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190. A Quiet Exit
Last Updated:
2025-06-13 22:09:26
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Traded For His First Love 191. A Shattered Afternoon
Reese POVThe garden of the Williams’ Chicago mansion was a slice of paradise, bathed in the golden glow of a perfect spring afternoon. Lilac bushes perfumed the air, their scent mingling with the tang of fresh lemonade, while sunlight dappled the manicured lawn. I sat on a cushioned outdoor sofa, a delicate teacup cradled in my hands, the chamomile’s warmth soothing as I shared laughter and gossip with Vivian Williams. Across the garden, Avie and Lau scampered through a maze of rose trellises, their giggles a joyful soundtrack, their dresses—Avie’s sunflower yellow, Lau’s bubblegum pink—flashing like petals in the breeze. Nearby, Elliot and Ernest were locked in a lively croquet match, their competitive jabs punctuated by the clink of mallets and sips of ruby-red wine from crystal goblets. Somewhere inside, Sammy was holed up with his handheld video game, no doubt slaying pixelated monsters. The scene felt like a painting, a rare moment of serenity after the emotional rollercoaste
Traded For His First Love 190. A Quiet Exit
Reese POVThe wedding reception was winding down, the garden venue by Lake Michigan still aglow with fairy lights but now softer, the energy of the night settling into a gentle hum. The jazz band had slowed to a soulful melody, and the dance floor held only a few lingering couples, swaying under the stars. Alice and Connor had slipped away earlier, their laughter echoing as they headed upstairs to their bridal suite, ready to begin their life as husband and wife. I smiled at the thought, my heart full for my best friend—Venus, as she called me—whose radiant joy had carried the day. The evening had been a whirlwind of dancing, laughter, and unexpected moments, from Vivian’s warmth to Roseanne’s reluctant apology. But as I stood near the garden’s edge, my emerald-green dress catching the light, a champagne flute in hand, the weight of Chicago’s old wounds lingered, tempered by the love that anchored me.Vivian and Ernest had left a short while ago, their departure marked by warm hugs
Traded For His First Love 189. A Drive Toward Something New
Spencer POVThe veranda overlooking Lake Michigan had been a smoky cocoon, a place where bourbon and hard truths burned as fiercely as the cigarettes we shared. The wedding reception of Alice and Connor throbbed below, its fairy lights twinkling like stars, the jazz band’s swing a faint pulse against the night. The conversation with Josh, Elliot, Andrew, and Ernest had left me raw, Ernest’s advice—you need to start loving your wives—ringing in my ears like a challenge I wasn’t sure I could answer. My marriage to Roseanne was a frayed rope, strained by my unresolved feelings for Reese and her desperate attempts to hold us together. Chicago, with its tangled web of history, felt like a weight pressing on my chest, and Elliot’s quiet assurance that he and Reese were leaving stirred a mix of relief and regret I didn’t want to unpack.I was about to rejoin the reception, maybe drown my thoughts in another drink, when Roseanne appeared at the veranda’s edge, her silver dress catching the
Traded For His First Love 188. Smoke, Bourbon, and Hard Truths
Josh POVThe veranda overlooking Lake Michigan was a shadowed sanctuary, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of Alice Davies and Connor O'Brien’s wedding reception. Below, the garden glowed with fairy lights, their soft twinkle weaving through white rose arches, while the jazz band’s lively swing carried up to us, mingling with the laughter of guests and the clink of champagne flutes. I leaned against the wrought-iron railing, a cigarette smoldering between my fingers, its smoke curling into the cool Chicago night. My navy suit felt like a straitjacket, too tight for the man I was pretending to be: Josh Carter, husband to Bethany, father-to-be, and a stranger in my own marriage. Around a weathered table sat my friends—Spencer, Andrew, and a couple of old buddies from our Chicago circle—passing a pack of smokes and a bottle of bourbon, the amber liquid glinting in the dim light. Our talk jumped from stock market bets to the Bears’ lousy season, a flimsy shield against the weight of
Traded For His First Love 187. Bridges Over Old Wounds
Reese POVThe wedding reception of Alice and Connor pulsed with life, the garden venue by Lake Michigan shimmering under a canopy of fairy lights. The jazz band’s lively melody wove through the laughter of guests, the clink of champagne glasses, and the soft rustle of spring air. I sat at a table near the garden’s edge, my emerald-green dress catching the glow, a half-empty champagne flute in hand. The night had been a whirlwind—dancing with Alice until we collapsed in giggles, twirling with Connor as he teased me, and laughing as Elliot tried to teach Sammy and Avie a dance that left them in hysterics. But now, with Elliot drawn away to the veranda by Andrew and his business talk, I felt the weight of Chicago’s shadows creeping back. Bethany’s venomous glares, Roseanne’s tight-lipped judgment, and even Nathalie’s wavering presence had cast a pall, making the air feel thick with unspoken grudges. I’d resolved to stay for Alice, to rise above their hostility, but it was a battle I wa
Traded For His First Love 186. Finding Solace Amid Shadows
Reese POVThe wedding reception of Alice Davies and Connor O'Brien shimmered under the Chicago night sky, the garden venue by Lake Michigan aglow with fairy lights that danced like fireflies. The air was alive with the clink of champagne glasses, the laughter of guests, and the infectious swing of the jazz band. I’d thrown myself into the celebration earlier—dancing with Alice until we were breathless, twirling with Connor as he teased me about stealing his bride’s spotlight, and laughing as Elliot tried to teach Sammy and Avie a clumsy dance that left them in giggles. For a while, the joy of Alice’s love had eclipsed the weight of Chicago’s past, the scandals and betrayals that had driven me to London. But now, seated at a table near the garden’s edge, sipping my champagne, that weight settled back over me. The bubbles were crisp, but they couldn’t drown out the sting of hostile glances from Bethany, Roseanne, and even Nathalie, their eyes burning into me like I was an unwelcome st
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