60 Chapter 62
60 Chapter 62
lites
Chapter 62 – A Tender Gesture and a Twisted Vow
Damien returned to the table with a slight frown creasing his forehead. “I apologize, Hazel. There’s an urgent situation at headquarters that requires my immediate
attention.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to hide
my disappointment. “Duty calls, right?”
He nodded, his expression softening as he looked at me. “I’d much rather stay here with you.”
My heart fluttered at his words. I was still getting used to how directly he expressed his interest in me, so different from Julian’s vague compliments that always felt rehearsed.
“Take care of that arm,” Damien continued, gesturing to my newly bandaged wound. “And please, call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
I nodded, fingering the small tube of antibiotic ointment the doctor had left. “Thank you for this. It was… thoughtful.”
“Hazel.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “I want you to call me Damien when we’re alone together. Not Mr. Sterling.”
The request caught me off guard. “I–okay. Damien.”
His name felt strange on my tongue, yet somehow right. His eyes darkened at the sound, and for a moment, we just looked at each other, the space between us charged with something I wasn’t ready to name.
“I’ll call you soon,” he finally said, breaking the moment. With a gentle squeeze of my shoulder–careful to avoid my injured arm–he was gone.
I sat at the table for a while longer, trying to make sense of the emotions swirling through me. Damien Sterling was unlike anyone I’d ever known. His attention and care were overwhelming, especially after years of being an afterthought to those who should have prioritized me
But as much as I was drawn to him, I couldn’t ignore the complications. I was still
60 Chapter 62
technically married to Julian, even if the divorce was in progress. And the difference in our social standing was staggering. Damien was from one of the country’s most powerful families, and I was just… me.
“This is crazy,” I muttered to
Whatever was developing between gathering my things to head back to the office.
us couldn’t go anywhere. I needed to focus on my business, my divorce, and rebuilding my life–not on romantic fantasies about a man who seemed too perfect to be real.
Three days later, I stood outside the funeral home, a tasteful bouquet of white lilies in my hands, gathering my courage. Coming to Ivy’s funeral was perhaps masochistic, but I felt compelled to be here–to see this chapter of my life properly closed.
Victoria had called me insane when I told her my plans. “You’re going to your
backstabbing half–sister’s funeral? The same woman who stole your wedding and your fiancé? Are you out of your mind?”
7 blood. Half–blood, anyway. And I Maybe I was. But despite everything, Ivy was still wanted to pay my respects, not to the woman who had made my life hell, but to the little girl she had been before bitterness and jealousy consumed her.
I’d arranged for three floral tributes to be sent ahead: one from me personally, one from Ashworth Bespoke, and one anonymous arrangement of ivy vines woven with white roses–a subtle acknowledgment of our shared father and fractured family history that only those who knew us would understand.
Taking a deep breath, I walked into the funeral home. The service was already underway, with Julian standing at the front beside Ivy’s open casket, looking appropriately devastated. My father and stepmother sat in the front row, Eleanor dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
I slipped into the back row, hoping to remain unnoticed. For a while, it worked. I listened to eulogies that painted Ivy as a brave fighter against her illness, a loving daughter, a devoted wife. It was strange hearing about this saintly version of the woman who had tormented me for years, but death has a way of sanitizing even the most complicated lives.
My peaceful anonymity ended when Eleanor spotted me during the viewing line. Her face contorted with rage, and she pointed a trembling finger at me.
(<) 60 Chapter 62
“You!” she shrieked, her voice echoing through the somber room. “How dare you show your face here! Have you come to gloat over my daughter’s body?”
All eyes turned to me. I stood my ground, clutching my lilies.
“I came to pay my respects, Eleanor. Ivy was my sister, regardless of our differences.
“Sister?” she spat the word like poison. “You were never a sister to her! You were always jealous of her!”
The irony of her accusation might have made me laugh if the situation weren’t so painfully public. My father stood up, his face darkening with embarrassment rather than any desire to defend me.
“Eleanor, please,” he murmured, trying to calm his wife. “Not here.”
“No!” Eleanor jerked away from his restraining hand. “I will not have her mock us in our time of grief! Those disgusting flowers she sent–ivy vines! As if making fun of my daughter’s name!”
I took a step forward, keeping my voice steady. “The ivy represented our shared heritage, not mockery. I would never disrespect anyone’s grief that way.”
Eleanor turned to Julian, who had moved from the casket to stand awkwardly between us. “Julian, do something! Get her out of here! She’s desecrating Ivy’s memory!”
Julian looked at me, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might actually try to remove me, but then he surprised me.
“Hazel has every right to be here,” he said firmly. “In fact, I asked her to come.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered mourners. Eleanor’s jaw dropped.
“You what?” she hissed.
Julian ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I remembered well from our years together, “I invited Hazel because there’s something I need to say. Something that can’t wait any longer.”
My stomach knotted with apprehension. Whatever Julian was planning, I wanted no part of it.
“This isn’t the time or place, Julian,” I said quietly, already backing toward the door.
60 Chapter 62
“It’s exactly the time,” he insisted, striding toward me with purpose. “With Ivy gone, I need to be honest–with myself, with everyone here, and most importantly, with you,
Hazel.”
The funeral guests watched in stunned silence as Julian approached me, his expression intense.
“My marriage to Ivy was an act of compassion,” he announced, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I married her because she was dying and it was her last wish. But my heart has always belonged to one woman.”
Horror dawned as I realized where this was heading. “Julian, don’t-”
But it was too late. To my utter mortification, Julian dropped to one knee in front of me, pulling a velvet box from his pocket. Inside was a diamond ring at least twice the size of my original engagement ring.
“Hazel Ashworth,” he declared, his voice ringing through the funeral home, “now that I’m free again, I’m asking for your forgiveness and a second chance. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man alive?”
I stared down at him, surrounded by shocked funeral guests and the open casket of his dead wife–my half–sister–feeling as though I’d stepped into some grotesque alternate reality.
“Are you out of your mind?” I whispered, too stunned to even process the depth of his inappropriateness.
Julian’s expression didn’t waver, the diamond catching the light as he held it up to me like a prize I should be grateful to receive. Behind him, Eleanor had collapsed into my father’s arms, wailing dramatically, while the funeral director looked on in horrified disbelief.
And all I could think was: what would Damien say if he could see this absurd spectacle unfolding before me?
