He Jilted Me at the Altar. I Married His Enemy by Midnight. Chapter 14

He Jilted Me at the Altar. I Married His Enemy by Midnight. Chapter 14

It was a painting. Small, unframed, newer than all the others.

The girl with the yellow umbrella again-but not on Halloway Street this time. She stood in sunlight on a rooftop I recognized, because it was this rooftop, our rooftop, and she wasn’t nineteen anymore. She was now Rounded belly under a white dress. Laughing at something outside the frame. And this time the artist had painted himself in-just a shadow at the edge, a man’s hand holding the umbrella for her, even though in the

painting, there was no rain.

Beneath it, in his handwriting:

The petition is your door. This is my vote. Rain ended a long time ago-I’d like to stay for the part after, if you’ll have me. Marry me again. Slowly, this time. -D.

I looked up.

Damian Cross-the man who addressed parliaments and gutted hostile boards without his pulse moving- was standing in our bedroom doorway looking like a nineteen-year-old on a curb, waiting to find out if anyone.

was going to cross the street.

I walked over to the suitcase.

I watched him stop breathing.

And I turned it upside down and dumped every folded thing onto the floor.

“I’m keeping the door, I said, my voice wrecked and certain. Framed. On the wall. So every day we both

remember I could leave-J

I crossed the room and took his face in both hands.

T-and every day, I stay. Yes, Damian. Slowly. Yes.J

The sound he made when his arms came around me wasn’t a word in any language. We stood there in the dark surrounded by my un-packed life, his face buried in my hair, his heart slamming against mine, and

somewhere between one breath and the next, the baby kicked-hard-right between us.

Damian pulled back an inch. Looked down. Looked up.

Outvoted, he said hoarsely. Two to nothing.J

We married again in June. On the rooftop, in sunlight, forty guests instead of four hundred, and every single one of them chosen. Virginia was my maid of honor and cried harder than I did, which was a genuine athletic achievement. I wore white because it was mine to wear, and I walked myself down the aisle-not because no

By the time I arrive, the rain has slowed, but the city still feels heavy. The address leads me to a sleek glass tower, its mirrored surface swallowing the storm-dark sky. Inside, the elevator hums to the thirteenth floor, my pulse rising with every number that blinks above the doors.

The moment I step into the office, I feel it-the silence. Heavy, suffocating, pressing down on my shoulders. Every desk is occupied, every person buried in their screen or papers, their faces sharp with concentration. No one talks. No one dares laugh. Only the rhythmic clicking of keyboards and the occasional rustle of paper break the stillness. It’s not the kind of place where people bond over coffee breaks or exchange weekend stories. This is survival ground. Everyone knows their lane, and no one dares step out of it.

I glance around and instantly feel underdressed despite my best efforts. Men in crisp suits, women in tailored dresses each detail of their annearance honed to perfection Power lingers