Chapter 3 Chapter 3: Sorry I'm Late.

Chapter 3: Sorry I'm Late.

Nova-

The rest of the week passed in a blur.

I didn’t see Nicolai Moreau again after that day, but for some reason, his face kept drifting into my thoughts. It didn’t make sense. It should have unsettled me—intimidated me.

Instead… it calmed me.

Like a quiet melody playing in the background on the nights I couldn’t sleep. The nights I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about the future waiting for me.

About the life I was about to lose.

Wednesday evening, my father sent me a message—no greeting, no explanation. Just an order.

Be at Deltora’s Steakhouse. Friday. 7 PM.

Apparently, Kieran Sinclair was eager to meet me.

I bet he was.

I already knew everything I needed to about him. The temper. The entitlement. The violence that followed him like a shadow. The women who had ended up in the hospital—and the silence that always came after.

Money had a way of burying things like that.

My phone buzzed again.

Tanya.

Of course it was.

Tanya: Oh sister! I’m so sorry… Mom and Dad just told me! Kieran Sinclair of all people!

Tanya: You’ll be my maid of honor, won’t you? It won’t be a wedding day if you’re not there!

Message after message flooded in, dripping with fake concern. Photos followed—her and Ethan smiling, standing too close together, holding fabric samples, cake tastings, venue brochures. Happy. Unaffected. Like they hadn’t just detonated my life. I stared at the screen for a long moment before locking it and tossing it aside.

A few seconds later, it rang again.

Ethan.

I hesitated this time. Then, against my better judgment, I answered.

“Hello? Nova… are you ther—”

“What do you want, Ethan.”

Silence stretched on the other end before he spoke again, quieter.

“...Nova. I… your sister told me who selected you.”

“And?”

Another pause. Hesitation. Cowardice.

“...I just—I don’t—”

“You know what I don’t understand?” I cut in, my voice sharper than intended.

I heard his breath hitch.

“How someone I’ve known since I was eight years old… someone whose shoulder I cried on more times than I can count… someone who told me hundreds of times how much he loved me—”

I swallowed, my throat tightening.

“—could betray me like this.”

“Nova… it wasn’t like—”

“Yes, it was.” My grip tightened around the phone. “You’ve been cheating on me this whole time. With my sister. And you still had the nerve to propose to me.”

“Nova, I—”

“What was your plan?” I pushed, my voice rising. “String me along until the last second? Then what—pull some kind of sick joke at the altar?”

“No!” His voice cracked. “I swear—I had every intention of marrying you! But Tanya—”

“Don’t.”

My words were quiet. Final.

“Don’t you dare put this on her like you didn’t have a choice.”

Silence.

Then, colder:

“Don’t ever call me again, Ethan. From now on… we’re nothing to each other.”

I ended the call before he could respond. The silence that followed was heavy.

Final. Good. I blocked his number immediately after. I was done. Done with him. Done with Tanya. Done with all of it. From now on, there was only one thing that mattered.

My grandmother.

————

Friday came faster than I wanted.

Like a countdown I couldn’t stop—each hour dragging me closer to something I didn’t want to face.

To survive.

I gathered my things from my desk earlier than usual, shoving them into my bag with more force than necessary.

“Hey! Got any plans this weekend?”

I glanced up to see Stella walking beside me toward the elevator, her usual cheerful expression in place.

I forced a small smile.

“Um… not sure yet.”

I wasn’t ready for the looks. The whispers. The quiet pity disguised as concern.

“Well, I’m heading out to the countryside,” she continued. “My aunt’s place. You should come sometime—it’s so peaceful out there—”

I nodded, half-listening, my mind already a thousand miles away.

“—fresh air, no stress, you know?”

That must be nice.

“Okay, well, have a great weekend, Nova!”

“You too, Stell. See you Monday.”

If anything was left of me by then.

The drive home felt shorter than usual. Or maybe I just didn’t register it. Once inside, I moved on autopilot—shower, makeup, hair.

Preparation. Armor.

I stood in front of my closet longer than necessary before settling on a black cocktail dress. Simple. Elegant. Detached. The diamond-strapped black heels added just enough height to make me feel grounded.

In control.

I pinned my hair into a loose, messy bun, letting a few strands fall naturally. After finishing my makeup, I stared at my reflection. For a moment, I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. Then I exhaled.

“It’ll have to be enough.”

Reaching for my clutch, I made sure one thing was inside.

The white envelope. Inside it—a contract. Carefully written. Thorough. Binding. If I was being forced into this marriage, then I was getting something in return. Guaranteed care for my grandmother.

No loopholes. No excuses. No more leverage.

I slipped it into my bag and headed out. The evening air was cooler than expected, brushing against my skin as I stepped outside. I paused at my car, gripping the handle a second longer than necessary.

