Emily
A voice cut through the fog of my thoughts, dragging me back to reality.
"Emily."
My eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. A second later, I felt a gentle shake.
"Come on, you're going to be late."
Tami.
I exhaled sharply, pushing away the remnants of whatever dream—or nightmare—I had been tangled in. Today was my first day of work. A fresh start. It had been a month since we left—since I left. Tami and I had settled in well enough. The neighborhood was almost too welcoming. Despite our efforts to stay private, the neighbors constantly showed up with gifts—thoughtful ones, expensive ones. It was unfamiliar. Kindness but I appreciated it.
After weeks of feeling useless, lost, and drifting, we decided it was time to rebuild. I had no trust left to give—not in people, not in stability, not in anything—but I needed to move forward. I managed to land an entry-level job at the mayor's office. No one here knew who I was. Not that I had been famous or anything, but this town was small, remote. Perfect for disappearing. A fiery continent, I loved it. It was my chance to start over.
I got up, heading straight to the shower. As I put My outfit on which was perfectly laid out—wanted to look like what I was going through, I couldn't help but wonder—who would've thought I'd be here? In a new city, Jamestown in St. Helena island, miles away from where I used to call home, with Tami by my side. A month ago, I thought I might never see her again—or at best, maybe once a year. But life happens, you know? And somehow, we both ended up here.
She's been through so much—losing a seven-year relationship, choosing to start over in a place where no one knew her. Maybe this was God's perfect plan. Maybe it was just the right timing. Either way, I'm glad. I'm glad I get to go through this with her
Twenty minutes later, after a quick breakfast, I arrived at the mayor's office.
"Millie Brown," I read on the nameplate before looking away, reminding myself—that's me now. My new alias. I had erased my past, even down to my name. To everyone here, I was an orphan trying to make something of myself. That's right. I was Millie Brown and no longer Emily Smith.
"Millie Brown," I repeated, almost stumbling over the words as the receptionist glanced up.
She gave a polite nod, gesturing toward the hallway. "Come with me."
I followed, forcing my nerves down. I wasn't exactly happy to be here. Back home, I had a thriving career. I had a life. But they took it away from me, my mother and my husband. Well ex husband, even though we never really got a divorce. I just left.
But I left it all behind for this—a glorified assistant job. I couldn't complain. This was what was best. This was safe.
The receptionist opened a door, and the moment I stepped in, my breath hitched.
Standing there was the most breathtaking man I had ever seen.
I'd thought George was good-looking, but him—whoever he was—was in a league of his own. Tall, broad-shouldered, skin like burnished bronze, muscles sculpted to perfection. And his eyes—deep blue, piercing, assessing—felt like they could cut through me. His face was a work of art, sharp angles, striking symmetry.
For a brief, ridiculous second, I wondered—could he be the mayor? He looked too young. Too… effortless.
A sharp voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Millie Brown, meet my son, Tudor."
And then was when I realized there was someone else seated across, who was actually the mayor. Blinking back my thoughts, forcing my expression into something neutral. I cleared my throat as we both stepped toward each other.
He extended his hand. So did I.
Our fingers met, and for a second—just a second—I felt my breath hitch. Up close, he was even more devastatingly handsome.
Smooth, dark hair. Chiseled features. A jawline sculpted to perfection.
And that smile.
He smirked slightly, a look that was both teasing and inviting. "Nice to meet you, new assistant Tory," he said, his voice a velvety mix of amusement and something else I couldn't quite place.
He held my hand longer than necessary, his thumb grazing over my skin just slightly before he finally let go.
Loosening his tie, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, his movements slow, deliberate. "It's getting really hot in here, Dad," he remarked casually before turning his attention back to me.
"Tory, don't you feel hot too?"
His eyes—dark, curious, and slightly intimidating—held mine, searching, challenging.
I swallowed hard.
Then, abruptly, I tore my gaze away, desperate to escape the suffocating heat of his stare.
