Groom for Rent

River folded the last shirt with trembling hands and placed it in the bag that lay open on the bed. The sound of the zipper scraping shut was loud in the silence, almost deafening. His eyes wandered around the room — the faint indentation on the couch where Zayn used to sit, the wrinkled sheets on the bed they had shared, the mug on the nightstand still bearing traces of coffee and laughter from mornings that felt so long ago.

How many nights had they spent in here? Talking, teasing, laughing until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence? The air still smelled faintly of Zayn’s cologne — that warm, expensive scent that had once made River’s chest flutter. Now, it only made it ache.

Zayn’s voice kept echoing in his mind, cruel and sharp — I don’t ever want to see you again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but that sentence played over and over again like a curse. He hadn’t come here to fall in love. He was supposed to play a role, smile for appearances, collect his payment, and disappear. That was the deal. That was all it was ever meant to be.

So why did it hurt like this?

Why did it feel like someone had reached into his chest and ripped something out of him?

He took a deep breath, but it only made the pain worse. His throat tightened.

And then—

The door creaked open.

River froze, his breath catching as footsteps approached from behind. His heart pounded hard enough to echo in his ears.

A cold, distant voice spoke.

“I brought your payment,” Zayn said flatly. “Half, just like we agreed. Fifty percent after the deal was done, and fifty after.”

Something landed softly on the bed. River turned and saw a white envelope — thick, heavy, precise. He swallowed hard and reached for it with shaking fingers, pulling out a cheque that almost blurred under the tears threatening to fall.

It was a lot of money. Enough to pay for his father’s first surgery, enough to cover his final semester’s fees, maybe even enough to keep their house from collapsing. It should have made him happy. Relieved.

Instead, it made him feel small. Dirty.

Zayn’s voice cut through his thoughts again.

“I’ll send the rest through my friend. You don’t have to contact me.”

He turned, ready to leave, when River’s voice cracked through the silence.

“Zayn…”

Zayn stopped mid-step, his back to him, the tension in his shoulders rigid.

“Whatever Veronica said—” River’s voice trembled, “—it’s not true. I don’t know what happened last night. I don’t even remember how I got into Adrian’s room. I woke up there the next morning and—yes, we were naked—but I swear to you, I didn’t do it for the money. I’m not that kind of person. Please… you have to believe me.”

Zayn turned slowly, his face shadowed in the dim light. The hurt there was unmistakable — but so was the coldness layered over it, the kind that comes when a man forces himself not to feel.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he said, his tone detached, almost clinical. “You needed to survive, didn’t you? It doesn’t matter how you got the money. You did what you had to do.”

“Zayn…”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“I just regret being one of your pawns, that’s all. But at least you did your job. You played your part, I paid you, and now it’s done.”

River shook his head desperately, his voice breaking.

"I don’t want you to think of me that way. I’m not— I can’t— I would never sell myself for money.”

Zayn’s expression hardened, his words coming out sharp and venomous.

"Wouldn’t you? Then what was all this, River? What’s the difference between selling your body to Adrian and selling your heart to me for a cheque? You did it for money, didn’t you?”

River flinched as if struck.

Zayn stepped closer, his voice cruel now — too cruel, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

"Tell me, how much of it was real? The way you looked at me? The way you smiled? The things you said before bed — were they rehearsed too? Or were those extra services, part of the premium package?”

River’s face twisted in pain. His chest rose and fell quickly as he tried to speak but failed.

“God,” Zayn continued with a hollow laugh, “I should’ve known. You fooled everyone. Even me. I guess you really are good at what you do.”

And that was it — the last crack before something inside River broke.

A sharp sound cut through the air.

Smack.

Zayn’s head snapped to the side, his cheek burning red.

River’s hand trembled violently.

"You’re right,” he whispered, his voice shaking with fury and heartbreak. “We don’t know each other. Not really.”

He turned away, snatched his bag, and zipped it closed with a harsh pull. His breath came out ragged as he swung the bag over his shoulder, not daring to look back.

The room fell into heavy silence as River stormed out, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hall — each one carrying pieces of his heart that he’d never get back.

Zayn stood there, frozen, his pulse pounding in his ears. The words he had said hung in the air like smoke — poisonous, lingering, impossible to take back.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, and let out a shaky breath that trembled through his whole body. His eyes landed on the small teddy bear sitting beside the pillow — the one River had won for him at the carnival, laughing when he’d called it “their child.”

He picked it up with trembling hands, staring at the crooked little bow around its neck.

For a long moment, he just sat there, unmoving. Then his throat tightened, and his fingers curled weakly around the bear’s soft fur.

The silence in the room felt heavier than ever.

He’d gotten what he wanted — the truth. The end.

So why did it feel like he had just lost everything that had ever mattered?

***

The night had fallen quiet — that kind of quiet that only comes after chaos.

The moon hung full and pale outside, pouring silver light through the tall window of Damian’s room. He stood there, hands tucked into the pockets, staring at the glowing orb in the sky.

He exhaled slowly.

"The moon’s bright tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. “Too bad dinner had to end the way it did.”

From the couch behind him, Liana sat curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. Her hair had loosened from its elegant bun, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She ran a hand through it and sighed.

“It’s just dinner,” she said weakly. “But… I don’t know, Damian. I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened. It was awful.”

Damian turned to face her, his expression gentle.

“Yeah,” he said softly, walking toward her. “It was.”

Liana rose to her feet, pacing a little.

“It just… doesn’t make sense,” she said, shaking her head. “River isn’t like that. I mean, yes, he lied — but that doesn’t make him a monster. And what Veronica said… that was cruel. I don’t believe it.”

Damian watched her carefully.

“You think he didn’t do it?”

“I think he’s not that kind of person,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen him, Damian. The way he looks at people, the way he smiles — it’s genuine. Maybe he made mistakes, but that’s not the same as being manipulative. And sleeping with Adrian? That…” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “That doesn’t even sound like him.”

Damian exhaled, walking closer until he was standing right in front of her.

"It’s hard to believe him, Liana,” he said quietly. “He confessed to being in Adrian’s bed. What else are we supposed to think?”

Liana looked up at him, her eyes soft but determined.

"I’m a woman,” she said. “And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you can read someone’s heart by looking in their eyes. I saw his tonight — and what I saw wasn’t guilt. It was pain. Real pain.”

Damian didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek before wrapping his arms around her. She melted into his chest, resting her head against him.

“Don’t think too much about it,” he whispered against her hair. “We still have a wedding tomorrow. That’s what matters now.”

Liana nodded weakly against him, and when she looked up, she smiled faintly.

"You know I'm not sleeping here tonight, you can’t see me in my wedding dress yet,” she teased softly. “It’s bad luck.”

Damian chuckled, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Then I’m going to hug you as long as I can,” he murmured. “Because the next time I do, you’ll be my wife.”

Her eyes shimmered as she looked at him, her lips trembling into a small smile. She hugged him again, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

For a moment, it was perfect — the kind of quiet comfort that heals a bruised evening.

Then came the knock.

A soft, hesitant tap-tap at the door, followed by a voice — trembling but familiar.

“Can I… come in?”

They both froze.

When Damian turned, he saw River standing in the doorway, his bag by his side. His face looked pale, his eyes puffy from crying. For a long moment, no one spoke.

Liana’s heart leaped painfully in her chest.

"River…” she whispered.

He gave a small, uncertain smile — one that barely reached his eyes.

"Hey.”

She hurried toward him, tears instantly burning her eyes.

"Come inside,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him gently into the room.

