwood may be a cold bastard sometimes, but he loves you in his way. And you... when you're with him, there's something there. I've seen it.

I swallowed hard, tears threatening.

So I'm taking myself out of the equation. Once I'm cleared to travel, I'm hitting the road. That cross-country trip we always talked about - Santa Fe, New Orleans, Keys. Need to find out who Beckeet Wilder is when he's not orbiting around Willow Clark.

The next message arrived with a soft ping.

You'll always be my Wild - my best friend, my favorite dance partner, the girl who believed in my music when no one else did. Nothing changes that. Ever.

But right now, you need space to figure out your path without me complicating things. And I need to stop using you as my emotional crutch.

The final message appeared:

So no dramatic goodbye. Just me, hitting the road for a while. Finding my own story. And wishing you nothing but happiness, whatever you decide. Love you, Wild. Always will. Just not in a way that makes your life harder anymore.

I stared at the messages, reading them over and over as tears blurred my vision. The raw honesty, the self-awareness, the sacrifice—it was pure Beckeet, once you stripped away all the swagger and performance.

Images flashed through my mind: Beckeet on stage at Sunset, his passion when he performed; his constant support through my darkest times; the look in his eyes as he fell, blood spreading across his chest; his whispered "worth taking a bullet for you" as they rushed him to surgery.

Then other images: Damian's face when he'd found me after the warehouse fire; the gentle way he'd supported me after my collapse; his promise to respect my choice about the pregnancy; the life we could build together—stable, secure, protected.

Two paths stretched before me, diverging into vastly different futures. But Beckeet had just made the choice clearer by removing himself from the equation.

And through it all, the knowledge that whatever I chose would affect not just me, but the tiny life that might grow within me.