Chapter 4

"Howard, where are you going?"

Beatrice burst out in her wedding dress, panicked, screaming my name.

The rotors thundered overhead as I looked down.

She sprinted across the lawn, tripped, hit the ground hard, dress a wreck.

Bridesmaids rushed in, but she shoved them away, stumbling back to her feet, still chasing the helicopter like her life depended on it.

I'd never seen her break like that for me.

No—that wasn't true. Back in our first five years, she really did care.

When I drank myself into a bleeding ulcer trying to help her land a client, she held me tight and cried.

When her company was about to go public, I pulled nonstop all-nighters on her lab work until I collapsed.

She rushed me to the hospital, panic in her eyes. When I came to, she crumpled to the floor, clutching me and sobbing.

So when did she start slipping away?

Maybe it was Joseph's eighteenth birthday—when he got drunk and kissed her.

She stayed with him that whole night. From then on, they only grew tighter, and I was pushed out.

Back when it was us, she used to say it over and over:

"Howard, meeting you was the luckiest thing in my life. I want to marry you. I'd do anything to stay with you forever."

For five years, I asked her one thing—over and over.

Stay away from Joseph.

She never could.

Was she just done with me? Do women go for younger guys? Or did that kiss flip a switch in her head, make her realize she wanted him?

Those questions kept me up nights. I never got an answer.

Bzz bzz bzz—my phone cut through the thoughts. Beatrice calling, voice full of panic.

"Howard, where are you going?"

"What's it to you?"

The woman who once owned my every thought—her voice now only made me sick.

"What do you mean? What about our wedding?"

"I did it on purpose. You stood me up plenty of times. I just skipped one wedding day. Not too much to ask, right?"

Beatrice sounded ready to snap, then forced her voice steady.

"Those days before the wedding, I was too caught up in Jojo's wishes. I know I neglected you. I'll do better, okay? Just come back. My parents are waiting. The wedding has to happen."

"Waiting for what? Let Jojo be the groom and call it a day."

"What kind of trash are you saying? He's my nephew! I raised him, that's all—we're just close, nothing more. You—"

Same excuses, same script.

But who kisses their "nephew" hard enough to draw blood?

Who lies half-naked in bed, wrapped around him?

Who clings to him all day like a lifeline?

I had a hundred comebacks, but we'd been through it too many times. I was done.

I hung up. Powered off my phone.

Thought that was the end.

Then the pilot shouted, "We've got a chopper on our tail!"

The blades thundered louder.

I turned—another chopper pulled up alongside us. Beatrice inside, headset on, eyes blazing.

"Howard Harrington, get back here! Quit throwing tantrums—I'm running out of patience!" Her voice cracked over the comms.

Yeah, she had every reason to be pissed. For years, it was her and Joseph dragging me through the dirt.

No matter how mad I got, no matter how ugly the fights, I always swallowed it down, kept the peace.

She probably never dreamed I'd blow up our long-awaited wedding like this.

One of the agents looked back. "Mr. Harrington, do you want to talk to her?"

"No. Just follow protocol."

I had nothing left to say.

He nodded, then switched to the loudspeaker. "First warning: unauthorized personnel, do not approach!"

Beatrice's voice crackled back. "I admit, I was wrong not to visit you after the explosion. I swear, next time you're in the hospital, I'll make time to see you."

The agent shot me a look full of pity.

"Second warning: unauthorized personnel, do not approach!"

She pushed on.

"Howard, cut the act. I know I blew off the license appointments—fine, that's on me. We'll go right after the wedding tomorrow, okay? Happy now?"

For her, that was a huge concession. She probably thought I'd just take it.

I didn't even blink.

Two warnings ignored, and then two military helicopters flanked her, cutting her off mid-air.

Snipers zeroed in—forehead, throat, chest.

One wrong twitch, and she was done.