River stepped in, his shoulders slumped. The moment he was fully inside, the words came tumbling out of him, raw and unsteady.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he said softly. “For ruining dinner… for lying to everyone. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I swear I didn’t.” He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “If it’s any consolation, everything I showed you — the laughter, the moments we shared — none of that was fake. That was me. The real me.”

Before he could say more, Liana reached forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

River froze for a second, then hugged her back — so tightly it almost hurt. His throat burned as he buried his face into her shoulder, his tears spilling freely.

Liana rubbed his back soothingly, whispering,

“It’s okay… it’s okay, River.”

They stood like that for a long time, holding onto each other as if the world outside didn’t exist — just two people clinging to the only piece of truth they could trust in that moment.

When they finally pulled back, Liana looked at him with a tearful smile.

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” she said softly. “You didn’t ruin dinner. Veronica did. And no matter what anyone says, I know your heart. You’ve been nothing but kind to all of us. No matter what was said today, my heart still refuses to believe any of it. I have grown to love you, River, like a brother and nothing will ever change that."

River smiled faintly, though his eyes were glassy.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For believing in me. I just… wanted to say goodbye before I left.”

“Goodbye?” Liana asked, her chest tightening.

He nodded.

"Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. My time here has expired and Zayn is right, I have to leave this family alone now." He chuckled through his tears. "But I know you’ll make a beautiful bride.” His voice wavered. “Thank you for being such an amazing friend, Liana. You and Damian… you were like family to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t live up to it.”

Her lips trembled, and before she could stop herself, tears spilled over.

"Don’t say that,” she said shakily. “You are family, River. And don’t you dare think otherwise. Whatever happened, it doesn’t erase the person I got to know — the sweet, funny, kind soul who made everyone smile. That’s who you are.”

River’s eyes shimmered as he pressed his lips together, trying not to sob.

Damian stepped forward then, his tone gentle but sincere.

“She’s right,” he said quietly. “Whatever went down tonight… it doesn’t change everything you did before. You made this week lighter for everyone, especially for her. Thank you so much for coming and making this a week to remember. We love you so much, River."

River looked between them, his vision blurring from tears.

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t,” Damian said, offering a small smile. “Just promise us that you’ll take care of yourself, alright? No matter what happens.”

River’s lips quivered as he nodded.

“I will.”

Then, without another word, he stepped forward and hugged them both — wrapping his arms around Liana first, then pulling Damian into it. They stood there in that quiet, trembling embrace, hearts beating fast, none of them wanting to let go.

When they finally did, River took a step back, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. He forced a smile.

"Congratulations, you two. You really do deserve the world.”

Liana covered her mouth, trying not to cry again, while Damian gave him a firm nod — the kind men share when words fall short.

River turned and walked toward the door. He paused for a moment, glancing back at them, his face illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window.

Then he whispered, almost too softly to hear, “Goodbye.”

And when the door closed behind him, the silence that followed was heavy and heart-wrenching — the kind that leaves two people standing still, staring at the door long after it’s shut, both knowing that goodbyes sometimes come too soon.

***

The night air was cool and heavy with the scent of damp grass. Out on the patio, Leonardo sat slouched back in his wooden chair, one arm resting on the table, the other holding a half-lit cigar between his fingers. The faint ember glowed every few seconds as he took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl lazily into the night. The breeze brushed past his greying hair and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, cooling the tension that had been simmering in him ever since dinner.

He exhaled a long breath, watching the smoke drift toward the stars.

"What a goddamn mess,” he muttered under his breath, running his thumb over the smooth edge of his wedding ring.

He reached for another cigar and was about to light it when a voice, soft and hesitant, broke the silence.

“I thought you were quitting that.”

The lighter paused in his hand. Leonardo turned slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly — and there stood River. The boy looked pale under the faint patio light, his hair tousled, his fingers gripping the handle of his suitcase. He looked like someone who had cried too much and slept too little.

Leonardo’s gaze softened for just a second before he sighed and leaned back.

"I thought,” he began in a low, tired voice, “that my last dinner with my son as a single man would’ve gone better.” He rubbed his temple and let out a bitter laugh. “But what do I get instead? Drama, shouting, humiliation.”

He groaned, his irritation flaring again.

“Christ.” He threw the cigar onto the floor and crushed it with his shoe.

The sharp motion made River flinch involuntarily, his body tensing as though expecting a blow that never came.

“All I asked for,” Leonardo continued, his voice rising, “was one simple dinner. One nice evening with Liana and her family. And what do I get? Embarrassment — all over the damn place!”

River stood frozen, his heart thundering so loudly in his chest that it hurt. He swallowed hard, watching Leonardo rake his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Who knows what they think of us now?” Leonardo muttered. “Probably that we’re a family of lunatics. Great. Just what I needed.”

River’s throat tightened.

"Sir. Leonardo,” he said quietly. “I know I’m at the core of it all. And I came here to apologize — to you, especially.”

Leonardo’s brows furrowed as he glanced up at him.

“You trusted me,” River continued, voice trembling. “Like a son. And I lied to you. I’ll admit that what happened with Adrian was true. But I never asked him for money. I swear I didn’t. I don’t even know how it happened, or how I ended up in his bed.” His voice cracked, and his hands trembled slightly as he tried to steady himself. “I regret having that champagne with him. I shouldn’t have.”

He drew a shaky breath.

“After what happened at dinner, I’m sure Veronica set me up. Maybe that sounds like an excuse, but it’s the truth. I just… didn’t want to leave without telling you I’m sorry.”

Leonardo’s expression remained unreadable.

“And one more thing,” River said softly, stepping closer. “Please don’t be too hard on Zayn for lying to you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about him, it’s that he just wanted your love. That’s all. He told me himself.”

A tense silence stretched between them. Then Leonardo’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening.

“You think I’m stupid, boy?”

River froze.

"N-No, sir. I didn’t say that—”

“You didn’t say it,” Leonardo snapped, his tone cutting like steel. “But you think it. You think I didn’t know?”

River’s breath hitched.

“I’m not stupid, River.” Leonardo’s voice dropped, cold and heavy. “I already knew that whatever you and Zayn had — it wasn’t real.”

River’s heart lurched painfully in his chest. His throat went dry.

“What…?” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

Leonardo let out a harsh exhale, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon.

"You think I wouldn’t keep tabs on my son? A son I love so much, who went off alone and didn’t even call or apologize to me?” His gaze flicked toward River again, sharp as glass. “You really think I wouldn’t find out what he was doing, who he was with?”

River’s mind blanked. He looked at Leonardo as if the man had just grown another head. The revelation stunned him — left him speechless.

Leonardo’s voice softened slightly, but the weight behind it remained.

“You don’t understand what it’s like to be a father,” he said quietly. “My precious son was out there on his own for years. I wasn’t going to let him disappear from me completely. Not again. So, yes — I kept tabs on him. I made sure he was fine. Not even Elena knew about it.”

River’s eyes blurred with tears. He quickly rubbed them away, trying to keep his composure.

“Then… why?” he asked hoarsely. “Why keep it all to yourself if you already knew we were lying?”

Leonardo chuckled bitterly, his lips twisting into something halfway between a smile and a grimace.

"Because I was angry,” he said. “I was angry that I didn’t know who you really were. But when I got to know you — really know you — I started to love who you were. You surprised me, River. You were smart. Thoughtful. Different from what I expected. You made me rethink a lot of things… especially about people like you.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head.

"Too bad things didn’t go as I thought they would. And if all of it was pretense, well…” His gaze met River’s again. “You’re damn good at it.”

River’s lips trembled, and he nodded slowly.

“I understand,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. I never wanted to ruin anything for your family. Or for you.”

