Chapter 16
I stopped counting how many bouquets arrived at my café’s doorstep. White lilies. Red roses. Gold-wrapped boxes with my name spelled in cursive I’d learned to hate. Clinton’s handwriting or every card Please, come back. I’m sorry. We can fix this.
–
Each one went straight into the trash. I never opened the boxes, never paused to see if his words had changed. I didn’t need to. I knew Clinton too well the man who only wanted me when I
was gone.
–
Nathan caught me tossing another bouquet into the bin behind the shop one afternoon. He leaned against the brick wall, his arms crossed, watching me with that thoughtful frown.
“You know I can make him stop,” he said softly. “One word and he’ll have nothing left to cling to.”
I wiped my hands on my apron, shrugging. “Let him waste his money. Let him drown in the mess he made. He’s already lost me that’s punishment enough.”
–
Nathan pushed off the wall, stepping close enough that I felt his warmth against my rain-chilled skin. His fingers brushed my hair back. “You’re too good to him, you know that?”
I laughed, the sound a little too brittle. “No. I’m just done letting him steal one more second of my life.”
The days blurred into weeks of lists, cake tastings, and lace samples. Invitations with my new name in golden ink. Mrs. Chloe Jones. It still felt like a dream when I traced the letters with my fingertip.
Nathan and I stayed up late some nights, sprawled out on the café’s back sofa after closing. going through menus and seating plans. He always had opinions but never pushed – he let me have the final word on everything.
Some nights, when the stress pressed too heavy on my chest, he’d pull me close, his hand warm at the nape of my neck. “Hey. Breathe. This is your day. Yours, Chloe.”
I’d whisper, half laughing, half breaking, “I know.” And for the first time in years, it was true.
Not everyone stayed away, though. Some ghosts never did.
One evening, after locking up the café, my phone buzzed with a message that stopped me cold. It was from Leo. I’m sorry. Can we talk?
–
I stood in the back hallway for a long time, staring at his words that single apology pressed into glass and metal. The man who’d taught me my worth was as small as his pride, now reduced to a line on my screen.
I blocked him. I didn’t even think twice. Not this time. He’d had my silence for too long – he didn’t deserve a single word back.
The gossip didn’t stop, either. Whispers crept in through the café’s walls like smoke – She’s the girl who left Clinton Moore. She’s marrying his rival. Did you hear what she did to Alynna?
I stirred coffee and wiped down counters like none of it mattered. Maybe it didn’t. I’d learned that gossip only had teeth if you gave it your skin to bite.
And Clinton… Clinton never stopped. Some days, I’d catch a black car idling across the street. Some nights, Nathan would come inside, jaw tight, phone buzzing with a new report of Clinton
showing up at the wedding venue, lurking near my apartment, waiting at the café’s corner.
I’d kiss Nathan’s temple, press my palms to his cheeks, and whisper, “Let him watch. He’s the ghost now.”
One morning, in the quiet before the rush, I got another message this one from Carlos Moore. Clinton’s grandfather, the only one who’d ever shown me an ounce of kindness in that wretche family.
Please. Just five minutes. I owe you that much.
I didn’t reply. But the next day, I found him in my café anyway I window, the same cane resting across his knees.
—
hunched over a table by the
He looked older than I remembered. Smaller, somehow. When I approached, he stood, his eye: bright with something like regret.
“Chloe,” he said, his voice rough. “I don’t expect you to forgive me for all that’s happened. But need you to know… it was never your fault.”
I sank into the seat across from him, hands wrapped around my coffee cup for warmth I didn’ really need. “You don’t owe me apologies, Carlos.”
“I do,” he insisted, tapping his cane once against the floor. “For not seeing it sooner. For letting that boy… for letting my family break you when they should’ve cherished you.”
I held his gaze, calm. “You were the only one who treated me like I was part of it. For that, I’ll always be grateful.”
His eyes watered, but he didn’t look away. “I swear to you, Chloe. I’ll never let Clinton touch your life again. That’s my promise.”
When we parted, he squeezed my hand like he was trying to hold on to the last good piece of a crumbling legacy.
I stayed late that night, closing up the café alone while the wind howled against the windows. Nathan had promised he’d come pick me up after a late meeting. I didn’t mind waiting. I liked the quiet hum of the espresso machine as I tidied up my office, filing away receipts and foldec invitations for our wedding just a month away.
It was warm in the small room, but something felt wrong. The air shifted – a faint smell, sharp and metallic, threading into the scent of old coffee grounds and pastry sugar.
Then I heard the click. The door behind me turned, frowning. Tried the handle. Locked.
–
the one that never fully latched
–
slammed shut. I
A sharp hiss. Smoke curled under the crack at the bottom, twisting into gray fingers that reached for my ankles.
Panic prickled up my spine. I banged my fist on the door. “Hello? Nathan? Is someone out there?”
But the café was dark. Empty. The smoke grew thicker, blackening the edges of the posters on my wall, searing my lungs when I gasped for air.
—
I pressed my shoulder to the door, coughed, called out one last time but my voice felt small, swallowed by the rising heat. My legs gave out before I realized I was falling. My eyes fluttered shut on a swirl of orange light, and my last thought was a single word burning in my chest.
2/3 71.2%
4:27 pm
