All Chapters of The Twisted Wedding Night: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

I wake before she does.Years of restless sleep and responsibility have trained my body to rise before the sun, but this morning I don’t move when consciousness settles in. I remain still, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of the warmth draped across my chest.Lily.She is half-curled against me, one arm resting over my ribs, her leg tangled loosely with mine as though she drifted closer sometime during the night without realizing it. Her breathing is slow and even, soft against my skin, and there is something almost dangerous about how peaceful she looks.Dangerous because I could get used to this.My hand is resting at her waist, and I don’t remember placing it there, but it feels right—natural in a way that unsettles me more than any argument ever could.Last night wasn’t reckless, it wasn’t reactive. It wasn’t a moment of weakness, it was deliberate.I chose her, and she chose me back.That realization settles heavily in my chest.I lower my gaze to her face.Her hair is spill

I got home later than I intended to.The city had a way of clinging to me—its noise, its demands, its constant insistence that I be sharp, decisive, untouchable. By the time I stepped through the front doors, shrugging off my jacket and loosening my tie, I felt the familiar shift begin. The house did that to me now.Or maybe it was her.I didn’t ask for a status update. I didn’t call for anyone. My feet carried me upstairs without conscious direction, past the landing and down the hall toward Alice’s room.The door was slightly ajar.Soft lamplight spilled into the corridor, warm and steady. I pushed the door open quietly.Lily sat on the edge of Alice’s bed, her back to me, one hand moving in slow, absent strokes through my daughter’s curls. Alice was already asleep, her stuffed rabbit tucked beneath her chin, lashes resting against her cheeks.Lily wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t reading.She was just there.Watching.Guarding.The sight did something to my chest—tightened it and soften

I parked a few blocks from the café where Sophie had arranged the meeting, leaving the engine running long enough for the heat to creep into my chest. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in the thick of their schemes, yet somehow the tension felt heavier today, sharper, as if the air itself expected betrayal. I adjusted my collar and ran a hand through my hair. Sophie was already inside, chatting with Willow and Ella. Their laughter carried out the glass doors, a brittle, high-pitched thing that made my teeth ache. I exhaled slowly, reminding myself why I was here, why I had to play the part perfectly. They couldn’t know the truth. Not yet.I pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar murmur of conversation folding over me. Sophie spotted me first, her face lighting up with that practiced warmth, the one she reserved for me and only me when we were around “the team.” She rose, all long-legged elegance, and crossed the small space between us with a grin that didn’t quite reach

I hadn’t slept properly in days. The message kept repeating in my mind like a mantra: She didn’t die. Your baby did not die.For four years, I had lived with the memory of that hospital room in Philadelphia—the sterile smells, the blinding lights, the tiny body, the footprint in the box. I had mourned without closure, and now someone was telling me everything I had accepted as truth might be a lie.I tried to steady my breathing. Panic clawed at me, but I knew it wouldn’t help. I needed facts. Evidence. Proof. And the only place that could give it to me was that hospital.I didn’t tell Ace what I was thinking at first. I just told him I needed a break—two days, nothing more. “I want to catch up with a friend,” I said carefully. “Emma. You remember her. She was there when… everything happened.”He had raised an eyebrow, studied me, and then simply nodded. “Two days. That’s fine.”Two days. Just enough.I packed lightly, keeping the bare essentials in a small bag. The city was alive as

Emma led me down a narrow sidewalk, her hand occasionally brushing against mine. I didn’t pull away. The city noise of Philadelphia was a low hum behind us, nothing like the constant roar of Manhattan. For a moment, it felt… peaceful. Ordinary. Something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in months.When we reached her building, she fumbled with her keys for a second, muttering under her breath, before the door clicked open. I stepped inside, letting the familiar smell of home hit me: warm spices, faint laundry detergent, and something uniquely Emma.“Wait here,” she said with a grin. “I need to warn him you’re coming.” She disappeared down a short hallway, and I leaned against the wall, arms folded loosely, listening to the faint sizzle from the kitchen. My pulse ticked up a little—not with dread, not with anxiety—but a quiet curiosity.The kitchen door opened, and he stepped out, wiping his hands on a towel. Tall, casual, a soft presence that somehow immediately put me at ease. “Emma?”