He bent down and picked up his suitcase, his hands trembling so hard that the handle rattled.

“Thank you for everything you did for me,” he said, his voice cracking. “Goodbye, sir. Leonardo.”

He turned to go, his heart pounding, each step feeling heavier than the last. The ache in his chest grew unbearable.

“River,” Leonardo called suddenly.

River froze mid-step. His breath caught. He didn’t dare turn, afraid of what else the man might say. But when he did — when he finally turned around — Leonardo was already walking toward him.

Before River could react, the older man reached him and pulled him into a tight, unexpected embrace.

River went rigid. His eyes widened, his breath catching as Leonardo’s arms closed firmly around him. And then — slowly — he melted into it, his body trembling, his throat constricting as tears welled up again.

“Take care of yourself, son,” Leonardo murmured gruffly, his voice breaking ever so slightly.

That word — son — shattered what little strength River had left. A sob escaped his throat, muffled against Leonardo’s shoulder. His tears soaked the man’s shirt as he clung to him like a child, trembling, his entire body shaking.

When Leonardo finally pulled back, he looked at River with something deep and sorrowful in his eyes — pride, regret, and affection all tangled together.

River wiped at his tears, nodding weakly.

"I will,” he whispered.

And with that, he turned and walked away into the night, his suitcase rolling over the stones of the patio, the sound echoing softly until it faded.

Leonardo stood there long after he was gone, the breeze tugging at his shirt, the moonlight pale against his tired face.

He sighed, looking out at the dark sky.

“Just like losing another son,” he whispered to himself.

***

The small living room was dimly lit, the single bulb above flickering every now and then like it, too, was weary. The couch was worn — old, with patches on the fabric — but it had always been the most comfortable spot in the house, the one where River used to curl up beside his father when he was younger to listen to bedtime stories. Now, it was where he sat alone, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his face wet and his fingers nervously tugging at each other.

His breath came out in soft snivels, uneven and broken. The air was thick with the faint scent of damp earth drifting in from outside and the sharp smell of medication from the bottles on the table.

Across from him sat his father — a man once tall and broad, now frail and tired. His skin was pale, the lines on his face deep from years of work and worry. His hair, once dark, had turned almost completely gray. He wore a faded blue shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders, and his eyes — warm, brown, and weary — were fixed on his son.

River wiped his face quickly and took in a shaky breath.

“Dad,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for lying to you and to sis.” He glanced down, ashamed, his hands shaking. “I… I know I disappointed you. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

His voice cracked, and tears began to fall again.

"I hoped you could forgive me.”

He hesitated, then reached out with trembling hands and took his father’s. They were rough and cool, the veins standing out sharply against thin skin.

"I only did it because I was desperate,” River continued softly. “I was really scared of losing you… and not writing those exams that could change everything for us. I just wanted to fix it all.”

His father’s lips parted, but no sound came for a moment. Then he exhaled deeply, his voice low and shaky.

"River,” he said, and River’s head shot up. The older man’s eyes glistened with tears. “I know you. And your mother…” he paused, swallowing hard, “…she and I didn’t raise you to become a liar.”

River’s chest tightened painfully. “I know,” he whispered, choking on his words.

"I know, Dad. And that’s why I’m sorry. I really am.”

His father reached out with one trembling hand and rested it gently on River’s shoulder. His touch was warm, steady despite the tremor in his fingers.

"Son,” he said softly, “we might not have had much. Maybe we never will. But we’ve always been honest people. That’s what kept us standing when everything else fell apart. It’s what makes me proud of you — that heart of yours.”

River bit his lower lip, trying to hold back another wave of tears.

“I also know,” his father continued, voice weak but firm, “that we didn’t have much to offer — no big house, no fancy car. But what we do have is our dignity.” He looked his son in the eyes, his expression heavy with sadness and love. “That’s why I didn’t want to accept that money, River. It’s dirty. It came from lies, and I don’t want lies in this house.”

River nodded, tears streaming freely now.

“I knew you’d say that,” he said between small sobs, “and that’s why I didn’t bring it home. I left it at the resort. I don’t want anything that reminds me of that place. Not the money. Not them.”

His father gave a faint, tired smile and nodded.

"You did the right thing, son,” he said softly. “We might be poor, but at least at the end of it all, we still have each other. That’s what matters. I don’t want those rich people taking advantage of you ever again, you hear me?”

River nodded quickly, the tears now falling faster.

“I promise,” he whispered.

His father’s eyes softened.

“Good.”

Without warning, River broke. He let out a sob and leaned forward, throwing himself into his father’s arms. The older man flinched slightly at the force of it, then wrapped his arms around him tightly, holding him close. River buried his face into his father’s chest, the fabric of his shirt dampening with tears.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” River cried softly. “I’m so sorry.”

His father’s hand stroked the back of his son’s head gently.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “It’s okay. You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, father and son — one trying to soothe the other, both broken in their own ways. The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound that filled the silence between sobs.

Then suddenly, River felt his father’s body tense. His breathing hitched — sharp and uneven.

“Dad?” River whispered, pulling back slightly.

His father’s hand, which had been resting on his shoulder, slipped off limply. His face contorted, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a deep, strangled groan.

“Dad!” River’s voice cracked in panic.

The older man’s chest rose rapidly as he tried to catch his breath, gasping as though the air had turned to stone. He clutched at his chest, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“Dad, what’s happening?” River screamed, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He reached out, trying to steady him, but his father’s body convulsed once before he let out a painful cry and slumped from the couch onto the floor.

“Dad! Dad!” River fell to his knees beside him, his trembling hands pressing against his father’s chest. “Please, please stay with me! Dad!”

His father’s eyes fluttered, the faintest sound escaping his lips before his body went still, his head turning slightly to the side.

“NO!” River screamed, his voice raw and desperate. “Somebody help! Please! Dad!”

He pressed his hands down, trying to shake him awake, tears streaming uncontrollably. His cries echoed through the small house, through the thin walls and out into the quiet night.

“Please!” River sobbed, his hands trembling violently. “Don’t leave me, please, Dad!”

The world blurred around him — everything spinning, the sound of his own heartbeat deafening in his ears as he clung to the lifeless body of the only person who had ever loved him unconditionally.

And somewhere in the stillness that followed his scream, the room seemed to grow colder, heavier — as though the house itself was mourning with him.

***

Zayn stood still before the tall mirror, his reflection framed in gold, the light from the large windows pouring over his black suit. Every line of his tuxedo was sharp, perfect, immaculate — yet the look in his eyes was the opposite of perfection. His dark hair, slicked back neatly, didn’t hide the heavy stare he gave himself.

He looked ready, yes. Groomed. Elegant. Handsome. But behind that carefully sculpted mask, he was hollow — the weight in his chest pressing hard enough to make him forget how to breathe for a moment.

The room had grown quieter after the stylists left — just the faint hum of the chandelier above him and the whisper of his own thoughts. He should’ve been smiling, preparing for his brother’s wedding, celebrating love — but instead, he felt a loneliness so deep it almost frightened him.

 

His mind kept circling back to River.

That ridiculous, beautiful boy with the sharp tongue and wide, honest eyes.

He’d only known him for a few days. Just a few days.

So why did it feel like losing him meant losing something vital?

He exhaled shakily, his hands resting in his pockets as he tried to make sense of it.

And then—

“It’s a wedding, not a funeral. Try to look like it.”

The voice jolted him out of his daze. Zayn turned sharply, and there stood Damian — handsome, confident, already dressed in his tux. His brother looked every bit the perfect groom. The boutonniere pinned to his chest was fresh, his dark eyes full of mischief and warmth.

Zayn forced a smile.

