- ( Narrator's POV ) -
When the doors at the end of the aisle opened, the world stopped.
She stepped into the garden like a light no one should stare at for too long,
the white silk catching the sun, every movement measured, solemn.
She did not look around. Her gaze stayed forward.
Until she turned her head.
Just slightly.
And their eyes met.
Only for a second. An instant.
But it carried the weight of everything that could never be claimed.
There was no anger in her eyes. No plea for rescue.
Only pain, and the kind of courage that chose endurance over escape.
The vows were spoken.
The rings exchanged. Her voice was steady, composed,
saying the right words in the right order.
Words that were never meant for him.
When the officiant said, You may now kiss the bride, he knew he could not stay any longer.
He left the garden quietly, like a thief stealing a moment that had never belonged to him.
No one followed. No one stopped him.
And that was as it should be.
She never noticed him leave.
After the reception, while others left and others remained,
she retired first to her suite without a sound.
Later that night, with her thoughts fixed on Dylan, she rose from the bed,
took only her purse, and slipped out of the hotel.
In the taxi, the city lights passed like distant witnesses as she stared at the ring on her finger.
Slowly, deliberately, she removed it and placed it inside her purse.
They passed by Café Bulle de Ciel, but it was closed.
There was only one place he would go when his thoughts became unbearable.
She told the driver, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest,
"Please, let's go to the racing stadium."
Rain had already begun when she arrived. She stepped out anyway,
her skin under her dress and undergarments visible as water soaked
through the fabric and her hair clung to her skin. She saw his car first
—cutting through the track, fast and reckless.
Alive with anger.... With pain.
She didn't hesitate. She walked through the rain to the finish line and stood there,
unmoving. Waiting. She held her purse tight,
as if it were the last thing keeping her grounded.
At last, he saw her.
The car slowed, then stopped several meters away. When he stepped out,
rain streaked down his face, and for the first time that day,
his eyes held something raw. It was fear, unguarded and real.
"What are you doing here?" he asked softly,
already removing his leather coat and draping it over her shoulders.
Only when she felt his warmth did she begin to shake.
"I'm waiting for you," she said. It was the only truth that mattered.
He didn't ask how she found him. He seemed to understand.
He guided her into the car, careful, restrained,
drying her hair and hands with a face towel as if she might break.
He said he would take her back to the mansion.
But she stopped him, her hand closing around his.
"Not there… not yet," she whispered. "Anywhere but there.
I just… need to be with you tonight."
His breath stilled.
Then he pulled her close and kissed her.
Not gently. Not cautiously. It was the kind of kiss born of everything they had restrained
—grief and longing. She answered him at once, desperate,
clinging to the moment as if it were air. When they parted, both were breathless.
"Let's get you to my place," he murmured.
She nodded.
When they arrived at his condo unit, he guided her toward the bathroom near the kitchen, placing a towel into her hands. She slipped the jacket from her shoulders to return it
—and he turned away, rigid.
"Please," he said firmly. "Go change now."
But instead, she stepped close, arms wrapped around his waist from behind,
the cold of her soaked dress against him.
She felt his warmth and the effort it took for him to stay still.
"If you keep doing this," he warned hoarsely, "I won't be able to resist."
"Then don't," she whispered.
"I want to sleep with you tonight," she added.
When he turned, there were no walls left between them.
She rose onto her toes and gave him a peck on his lips—quick, decisive
—enough to shatter what restraint remained.
He pushed and pressed her gently but surely to the wall,
his forehead resting against hers.
"You know I'm trying to hold it… I really tried," he said.
"So am I," she replied, tears slipping free.
"But I can't hold it anymore, Dylan, and it's driving me insane."
She breathed once, steadying herself.
"I just want to be with you tonight," she said quietly.
"I gave vows to another man, your brother.
But, Dylan… I love you… so much."
She met his gaze without fear.
"Claim me," she whispered. "
Even just for tonight. Make love to me, Dylan. Make me all yours."
"Yes, you are mine, Amelie. Mine alone,"
he whispered back, then slammed his mouth roughly against hers,
pinning her back against the wall and holding her tightly
as they shared the warmth of their bodies pressing against each other.
He kissed her intimately—deeply, harshly, and hungrier—and she responded the same.
His hands slipped under her thighs as he carried her,
placing her on top of the kitchen counter without breaking the kiss
that was growing more intense. She took off his shirt; he unbuttoned her dress,
sliding it from her shoulders down to her waist, then removed her bra,
and started kissing her again all over her bare skin,
while her legs tightened around him.
The rain continued to trace silent paths down the glass behind them,
bearing witness to a moment that had been denied for too long
—and finally, irrevocably chosen.
Because some vows are spoken in daylight, before witnesses.
And some are claimed in the dark,
when the heart refuses to obey.