He Chased Me to Spite His Enemy. So I Left Him at the Altar Chapter 13

He Chased Me to Spite His Enemy. So I Left Him at the Altar Chapter 13 – Dorian Thorne Bonus Chapter 2 

I was the laughingstock of the whole city. 

They said my bride ran away on our wedding day in front of 

everyone. 

Left two men fighting over her–neither of them exactly a 

prize. 

They said a bastard like me never should have gone after a woman like her in the first place. 

I didn’t listen to any of it. I just wanted to see her again. 

I turned New York upside down. Even asked around in the underground werewolf black market. I couldn’t find her. 

And then I understood. How desperate she must have been. How hopeless she felt–while she was looking for me. 

She’d erased herself like she’d never existed. 

Nobody knew where she was. 

I tried to hire people to track her down. They just said: **Sorry, Thorne. I can’t help you.** 

Yeah. She’d started planning her exit the moment she heard me say those things. 

Why would she ever let me find her? 

This was my fault. All of it. 

She didn’t scream at me. She didn’t make a scene. She just… 

vanished. 

Evelyn Blackwood was really done with me. 

The thought ate through my chest like acid. 

I went back to the house we’d shared. 

Every trace of her was gone. 

She’d done it on purpose. 

She didn’t want me to have even one thing to hold on to. 

She cut herself out of my life, clean and brutal. 

She was *ruthless*. 

I searched every room. Finally, in the study, I found the things 

she’d left behind. 

All the gifts I’d given her–smashed. 

She was telling me she was done. That she was disgusted by 

everything I’d ever given her. 

And the wedding dress. The one we’d had made in Italy. 

A long, jagged tear from waist to hem. 

I remembered going to get it made six months ago. She’d been so happy, so excited. Saying she’d finally gotten her dream designer. Saying she wanted to be the most beautiful bride in 

the world. 

Her eyes were full of stars back then. 

And I threw it all away. 

Because of my pride. 

Because I couldn’t stand that she’d loved someone before me. 

I forgot about all the good things we had. 

The wedding journal was full of proof that she’d loved me. And 

now it was just a knife, stabbing me over and over. 

I flipped through it, tears running down my face. 

I held the ruined dress in my arms. The house was empty. I 

was alone. 

My tears fell in silence. 

I would have given the rest of my life to make it up to her. But she would never see me again. 

I started drinking. I stopped going home. I tried to drown 

myself in it. 

I told everyone I was married. That I had a wife. That she was 

beautiful. That I’d loved her for ten years before I finally got 

her. 

I re–read our old texts and laughed and cried at the same time. 

They said I’d lost my mind. 

I wasn’t crazy. I just missed her. 

Tatum came around again. 

I didn’t see her. But she wouldn’t give up. 

Finally she cornered me at a bar. “Dorian… what are you 

doing?” 

What was I doing? 

I was drinking. Evelyn Blackwood was gone, and I didn’t care about anything anymore. I couldn’t go home–it was full of her and empty of her at the same time. 

The only way to get rid of this feeling was to drink. To let go. 

“Tatum–get the hell away from me.” 

She came up and hugged me. “She’s so old. She wasted so 

much of your time. Why won’t you just look at *me*?” 

“I’m young. And I love you. I’ve loved you for ten years- holding nothing back. My eyes have never looked at anyone else. I’m a thousand times better than her.” 

Better? 

I shoved her away. Hard. 

My eyes stung. 

I hadn’t slept a full night since Evelyn left. Every time I closed my eyes, she was there. 

I’d thought revenge would feel good. It didn’t. It just hurt- 

like I couldn’t breathe. 

Sixteen years. From twelve years old to twenty–eight. 

And I let her slip through my fingers. 

I was so sorry. 

I was *so* sorry. 

And then, without warning, I fell apart. I covered my face and 

sobbed. 

Tatum tried to come closer. I looked up at her, my voice like ice: “If you don’t want to disappear from New York, you’ll get 

the hell out of here.” 

“And–Thorne family support for you? It’s done.” 

That night, I went back to the house where Evelyn Blackwood and I had lived. I lay on the floor of the study and curled myself 

around the ruined wedding dress. 

Three years passed before I heard she’d gotten her PhD. 

I got on a plane the same day. I had to see her. I had to say I 

was sorry. 

But she looked at me like I was a stranger. 

Like she didn’t love me anymore. 

No–that couldn’t be. We’d loved each other for years. How could she just *stop*? 

I moved into the building across from hers. I was going to win 

her back, the same way I’d done before. If I just lowered 

myself enough, if I was persistent enough… she was 

soft–hearted. She’d see me again. 

But she didn’t want to see me at all. 

Eventually Cassian Greymoor showed up too. I didn’t even 

care anymore. Looking back, all that jealousy seemed so 

stupid. 

But then Evelyn called both of us together. She said what she 

had to say. 

Eighteen years of knowing each other–and she walked away like it was nothing. 

I finally understood. Cassian Greymoor and I had both lost. Sure, I was the one who fell first. I was the one who got her. But I lost more completely than he ever did. 

Years passed. 

I flew to England every year. Just to see her from a distance. 

When I was thirty–five, I saw her sitting on a bench in the sun, holding a little girl. The baby’s features looked just like hers. 

And from somewhere off in the distance, a tall, handsome man 

walked over and handed her an ice cream. 

She smiled–so beautiful. 

But she didn’t belong to me anymore. She’d never belong to 

me again. 

I turned my head–and there was Cassian Greymoor, standing 

behind me. 

He was just watching them too. 

After a long time–the little family disappeared down the street–Cassian spoke. “Evelyn Blackwood never should have met either one of us.” 

He looked at me. “Dorian Thorne–back when you were so jealous of me, did you ever think there’d come a day when I’d be jealous of *you*?” 

“But in the end… neither one of us held on to her.” 

I sighed. “Cassian–we’re both bastards. Bastards don’t get happy endings.” 

I hope she’s happy. I hope she’s healthy. I hope she’s at peace. 

In a future without us.