“You weren’t lying when you said you’d look more handsome than me.”

Damian chuckled, stepping closer and straightening his cuffs.

“I am the groom, little brother. It’s in the job description to outshine everyone else.”

Zayn smiled again, but this time it faltered halfway, never reaching his eyes. His chest felt heavier by the second. He looked back at his reflection, the mirror now showing two men — one radiant and ready, the other… lost.

He let out a long sigh and muttered, voice breaking slightly, “I’m sorry, Damian.”

His brother frowned.

"Sorry? For what?”

“For everything. For trying to fool everyone — with this ridiculous plan. Bringing someone I barely knew just to save face. I wanted to control the story, but it ended up controlling me.” His jaw tensed as he looked down. “Now look at me. I got exactly what I deserve. A taste of my own lies.”

Zayn tried to blink back tears, but his voice shook.

"I’m sorry.”

Damian took a step closer, his expression softening. He placed a hand on Zayn’s shoulder and squeezed it.

"You have nothing to apologize for. River wasn’t that bad, Zayn. In fact, he was…” Damian smiled faintly. “He was good for you. I could tell.”

Zayn looked up at him, his throat tightening.

“I don’t just want to talk about him, Damian. I want to forget. Maybe Dad was right — maybe I can’t do anything right. Every time I try to fix things, I end up—”

A sharp sound of heels clicking against marble interrupted him. The door opened, and a sultry, confident voice filled the room.

“That’s a lie, sweetheart.”

Both men turned. Veronica stepped in — and for a brief second, Zayn almost forgot to breathe. She was stunning in her satin gown, her hair in perfect curls that framed her flawless face. The gown hugged every curve, shimmering slightly under the light, and for a moment she looked more like the bride than anyone else in the house.

Harry followed behind her, sharp in his navy-blue suit, his smile easy, practiced.

“Leonardo was wrong about that,” Veronica said, walking closer with that familiar intoxicating grace. “You’re handsome, talented, and good-hearted. You should forget about that whore you picked up from the slums. Let him go to hell, Zayn. You have everything you need right here.”

Harry smirked, nodding.

“She’s right, Zayn.” He moved closer — too close — his voice low and smooth. “That boy was nothing compared to you. I was jealous, I admit it. This week made me realize how much I still love you.”

He placed his hand on Zayn’s chest, fingers tracing the line of his suit, the touch deliberate and slow.

"I didn’t know your relationship with him was fake, but even then, I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. You’ve always been mine.”

Zayn froze, looking down at Harry’s hand. Slowly, he reached up and took it in his own — not to push it away, but to hold it, lightly. His eyes softened, and he said quietly,

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes brightened instantly, his smile widening, hopeful.

Zayn continued, voice low and sincere.

"There was a time I thought you were my soulmate. That breaking up with you had destroyed me. When I saw you again here, I had to face those feelings — the pain, the confusion.”

 

Harry’s lips parted slightly as he waited. Veronica’s smile sharpened, already sensing victory.

“I love you, Harry,” Zayn said at last.

Harry chuckled, relief flooding his face — but it lasted only a heartbeat.

Zayn’s voice continued, calm but cutting.

“…But I’m not in love with you. And those are two very different things.”

The silence that followed was thick and immediate.

Harry’s smile vanished, his breath catching.

"W-what?” he stammered, blinking fast as tears welled in his eyes. “You just said you love me—”

“I do,” Zayn said softly. “But not the way you think. Maybe we both confused lust for love this whole week. Or maybe I was just afraid of being alone. But all that love that I had for you then, I realized that it's not there anymore."

Harry’s voice broke.

“No. No, that’s not possible—”

Damian stepped closer, smiling faintly, his hand finding Zayn’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, warmth and admiration in his tone.

Harry shook his head in disbelief, gripping Zayn’s hand tighter.

“No, you can’t mean that—”

But Zayn didn’t flinch. He looked calm, almost heartbreakingly so.

Veronica’s nervous chuckle broke the tension.

"Zayn, sweetheart, you’re just speaking out of emotion. I understand, truly, I do. But Harry—” she gestured toward him, her voice trembling slightly “—he’s the one who really loves you. He’s been there, caring for you, showing you how much he—”

“Why are you being so defensive?” Damian cut in sharply, turning to her. His smile vanished. “He’s a grown man. He broke Zayn’s heart a long time ago — and my brother finally moved on. You should be proud of him, not pushing him back into old wounds.”

Veronica’s eyes widened.

"I-I’m not— I just think he deserves someone who actually—”

“Who actually what?” Damian’s voice deepened. “Someone who lies to him? Manipulates him? Is that your definition of love?”

Her lips trembled, but she forced a smile.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, I think I understand perfectly,” Damian said firmly. “You want someone you cancontrol for him just like you wanted me to marry someone other than Liana, someone you chose. But this isn’t your story, Veronica. It’s his.”

Zayn stood between them, silent — his chest rising and falling, eyes glistening as the weight of everything pressed in: River’s absence, the truth, the lies, the tangled mess of his own heart. And in that moment, surrounded by tension and broken confessions, he finally felt what he hadn’t allowed himself to before — the ache of wanting something real, even if it meant walking away from everyone else.

Veronica’s voice broke through it, her tone trembling but defensive, her manicured fingers twisting the edge of her gown.

“I’ve only ever had Zayn’s best interests at heart,” she said, her voice rising slightly, eyes darting between the brothers. “Everything I’ve done was to protect him. You know how soft he is, Damian — how easily people take advantage of him. I was only trying to—”

“To what?” Damian cut in, his tone cool but edged with anger. “To protect him? Then where were you all those years when he needed someone? When he thought he wasn’t enough? When he blamed himself for every damn thing that went wrong in this family?”

Veronica blinked fast, her throat bobbing as she tried to maintain composure.

“Don’t twist this, Damian. You don’t understand what was happening—”

“Then explain,” Damian demanded, stepping closer. “Explain what’s really going on here. Because the way I see it, you and Harry have been pulling strings since day one.”

Harry flinched at his name being thrown into the fire. He turned toward Zayn, eyes glossy and voice breaking.

“Please, Zayn, just listen to me. I love you. I made mistakes, but you have to know I love you.”

Zayn didn’t respond — his jaw clenched, his chest tight, his eyes fixed on the ground as if looking for answers that weren’t there.

The silence was shattered by another voice — deep, commanding, familiar.

“What’s going on here? What’s all this noise about?”

The room froze.

Leonardo stood at the doorway, tall and dignified in his tailored charcoal suit, his hair slicked back perfectly. His presence alone drew immediate silence. Beside him was Elena — graceful, radiant, her emerald gown glittering under the chandelier light. Together, they looked like royalty stepping into a battlefield they hadn’t planned to enter.

Leonardo’s sharp gaze moved across the room — from Zayn to Damian, to Veronica and Harry.

“I asked a question,” he said, voice even but cold. “Wasn’t it enough that we had drama last night? Do we really need more, on the wedding day itself?”

“Leonardo—” Veronica started, stepping forward quickly. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she approached him with an anxious smile. “I was just trying to put some sense into Zayn. Maybe you can talk to him. Tell him Harry is perfect for him. He’s just confused.”

Leonardo’s frown deepened. He turned his gaze to her slowly, his tone dark and measured.

“And why would I do that?”

She blinked.

“Because he’s your son, Leo,” she said carefully, her voice softening into something almost pleading. “He needs guidance. He’s always been emotional. You can’t just let him—”

“Zayn is a grown man,” Leonardo interrupted, his tone slicing through her words. “He doesn’t need to be ushered into anything. He’s capable of deciding for himself.”