But the warmth he ignited lingered.
And I had a feeling it wouldn't be fading anytime soon.
********
That was the first time I met him—Tudor. And in no time, the heartbreak and sorrow that had once defined my existence faded into oblivion. My life, once gray and desolate, now shimmered with joy, passion, and a love so intoxicating it drowned out the ghosts of my past.
Our relationship was electric—chaotic in the best way. Tudor was always there: visiting me at work daily, slipping me notes that made me blush, stepping in to help with tasks his father assigned me as if he were my silent protector. And then, he asked me out. It felt surreal. Somehow, this man had reached into my soul, pulled out all the hurt, and buried it where I could never find it again. I felt whole.
Then life happened—fast.
I was promoted to campaign manager for the mayor. Suddenly, I was in the spotlight. I changed, transformed. Everything about me radiated power and elegance. Tudor, too, was soaring. He had just been listed as a 30 Under 30 billionaire. Our lives had taken a cinematic turn, and as if that wasn't enough, he proposed. Last night.
It was perfect.
Now, as we drove back home, my legs draped over his thighs, he traced lazy circles on my skin, his touch sending warmth straight to my chest.
"Oh, God, I wanna marry you already," he murmured.
I laughed. "Well, I said yes, didn't I? We are getting married." My voice bubbled with happiness.
He turned to me, eyes dark with something unreadable. "No. I mean right now. Let's get married right now."
I blinked, trying to read his face, searching for the joke in his expression. There wasn't one. "Wait… are you serious?"
"Why not? Just me, you, my dad and Tami. We can go to the courthouse tonight. No delays, no fuss—just us."
A rush of emotions tangled inside me. Excitement? Anxiety? Shock? It was sudden—but maybe that was love. The kind of love that couldn't wait. That consumed you. That made the past feel like a forgotten dream.
I had always dreamed of a simple wedding. Unlike the grand disaster I had with George. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. Effortless.
"Okay," I whispered, my heart pounding. "But let's at least tell them first. We'll do it tomorrow evening."
Tudor grinned, pulling me in for a kiss, sealing the decision with his lips.
A few minutes before the ceremony, I slipped away to the restroom. My stomach was a knot of excitement, my pulse racing with the reality of what was about to happen. I took a deep breath, smoothed my dress, and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.
And then—
"Don't do it."
I froze.
The voice. I knew that voice.
Slowly, I turned. My heart slammed against my ribs.
George.
My ex-husband.
I blinked, convinced I was imagining things. What was he doing here? How did he find me? How did he even know about the wedding?
For a fleeting moment, as I met his piercing blue eyes, a wave of emotion washed over me. I had loved this man once. A part of me had even missed him. But then—
That image. That gory, soul-crushing image of him and my…
I couldn't even say it
He stood just a few feet away, his eyes dark with something urgent, his chest rising and falling like he'd run all the way here.
My throat tightened. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"You can't marry him." His voice was firm, edged with something I couldn't quite place.
A cold sensation curled through me. "Excuse me?"
He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "Tudor isn't who you think he is. He is dangerous Emily, don't do it,"
The walls of the hallway seemed to press in around me, the buzz of the wedding reception fading into the background.
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding.
George didn't answer.
My chest tightened. "How did you even find me?"
Still, nothing.
George just stared at me, desperation warring with something deeper—certainty.
Before I could press further, a voice cut through the heavy air.
"Millie, Tudor is waiting for you."
Tami.
I turned instinctively toward her voice.
But when I looked back—
George was gone, leaving me standing there, breathless, my skin cold despite the warmth of the hallway.
For a moment, I couldn't move. My heart was still racing, my hands slightly trembling. Had that really just happened? Had I imagined it?
But the scent of his cologne still lingered in the air, proof that he had been here. That he had found me. That he had warned me.
I exhaled shakily, forcing myself to push it aside.
Tudor was waiting.
And I had a wedding to get back to.