The Smith mansion glittered under the golden chandeliers, a sea of silk gowns and polished shoes reflecting a world I no longer belonged to. The air was fragrant with flowers, champagne, and the kind of happiness that felt alien to me. John's wedding. Everyone was celebrating, unaware of the turmoil that had rippled through our lives only days ago.
Liam stood in the shadows of the grand hall, the edges of his suit sharp, his eyes darker than the midnight sky. Every laugh, every clinking glass, every congratulatory smile felt like a personal dagger. His jaw clenched as he moved past the bustling crowd, hands trembling slightly as he tried to contain the storm inside him. Liam's world was one of control—and now, everything he loved was out of reach.
Meanwhile, across the ocean on a remote island, the world was quieter, softer. Sunlight spilled over white sands, painting the landscape with golden warmth. Fiona inhaled deeply, her chest rising with a freedom she hadn't felt in years. The air smelled of salt, flowers, and the faint tang of paint from the small art room where children gathered daily, laughing and singing.
"Good morning, class," Fiona greeted warmly, placing her brushes carefully on the table. The tiny hands of her students reached for colored pencils, crayons, and papers. Their eyes shone with trust and excitement, completely unaware of the chaos her life had recently survived.
"Miss Fiona, can we draw the beach today?" a small boy asked, his curls bouncing as he smiled.
"Of course, Alex. But first, let's all take a deep breath and feel the colors in our heart," she said softly. The children giggled, repeating her instructions. Fiona's lips curved into a quiet smile. For the first time in a long while, she felt needed—not as someone's property or a pawn in a game of power, but simply… as herself.
Back at the Smith mansion, John's laughter rang across the ballroom. He looked resplendent, sharp in his tailored tuxedo, eyes bright as he exchanged vows with Grace. Grace, glowing, radiant in her white gown, carried herself with the proud certainty of someone who believed she had everything she wanted. Liam watched them, every heartbeat a hammer in his chest. The idea that he had once chosen to let Grace go because of her pregnancy with John's child gnawed at him, eating at the corners of his sanity.
"I should have taken her with me," Liam muttered under his breath, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. "I should have kept Fiona safe… my Fiona."
He stalked the perimeter of the hall, eyes scanning for any sign of weakness, any chance to undo what had been done. Every person, every movement felt like a taunt. And then, in a quiet corner of his mind, he saw her—the faint image of Fiona's smile from the island, serene, untouchable, free.
The juxtaposition drove him nearly mad. He wanted to be at the wedding, wanted to confront John, to demand Fiona back, to remind the world that she was his—but he couldn't leave Grace. Not when she carried John's child. Not when he had promised. His obsession, restrained yet boiling, filled every shadow of the mansion.
On the island, Fiona bent over a little canvas, guiding tiny hands as they painted colorful sunsets and smiling animals. She had chosen to start over, to immerse herself in life that gave her control, creativity, and love without fear. Her fingers brushed paint, leaving trails of blue, green, and gold, reflecting the world she wanted to create for herself and for the children she adored.
Adriel—Robin—watched from across the room, leaning against the doorway. His presence was calm but commanding. He hadn't touched her, hadn't forced her into a world she didn't want, yet he made sure she was protected, supported, and free. His eyes lingered on her with recognition, not desire, not ownership—just memory and care.
"You're doing well, Fiona," he said quietly. "These children are lucky to have you."
She looked up, blinking at him. "I… I never thought I could teach again. Or… feel like this."
"You've survived much worse," he said softly, "and yet, here you are. Stronger. Braver. And not alone."
Fiona swallowed hard, a quiet weight lifting from her chest. For the first time, she could breathe without the fear of Liam's shadow—or anyone else's—looming over her. And yet, deep inside, she couldn't help thinking of him, of the obsession and the darkness that claimed him, that claimed her in ways she both feared and craved.
Back at the Smith mansion, the wedding bells rang, a melodic contrast to the chaos in Liam's mind. He could almost see her laughing, see her alive, even if she wasn't there. The thought tormented him, and yet… it gave him purpose.
He would find her. No matter what.
No one could keep her from him—not John, not Grace, not the entire world.
Because Fiona was his. She always had been. And this time, he wouldn't let anyone else touch her.