Veronica’s smile wavered, but she pressed on, nervously adjusting her earring.

"Yes, of course, but he’s your son, Leonardo. You should have his best interests at heart.”

Leonardo stared at her in silence — no expression, no reaction, just a slow, unreadable look that made Veronica’s palms sweat.

Zayn finally lifted his head, his voice trembling as he said, “Dad… Mom… I love you both. And I’m sorry for all the stupid decisions I’ve made.”

Elena’s face softened immediately. She moved to him, wrapping her arms around her son in a tight, trembling embrace.

"Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice warm and breaking at once. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. You’ve always been kindhearted. It breaks my heart seeing you like this.” She cupped his face, brushing away the moisture from his eyes. “Tell me honestly, Zayn… do you really love River?”

The room went still.

“Elena—” Veronica snapped, her tone sharp, almost panicked. “What kind of question is that? Why would he love someone who broke him? Are you listening to yourself?”

Zayn pulled slightly away from his mother, his eyes downcast.

"I don’t know anymore,” he whispered. “All I know is I’ve never felt that way about anyone before — not even Harry. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I was a fool.”

Elena sighed, her thumb brushing his cheek again.

"Did you even talk to him since he left?”

Zayn hesitated before shaking his head.

"No. I didn’t want to. Everything I believed in was a lie.”

Elena looked at him sadly, her voice quiet but full of conviction.

“You’re young, Zayn. And if you believe you loved him… maybe you should find out what really happened. Pursue him. Love isn’t about perfection. Your father and I — we were far from perfect. But every day, we choose to be better, to forgive. That’s what love is. It’s giving someone a thousand chances to love you again and again.”

She took his hand gently, her eyes shining.

"There’s only one thing I wish for you, my son — to believe in love. To love and be loved, fearlessly.”

Zayn’s throat tightened as he whispered,

"I don’t think I can. I decided to once… and look where it got me.”

Elena smiled faintly.

“Then ask yourself this, sweetheart — in all the time River was with you, did he ever do anything suspicious? Did he ever show you he was the kind of person people say he is?”

Zayn’s lips parted slightly. His mind raced — through every laugh, every glance, every quiet moment. And slowly, he shook his head.

Before Elena could speak again, Veronica’s voice cut through the moment like a blade.

“Oh, please!” she snapped, stepping forward, her face tightening with anger. “Stop being manipulative, Elena. You’re his mother, for God’s sake! And you’re encouraging him to go after some cheap whore? It’s pathetic!”

Leonardo’s head turned sharply, his eyes flashing, but Veronica wasn’t finished. She stepped closer, trembling with rage.

“I’ve always warned you, Leonardo. I told you not to marry her, and now look — look at the kind of character she’s showing. Pretending to be noble when she’s nothing but a cheap woman. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she’s been cheating on you behind your back—”

The sound came faster than anyone could blink.

SLAP!

The crack echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Veronica’s head snapped to the side, her hair whipping as her earring clattered to the floor. The sting bloomed across her cheek — hot, sharp, pulsing — and she stumbled backward, her hand flying to her face. Her breath hitched, eyes wide with shock.

No one moved.

Leonardo stood in front of her, his palm still half-raised, his face cold as marble. His eyes burned with a fury she hadn’t seen in years — silent, lethal.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, and terrifying in its calm.

“That,” he said, “is for disrespecting my wife.”

Veronica’s breath trembled, tears stinging her eyes, but Leonardo didn’t waver.

“You will never speak about her like that again,” he continued, his voice deepening. “Not in my house. Not in front of my children. Not ever.”

The room was utterly still — Harry pale and speechless, Damian frozen in awe, Zayn’s eyes wide with shock and heartbreak.

Veronica’s fingers trembled against her cheek as the red mark began to bloom. Her lip quivered — part disbelief, part humiliation.

Leonardo’s voice boomed across the room, deeper and harsher than it had ever been before — the kind that made even the walls seem to tremble.

“You have no right — none at all — to question Elena’s motherhood,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Or her loyalty to me. If you want to talk about motherhood, Veronica, then fine… let’s talk about that.”

Veronica’s breath caught, her hand still clutching the burning side of her face. Her heart skipped as she took a shaky step back.

"What are you talking about, Leo?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

Leonardo’s lips twisted into something bitter.

"Oh, we’re going to play dumb now?” His laugh came low, cold, without humor. “I was willing to let this wedding go smoothly, to keep my mouth shut, but since you just couldn’t help yourself…” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You wanted to drag this family’s name through the mud? Then let’s drag.”

Veronica’s chest tightened; her pulse thudded so loudly it felt like it echoed in her ears.

“Leo, I don’t know what you’re—”

“You do,” Leonardo interrupted sharply, his finger pointing at her. “The other night, I told you I was glad Adrian didn’t inherit certain things from you. Being sneaky, manipulative… cruel. Turns out, I was right. River told me something that made me suspicious. So, I did a little digging. And when I went to the only person who was there — he cracked under pressure.”

Veronica’s knees nearly gave out.

"Wh–What are you talking about?” she stammered, her eyes darting around the room.

Leonardo chuckled again, a dark, humorless sound.

“No? Still going to pretend?” He straightened, his expression suddenly sharp as steel. “Fine. Since you won’t talk…”

He turned toward the door.

“Come in.”

Everyone turned in confusion — until soft, hesitant footsteps echoed from the hall.

Adrian entered, dressed in his formal wedding suit. His tie was slightly crooked, his face pale, his hands trembling. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. The confident, charming Adrian they all knew was gone — in his place stood a boy drowning in shame.

“Look at him,” Leonardo said, his voice breaking through the stunned silence. “Look what you’ve done to your son.”

Veronica’s throat tightened. She shook her head quickly.

“Whatever he told you, Leo, it’s not true,” she said, voice trembling. “He’s lying—”

Leonardo laughed — a deep, bitter sound that made even Harry flinch.

"You’re my sister, Veronica. I’ve tried to protect you, to understand you… but blackmailing your own son to set up an innocent boy?” His eyes darkened. “I’ve had enough of you.”

Zayn’s stomach dropped, his pulse hammering in his ears.

"What are you talking about?” he asked, voice shaking as he turned toward his father. “Dad, what’s going on?”

Leonardo’s eyes flicked between Harry and Veronica.

"Well? Are you two going to tell the truth? Or do you want me to? Because if I do, you’re not going to like it.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering to Veronica. She shot him a warning look — a sharp, almost invisible wink. Don’t say a word.

But Harry’s nerves were cracking. His breathing quickened; sweat gathered at his temples. Finally, he blurted, voice trembling,

“It was her plan! Veronica’s! She said we could make some money off Zayn after he got his inheritance! She convinced me!”

Veronica’s mouth fell open.

“You liar!” she shrieked, spinning toward him, her face pale with fury. “You lying, useless coward! It was your idea! You said we needed the money — I only helped you!”

“Helped me?!” Harry shouted back, his voice cracking. “You blackmailed me into it!”

The two of them erupted into a shouting match — accusations flying like shards of glass.

“You begged me to help you!”

“You used Adrian!”

“You’re the one who came up with the plan!”

“You set River up!”

Zayn stood there frozen — staring, not blinking, not breathing. The truth slammed into him like a violent wave, knocking the air from his lungs. His eyes widened, glassy, his lips trembling as tears welled up.

He didn’t even realize his knees had weakened until he felt his mother’s hands on him, steadying him, and Damian’s arm holding him upright.

His voice came out as a broken whisper.

“River… was framed?”

Elena’s heart broke at the sound of his voice. She cupped his face gently, nodding through tears.