This wasn’t a date. This wasn’t even an introduction. This was a transaction. I slid into the driver’s seat, my hands tightening around the steering wheel as the engine started.

For a brief, ridiculous moment, I wondered what Nicolai Moreau would say if he saw me now.

Then I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. Men like him didn’t save people like me.

I pulled onto the road. Deltora’s Steakhouse came into view far too soon, its warm golden lights glowing against the darkening sky—inviting, polished, expensive.

A perfect place to sell a life.

I parked, staring at the entrance for a long moment. Then I reached for the envelope again, steadying myself.

Tonight…

I wasn’t just meeting my fiancé. I was meeting the man who owned my future. And I refused to walk in empty-handed. I stepped out of the car, straightened my dress, and headed inside.

As I stepped inside, the hostess led me toward the private section my father had reserved. The soft glow of chandeliers reflected off polished glass and silverware, the atmosphere warm—welcoming.

I glanced at my watch.

7:07 p.m.

Laughter echoed from the room ahead. Light. Carefree.

My jaw tightened. They were celebrating. A sharp breath filled my lungs as I forced my shoulders back, lifting my chin. No tears. Not here. Not in front of them.

I walked forward.

Into my execution.

The moment I entered, my father stood. His smile stretched thin—too tight around the edges. He was angry I was late.

Good.

“There she is,” he announced, his voice loud enough to command attention. “Our beautiful daughter.”

Every head turned.

My mother’s expression flickered for half a second—annoyance slipping through before it smoothed away. My brother leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Ethan stood abruptly.

“Wow… Nova, you look—”

“Doesn’t she?” Tanya cut in sweetly, looping her arm through his like she belonged there. “She really dressed up tonight.”

Her smile was syrupy. Fake. I ignored her. My focus had already shifted. Because I saw him.

Kieran Sinclair.

He rose slowly from his seat, his gaze locking onto mine. It dragged over me—lingering far longer than it should have.

Not admiration. An Assessment. Like he was appraising something he’d already decided to own. My stomach twisted. As I stepped closer, he reached for my hand without hesitation. His grip was firm, deliberate. He lifted it and pressed a kiss against my skin.

I held my breath.

“I must say, Ms. Pierce…” he murmured, his voice smooth, practiced. “Your photographs hardly do you justice.”

His thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles before releasing me.

“You’re breathtaking.”

I forced a smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Sinclair.”

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” my mother chimed in quickly, her laugh brittle at the edges. “Go on, dear—say thank you properly.”

I turned my gaze to her.

Cold.

Then back to him.

“I appreciate the compliment.”

His lips curved—slow, knowing.

“Let’s skip the formalities,” he said. “We’ll be getting to know each other on a far more personal level soon enough.”

The words settled like something heavy and suffocating in my chest. I nodded once. Said nothing. For a brief moment, I glanced at my father. There it was. Something ugly beneath the surface. Not pride. Not satisfaction.

Guilt.

So you do know who you sold me to.

I took my seat, folding my hands neatly in my lap as if I were nothing more than another carefully arranged detail in this performance.

Conversation resumed. Weddings. Mergers. Futures being planned without me. Voices blurred together like background noise I couldn’t escape.

“Oh! Maybe we should do a double wedding!”

Tanya’s voice rang out, bright and eager.

Of course.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ethan said quickly.

I glanced at him.

His eyes darted away the second they met mine.

Coward.

He couldn’t even look at me while twisting the knife. Silence stretched for half a second before Tanya’s expression crumpled—perfectly timed.

“Oh… you’re probably right,” she said softly, her voice trembling as her eyes filled with tears. “I know my sister doesn’t really like me…”

My head snapped toward her.

What the hell was she doing?

Before anyone could respond, the doors to the private room opened. The sound cut through everything. Conversation died instantly as every head turned.

Footsteps echoed against the polished floor—measured, unhurried. Something in my chest shifted. My heartbeat stuttered.

“Who is that?” my father demanded, rising to his feet. “Excuse me! This is a private—”

“Oh, I know.”

That voice!

“I’m here for my fiancée.”

My breath caught.

The figure stepped fully into the light. And my world stilled.

My eyes widened as recognition hit, sharp and immediate. My lips parted—but before I could speak, he reached me. One arm slipped around my waist, pulling me effortlessly from my chair and into him.

Then—

A kiss.

Soft.

Deliberate. Gone before I could react. My mind blanked. The room disappeared.

Only him.

Only this moment.

He pulled back slowly, his gaze meeting mine.

And then he smiled.

Magnetic. Effortless. Dangerous in a completely different way.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said quietly.

Nicolai Moreau…