Declan’s POV

“Useless! Every last one of you! Out of my way!” I snapped, shoving past the idiots clogging the hallway. “I’ll find her myself!”

Thirty damn minutes later, after tearing through what felt like a hundred rooms in that goddamn restaurant, I finally found Prissie.

I yanked open the freezer door. She was inside—curled up and shaking, her skin blotched purple and blue from the cold.

Just then, one of my men burst in right then, panting like he’d just brought me gold.

“Sir! We found Ma’am Reigne! She rear-ended an Audi at the intersection—”

I didn’t need the rest.

I already spun around and dashed out without looking back.

Prissie’s POV

In a hospital room, I slowly opened my eyes and saw Declan standing beside the hospital bed, adjusting the IV drip.

When he noticed I was awake, he looked uncertain and asked carefully, “Are you having trouble breathing? The doctor said side effects are normal after a rib extraction.”

I stared at him in confusion. “Why would I have a rib removed?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, he spoke cautiously, as if choosing every word, “Reigne injured her nose in a car accident. She’s been crying nonstop, saying she’s disfigured…”

He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I had no choice but to use your rib to reconstruct her nasal bridge.”

I shut my eyes, a deep breath held back in my throat. Then, I said clearly, word by word, “Declan. We’re done. From this moment on, I never want to see you again.”

He let out a tired sigh, rubbing his brow as if trying to suppress a headache.

“Prissie, you’re thirty years old,” he shot back. “Can you stop throwing these childish tantrums already?”

He sighed again, softening his voice.

“Didn’t you always say you wanted a honeymoon with me? Fine. I promise, when things at work settle down, I’ll make time to take you. Happy now?”

Just as he finished, his phone vibrated.

It was a voice message from Reigne, her voice too sweet.

“Dex! My passport’s finally ready! You really meant it when you said you’d take me to Barcelona? I heard that’s where Prissie’s parents met and fell in love, isn’t it romantic?”

Declan replied without hesitation. “Of course. Pack your things—we’re leaving tonight.”

He walked out eagerly while replying to the voice message, tossing a final statement over his shoulder as if it were an unchangeable decree.

“I’ve got an urgent business trip, Prissie. The wedding next week will have to be postponed. We’ll discuss the new date once I’m back.”

He left me with no chance to argue with him or even attempt to stop him.

As his figure disappeared down the hallway, I silently loosened the grip of my bleeding fingers, the half-moon crescents my nails had left in my palm beginning to sting.

Late at night in the Bradley International Airport, standing alone in the waiting area, I received a message from him.

[There’s a cold front coming in the next couple of days. I bought you the latest scarf collection. My driver will drop it off at your place tomorrow.]

I thought of the photo Reigne had posted half an hour ago, flaunting her new designer wardrobe.

The only thing it was missing… was a scarf.

I stared at the screen for a moment, then locked my phone without replying.

Just then, a pair of familiar arms wrapped gently around me from behind.

“Prissie! I’m back!”

I turned, ready to say something. But my eyes caught a familiar scene across the terminal.

Declan and Reigne were walking hand in hand, fingers interlocked. They were heading toward the VIP lounge.

I shifted my gaze and didn’t look again. Instead, I welcomed the kiss my new fiancé pressed to my forehead, let him take my hand, and quietly walked out of the airport with him.

‘Declan,’ I wished mentally, ‘I wish you a safe journey, and may your love story find its perfect ending. As for me? May my wedding be filled with joy, and my marriage last a lifetime.’

Declan’s POV

In Barcelona, stretched out in a presidential suite, Reigne turned to me and asked, “Dex, are you still feeling dizzy? Maybe we should go to the hospital?”

The worry in her voice was real—sweet, even.

I caught her hand, gave her palm a light squeeze, and offered a smile that told her exactly what she needed to hear.

“I’m fine. I just haven’t had enough rest lately. But don’t worry—wherever you want to go these next few days, I’m right there with you.”

Her eyes lit up with joy, though she pouted slightly.

“Then I’m going to sing you a lullaby so you can sleep fast and get some rest.”

A lullaby.

That word triggered something.

Some old tune started to stir in the back of my head—something from my childhood.

What was it again?

I couldn’t remember anymore.

Declan’s POV

The only thing I could clearly remember was that girl’s wide, trusting eyes—right before I lulled her to sleep.

And the second that memory came back, the pounding of my head and the tension in my chest that had followed me all day spiked.

Yeah, deep down, I knew exactly what set the discomfort off—that glimpse at the airport; that shape of a woman.

If some tall asshole hadn’t had his hands all over her… I would’ve sworn it was Prissie.

Later that night, while Reigne was in the shower, I opened iMessage.

Still, there was no reply from Prissie about the damn scarf.

What the hell was this supposed to mean?

Giving me the silent treatment?

I let out a short laugh, cold and unimpressed, and tossed the phone on the bed. Then I walked into the bathroom and slid into the warm tub beside Reigne.

The next three days, I shut everything else down—calls, work, even my assistant. I focused all my attention on Reigne. I took her to the best spots around half the city.

On the fourth night in Barcelona, Reigne curled up in my lap with a stack of postcards. She wrote gushing letters to her friends in Connecticut.

She fell asleep like that.

I stayed there for a while, doing nothing, then reached for one of the blank postcards.

Before I could stop myself, the pen in my hand moved.

[Prissie]

The name sat there on the page.

I stared at it for a beat, then crumpled the card and tossed it into the trash.

On the fifth day of our trip, Reigne stood before me wearing only lacy lingerie, her face flushed like a pink rose.

“Dex,” she murmured, “I know you’ve been holding back all this time because you’re afraid of hurting me… but I really want to be your woman.”

Her eyes shimmered with sincerity.

As usual, I responded with a gentle kiss, showering her with hours of tender affection.

But even so, I never crossed that final line—an invisible boundary I myself didn’t fully understand, nor for whom exactly I was guarding it.

In the end, Reigne fell asleep with tears silently soaking her pillow.

Early morning, day six, I called one of the guys back at the office.

I kept my tone nonchalant when I asked, “Has Prissie been doing her usual thing? Crying at the office, begging to see me?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before the reply came, hesitant and vague.

“S-Sir, Ma’am Prissie hasn’t come by at all recently.”

Huh.

I clenched the phone tightly. “Is that so? Well, good for her.” I sneered. “I guess she’s finally figured out how to behave.”

After hanging up, I dove straight into the villa’s infinity pool, swimming until exhaustion finally forced me to return to the room.

On the seventh day, he strolled hand in hand with Reigne through charming streets in the foreign city.

We laughed. Touched. Took photos. Everything about us screamed honeymoon.

Street vendors even smiled and congratulated us, mistaking them for newlyweds.

That illusion shattered the moment a woman appeared across the street in a flowing apricot-colored dress.

I narrowed my eyes and scoffed under my breath.

“Look who’s here. So this is why you’ve been so quiet lately? You actually flew out here to follow me?”

With disgust written all over his face, I stormed across the street, grabbed her by the shoulder, spun her around—and froze.

Damn it. Wrong woman.

She didn’t even look close to Prissie.

It was just that the woman happened to be wearing the same style of dress Prissie used to love—one I’d always hated.

Out of my head, I charged through traffic like a reflex.

By the time the woman disappeared, I stood frozen for a long moment, my mind spinning.

That’s when I felt the buzzing in my pocket.

I pulled my phone to check—my Facebook Messenger group chat with my guys was blowing up.

Damn punks. I tapped in, fully intending to leave the group.

But one glance stopped me cold.