“We found out this morning,” she said softly. “We didn’t want to confront her before the wedding… but yes. Veronica blackmailed Adrian. She threatened to leak his private video — his nudes — if he didn’t do as she said. She made him lure River, set him up… to destroy his reputation and make you hate him.”

Zayn’s lips parted in horror. His knees buckled again.

"No…”

Damian’s face went pale, his jaw dropping.

"AUNT Veronica…” he whispered, barely believing his own voice.

Adrian stepped forward, his voice shaking.

"I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, his palms together like he was begging. “I didn’t have a choice. That’s why I kept apologizing to River, why I couldn’t look anyone in the eye. She — my mother — she got ahold of a video I made years ago, and she said she’d leak it if I didn’t help her. She said I had to pretend that River and I—” He swallowed hard. “That we slept together. But I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t touch him. I didn’t drug him. It was all her and Harry.”

Veronica gasped in disbelief, shaking her head violently.

“Adrian, no! How dare you—!”

Leonardo put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder, his tone softening.

“It’s okay, son,” he said gently. “Nobody blames you. You should have come to me, though.”

Adrian sniffled.

"I was scared,” he admitted, tears slipping down his cheeks. “You disowned your own son, Uncle. If that video had leskee, it would have linked me to you. What would you have done to me? You were the only family I had…”

Leonardo’s expression softened with pain.

"You’re not the one who should be afraid anymore,” he said quietly.

Harry was trembling where he stood, his hands shaking, his face colorless. Veronica’s breathing was harsh, her eyes darting between them, desperate and cornered.

Zayn finally snapped. His voice rose, cracking under the weight of rage and grief.

"How could you?” he shouted, tears streaming freely now. “How could you do that to me? To him?”

Veronica opened her mouth, but Elena stepped between them. Her voice was low, but cold enough to make the room shiver.

"Don’t waste your precious breath on her, Zayn,” she said firmly. “She doesn’t deserve it.”

Zayn’s voice broke again, full of guilt and anguish.

"I said so many horrible things to him…” he sobbed, pressing a hand to his face. “God, what did I do…”

Elena stroked his cheek.

"Then go, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Go find him.”

Zayn lifted his head, eyes red and glassy.

"I need to see him. I need to apologize.”

He turned toward the door, but hesitated — looking at Damian, who gave him a faint, emotional smile.

“Go,” Damian said softly, his voice cracking. “I think I’ve got a backup best man anyway.”

Zayn’s lips curved into a trembling smile through his tears.

"Thank you,” he whispered.

And then he turned and ran — out of the room, down the hall, his heart pounding with every step as the sound of his shoes faded, leaving behind a silence filled with guilt, relief, and the echo of truths finally set free.

Veronica’s glare could have sliced through steel. Her eyes locked on her trembling son — eyes full of disgust, betrayal, and burning rage. Her voice quivered at first, but the venom in it was unmistakable.

“Coward,” she hissed, her lips curling. “You’re such a damn coward, Adrian. I can’t believe you’re my son. You—” her voice cracked, and her breathing quickened. “I should’ve aborted you the day that useless fool of a father left me!”

Adrian froze where he stood, tears streaming down his face, unable to believe the words that just came out of his mother’s mouth. His lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. A strangled sob escaped instead.

Before anyone could react, Veronica lunged forward, her hand raised high — ready to strike him. Adrian flinched, bracing himself—

“Don’t you dare touch him!”

The sharp command sliced through the tension. Everyone turned. Elena stood there, eyes blazing with a fury none of them had ever seen before. Her voice thundered through the hall.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on that boy, Veronica!”

Veronica’s voice cracked as she spun to face her.

"Stay out of this, Elena! You don’t interfere in my family! This has nothing to—”

The sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot.

It wasn’t Veronica who delivered it this time. It was Elena.

Veronica stumbled backward, clutching her cheek in disbelief. The sting of the slap burned, and for a moment, she just stared—wide-eyed, mouth agape, trying to process what had just happened. Harry even covered his own cheek instinctively, terrified he might be next.

Elena’s hand trembled slightly, but her eyes never wavered. Her voice was steady, sharp with conviction.

“You will never lay your filthy hands on Adrian again,” she said. “That boy has done nothing but try to survive your cruelty. He is a good child, Veronica — a good boy — and yet you’ve been trying to turn him into a monster like you.”

Veronica’s voice came out shaky.

"Did you—did you just slap me?”

Leonardo’s voice came next, low and heavy.

“It’s long overdue.”

Everyone turned as he stepped forward, the disappointment and fury etched deep into his face.

“You’ve crossed every possible line,” he said slowly. “You insulted my wife, destroyed my son’s happiness, manipulated everyone around you, and now you’re attacking your own child?” His voice grew deeper with every word. “You’re toxic, Veronica. You’re poisoning this family.”

“Leo—” she tried to start, but he cut her off sharply.

“No! You’ve said enough.” He jabbed a finger toward her, eyes blazing. “I’ve tried to protect you. I’ve made excuses for you your entire life. But this?” He gestured toward Adrian, who was still weeping in Elena’s arms. “This is beyond forgiveness.”

Veronica’s breath came in short gasps, fear creeping into her features.

"What… what are you saying?”

Leonardo took another step forward, his voice like thunder now.

"I’m saying I’ve had enough. You wanted to talk about motherhood? Fine. Let’s talk. You have no right to question Elena’s motherhood or her loyalty — none! You lost that right the day you used your own son for your schemes!”

Veronica’s eyes darted around, trembling.

“Leo, please, I—”

“No,” he said firmly. “No more begging. No more manipulation.”

Her hand clutched at her chest as if bracing herself.

"What are you going to do?” she asked, voice trembling.

Leonardo exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

“I’ve made my decision.” He paused, and the air in the room grew cold, tense. “You are no longer welcome in this house — or in any Monroe property. I don’t want to see you near my home, near my family, or near my company. From this moment on, you are out.”

Veronica’s breath hitched.

"You can’t do that,” she whispered. “You’re throwing your own sister out? I—I have nothing left, Leo! Nothing!”

He looked at her with something between pity and disgust.

“And whose fault is that?” he said. “You think I enjoy this? You brought this on yourself. Maybe if you’d learned humility — maybe if you hadn’t been so obsessed with control — things would’ve been different. But you didn’t.”

His next words hit like a hammer.

“And since you clearly don’t intend to take responsibility for your actions, the police will help you do it.”

The color drained from Veronica’s face.

"What… what did you say?”

Leonardo’s voice was unyielding.

"They’re waiting outside. I called them myself. For the charges of drugging and attempting to harm an innocent person.”

Veronica’s eyes widened, her entire body trembling.

“You—you called the police on your own sister?!”

He stared straight into her eyes.

"Not my sister,” he said coldly. “A criminal.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the air felt heavy.

“Now,” he said, his voice dropping into a dangerous calm, “get out of my sight. And take your puppy with you.” He gestured toward Harry, whose face had gone pale as chalk.

Veronica’s lips quivered.

"Leo, please—”

“OUT!”

The word cracked through the room like lightning.

Harry didn’t wait for her to argue again; he grabbed her arm, practically dragging her toward the door. She stumbled once, her heels clicking against the marble floor, still clutching her cheek and muttering incoherently. When the doors slammed shut behind them, the silence that followed felt endless.

Elena exhaled shakily, then turned to Adrian, wrapping her arms around him once more. He broke down completely, sobbing into her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “You’re safe now, my boy. You’re safe.”

Leonardo ran a hand over his face and sighed heavily.

"I’m glad that’s over,” he murmured, his voice tired but relieved. He turned to everyone else, his tone softening. “No more sadness. No more lies. We’ve had enough darkness for one lifetime.”

He looked around at his family — his wife still holding Adrian, and Damian still standing there in stunned silence — and managed a faint, weary smile.

“Let’s prepare for the wedding,” he said quietly. “We still have love to celebrate.”

Everyone slowly nodded, the tension finally beginning to lift, the heavy storm that had lingered over them finally breaking — even if the wounds it left behind would take time to heal.

***

River stood outside the ER, his hands clasped together so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale. The harsh fluorescent lights above flickered, casting an almost sickly glow over his tear-streaked face. His breath came in uneven gasps, each one rattling like broken glass in his chest. His shirt clung to his skin with sweat, and his legs felt as though they could give out any moment.

He’d been there for hours—hours that felt like years. Every minute stretched thin and cruel. Every sound—an echo of footsteps, a distant cry, the squeak of a gurney’s wheels—made him flinch, expecting the worst. His fingers trembled as he rubbed them together, as if the friction might somehow warm the cold pit in his stomach. But nothing helped.

He kept replaying it in his head: his father collapsing, the scream that tore from his throat, the way his knees hit the floor as he tried to shake him awake. The way his father’s hand had gone limp in his. He could still feel the weight of it—too still, too heavy, too wrong.

A nurse brushed past him, the faint smell of antiseptic following her, and it made his stomach twist. His eyes darted to the red “Emergency Room” sign above the swinging doors for what must have been the hundredth time. Please, please be okay, he thought. He couldn’t lose him. Not now.

The door swung open suddenly, and a man in scrubs stepped out—his mask pulled down, his expression tense. River’s heart jumped so violently he thought he might faint.

“River?” the doctor called softly.

River stumbled forward, his throat dry.

“Y-yes,” he managed, the word breaking halfway through. His lips trembled as he asked, “My father—please tell me he’s okay.”

The doctor sighed, removing his gloves. His face was tired—too tired.

"We’ve done everything we could to stabilize him,” he said gently. “But his condition is critical. We need to take him into emergency surgery right away, or…” His voice faltered. “Or we’re going to lose him.”

For a second, River didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The words hung in the air like something physical—something heavy that landed right in the center of his chest.

He stared at the doctor blankly, his lips parting but no words coming out. His eyes darted toward the ER doors, as if expecting to see his father standing there, smiling faintly like he always did when things got bad. But there was no one. Just the empty hallway and the steady hum of machines.

“Emergency surgery?” River finally whispered, his voice so thin it almost disappeared. He blinked rapidly, tears spilling down his cheeks. “Why now? He—he was just… he was just talking to me. He was fine…” His voice cracked as his hand went to his mouth. “W-what am I supposed to do? What do I do?”

The doctor looked at him sympathetically, his tone steady but urgent.

“We’ll need an initial deposit and your consent to proceed immediately. It’s his only chance.”

 

River’s world spun. His pulse roared in his ears. He felt his knees wobble, the corridor tilting slightly under him. He clutched the wall for balance, eyes wide, heart pounding like thunder in his chest. His father’s voice echoed in his mind—We may be poor, son, but we’ve got each other.

“Please, where am I supposed to gwt such an amount” he whispered finally, his voice breaking as he nodded shakily. “I don't have anything right now."

"We’ll try to do our best but it's up to you."

The doctor hurried back through the doors, leaving River standing there in the hall, shaking so badly he could barely stay upright. He pressed both hands to his face and let out a strangled sob, his body folding in on itself as his mind screamed the only words it could form—

Please don’t die, Dad. Please don’t leave me.

***

The heat hit Zayn the moment he stepped out of his Porsche, the midday sun glaring down like it had something personal against him. He squinted up at the tall, faded building ahead, its old bricks glimmering faintly in the light. His heartbeat quickened—not from the climb he was about to make, but from the weight pressing inside his chest.

He stood there for a moment, gripping his car keys tightly, staring at the entrance. The students passing by looked carefree, chatting, laughing, the sound of their joy echoing in contrast to the chaos in his head. He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, and muttered to himself, “You can do this.”

He’d spent two days searching, calling in favors, tracing every lead just to find where River studied. It hadn’t been easy—nothing about this was—but he didn’t care. If he had to kneel in front of everyone in that building, he would. If it meant River would just look at him again, talk to him again, maybe—just maybe—he could make things right.

He adjusted his jacket, straightened up, and started toward the stairs. Halfway up, a group of students came rushing down, laughter filling the air. They slowed when they saw him. The whispers started almost instantly.

“Oh my God, that’s Zayn Monroe.”

“Seriously? From the Monroe family?”

“He’s even more handsome in person…”

Zayn gave them a polite, uneasy smile, trying not to let his nerves show.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “Um, this is the law building, right?”

One of the girls, clutching a folder to her chest, nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, this is it!”

He exhaled softly, a flicker of relief passing over his face.

"Good… good. Uh, do you guys happen to know a student named River?”

At the mention of the name, their smiles faded. The air seemed to change a little, like the sun dimmed just slightly behind a cloud.

“Of course we know him,” another student said quietly. “River’s one of the best law students here.”

Zayn’s lips curved into a faint smile.

"Yeah,” he murmured, “that sounds like him.”

But then he noticed the hesitation in their eyes. Something felt wrong.

“Is he around?” he asked, glancing toward the entrance. “I really need to talk to him.”

The group exchanged looks before one of them finally spoke.

“He hasn’t been to school in over a week,” she said softly. “And… we just heard some really bad news yesterday.”

Zayn froze.

"What… what kind of news?”

The girl hesitated before saying it, her tone careful.

"His father passed away in the hospital. They said it was a heart attack.”

For a moment, Zayn didn’t move. He just stood there, staring blankly, the words echoing in his ears like distant thunder. His chest tightened, and his throat felt like it was closing.

“His… father?” he repeated quietly, his voice trembling.

The girl nodded, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"Yeah. It was really sudden.”

Zayn blinked rapidly, his vision blurring for a second. He took a step back, as if the ground itself had tilted beneath him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

They all nodded. The sympathy in their faces only made it worse.

He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but his breath was shaky, uneven.

"Do you… do you know where he lives?” he asked, his voice soft, desperate.

One of them gave him the address and pointed him in the direction of a quiet street not too far from campus. Zayn nodded, mumbling a thank you, though the words barely made it past his lips.

When they left, he stood there alone at the base of the stairs, the world suddenly too quiet. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. He stared at the address scribbled on a torn notebook paper, his vision trembling.

He’d come here hoping to apologize—to make things right. But now, the idea that River had been suffering all alone, grieving, while he’d been trapped in his own guilt—it crushed him.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to keep his composure, but his voice cracked as he whispered to himself,

"I’m so sorry, River… God, I’m so sorry…”

And then he turned toward his car, his steps slow but determined, a single thought burning in his mind: he couldn’t lose him too.

***

Zayn’s car crawled through the narrow, uneven streets, the gleam of his Porsche painfully out of place among the rows of small, worn-down houses and laundry lines strung between walls. The air smelled faintly of dust and smoke from cooking fires, and voices of children playing echoed faintly somewhere nearby.

He slowed to a stop in front of a small, humble home — cracked walls, faded paint, and a rusted gate that creaked as the wind pushed against it. His heart ached just looking at it. This… this was where River had come from. A world so far removed from his own that it made him feel even guiltier.

He got out of the car slowly, the sound of the door shutting echoing down the quiet street. His shoes crunched against the dirt as he walked toward the little gate, and he hesitated before knocking. Once. Twice. Then again.

No one came.

He waited, looking around, his throat tightening. He knocked again, harder this time, his knuckles stinging against the old wood.

"Hello?” he called softly. “River? Anyone home?”

Nothing.

He tried again, and again, until his hand began to ache. His heart felt heavy in his chest, dread building with every unanswered knock. Finally, after what felt like forever, he heard the sound of shuffling inside — slow footsteps, the creak of a latch.

The door opened, revealing an elderly woman with a scarf wrapped around her head. She looked tired, her face lined with years of hard living. She stared up at him curiously, clutching the edge of the door.

“Can I help you, young man?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

Zayn swallowed hard, his heart racing

“Uh—yes, I… I’m looking for River. Does he… does he live here?”

The woman frowned, her gaze softening with a flicker of pity.

"Oh… you must be a friend of his.”

Zayn nodded quickly.

“Yes. Please, I— I need to see him. It’s important.”

She sighed, shaking her head slowly.

“I’m sorry, son. No one’s around. They moved out just two days ago, after his father…” she trailed off, her voice growing softer, “…after his father passed away.”

Zayn felt the words like a knife twisting deep inside him. His chest tightened painfully.

"Moved out?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Where—where did they go?”

The woman shook her head sadly.

"I heard they were going to some family’s place. Somewhere out of town, I think. The funeral was to be held there. But I don’t know exactly where, sorry.”

Zayn stood there frozen, his lips parting but no words coming out. He looked past her shoulder into the dim house—empty, silent, stripped of the warmth that might once have filled it.

He finally managed to whisper, “Thank you.”

The woman nodded and gently closed the door, leaving him standing there alone.

He took a shaky step back, staring at the small house — the peeling paint, the crooked roof tiles, the potted plants that had started to wither at the doorway. He could almost imagine River stepping out of that door, smiling, brushing off his sleeves, ready to face the world again despite everything.

But now… it was all gone.

His legs gave out, and he sank onto the dusty ground beside the gate. The dirt clung to his expensive trousers, but he didn’t care. He just sat there, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the little home that no longer held the person he’d come to find.

The quiet of the street pressed down on him, broken only by the distant sound of a crying baby and the hum of a passing motorbike.

Zayn rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the burn of tears that refused to fall. His voice came out low and cracked as he whispered,

“I’m too late, aren’t I?”

He tilted his head back and stared at the sky — the same harsh sun still beating down, unrelenting, like it had been mocking him since he got there. The pain slipped through him slowly, deep and unbearable, until all that was left was the emptiness in his chest and the echo of River’s name on his lips.

***

2 years later...

*

Zayn slammed the door of his sleek Porsche shut, the sound echoing through the underground parking lot. His tie was crooked, his fingers fumbling as he buttoned up his charcoal jacket. The moment he straightened up, he was already fishing his phone from his pocket and pressing it to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m on my way in,” he said between hurried breaths, his shoes clicking against the marble floor as he strode toward the building’s glass doors. His reflection flashed across them — sharp suit, tousled hair, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

The doors slid open, and cool air brushed against his skin, but it did nothing to ease the heat that was building in his chest. He was late — again.

On the other end of the line, Damian’s voice came through, low and impatient.

"Where the hell are you, Zayn? I told you Dad’s coming back into the country today. The meeting’s already started ten minutes ago.”

Zayn cursed under his breath as he stepped into the elevator lobby.

"I know, I know. How long’s it been going on? I had to—”

“Don’t tell me you went to River’s place again,” Damian interrupted sharply.

Zayn’s jaw tightened.

“I just had to check. It’s been two years, Damian. What if—”

“What if nothing!” Damian snapped. “You’ve been doing that for the past two years, man. Driving to that same damn neighborhood, staring at that same empty house like it’s going to suddenly bring him back. You need to move on.”

Zayn sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he pressed the elevator button.

“I’ve tried,” he muttered, voice low. “You think I haven’t? I’ve tried, Damian. But it’s hard. Every time I tell myself to forget, I just—can’t.”

There was silence for a moment on the other end. Then Damian’s tone softened slightly.

“Just get your ass in the conference room before Dad flips out.”

Zayn exhaled shakily.

“Yeah. I’ll be there soon.”

He ended the call and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the 3rd floor. The metallic doors slid shut with a soft hiss. The confined space filled with the sound of his heavy breathing. He loosened his tie slightly, trying to calm the pounding in his chest.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. Zayn stepped out, instantly greeted by the sleek hallway’s chill air. He moved quickly, his shoes echoing sharply as he made his way toward the glass-walled conference room. Through the large windows, he could already see the silhouettes of men in suits, the gleam of polished wood, the subtle hum of discussion.

He stopped outside the door, straightened his jacket, and took a deep breath. His palms were sweaty.

Okay, breathe. Just breathe.

When he finally pushed the door open, the cool breeze from the air conditioning hit him — and so did the sight that froze him in place.

His body went rigid, every thought in his head vanishing in an instant.

Because sitting at the far end of the long mahogany table — poised, calm, confident — was the one person he hadn’t seen in two years.

River.

Zayn’s breath hitched.

He looked different — grown, refined, heartbreakingly beautiful in a way that felt unfair. His long hair, darker now, was neatly brushed back, a few soft strands falling near his temple. He wore a sharp black suit and a crisp white shirt, the contrast making his skin glow under the lights. His glasses framed his face perfectly — the cool professionalism in his eyes a far cry from the River Zayn once knew.

Zayn’s lips parted, a tremor running through him.

“R—River…” he whispered, barely audible, his voice breaking.

River didn’t notice him at first — he was focused on the men across from him. His tone was calm but commanding, his presence demanding attention.

"We’re not signing any contract until I’ve gone through it thoroughly,” he said firmly, closing a file with deliberate precision.

One of the men frowned.

"Mr. Flores, we can’t afford to waste any more time. The other lawyer already went through this.”

River’s gaze lifted, sharp and unwavering.

“Then perhaps you should’ve stayed with that lawyer. But as long as I’m in charge, we’ll do this the right way. You’ll get our answer once every clause is reviewed.”

The man shifted uncomfortably.

“But we’re already behind schedule—”

River leaned back, his lips curving into a faint, dangerous smile.

"I have all the time in the world. But can you afford to lose this contract?”

The room went silent.

A beat passed before the man sighed and muttered, “Fine. We’ll wait to hear from you.”

River nodded once, standing gracefully.

"Good. Then we understand each other.” He extended his hand, and the men shook it reluctantly before filing out of the room.

As they left, Damian laughed from his seat beside Leonardo.

"This new version of you, man—kind of terrifying. But I like it.”

River chuckled softly.

"Simply the best for the man who deserves nothing less.”

Leonardo smiled proudly.

“You’re doing an excellent job, River.”

River’s smile widened.

"Thank you, sir.”

The laughter that followed was light and easy—until Zayn’s voice broke through it, trembling.

“River…”

The entire room went silent.

River froze for a second, then slowly turned. His gaze met Zayn’s. The faint smile on his lips faltered for just a heartbeat—before he recovered it again, polite and distant.

“Mr. Monroe,” he greeted coolly.

Zayn felt his heart shatter all over again. He took a few steps forward, his throat tight, his eyes wet.

"How—how are you here? At my company? I looked everywhere for you. I tried calling, I went to your house every day for 2 years—” His voice cracked. “For years, River. Two years. You disappeared, and no one knew where you were. I’m so sorry about your father. I heard he—he died in the hospital and—”

River blinked, confusion crossing his face.

"My father?”

Zayn nodded rapidly.

“Yes, your father—he… I was told he—”

River’s brows drew together, his tone even.

"My father’s alive, Mr. Monroe. I just spoke to him a few hours ago.”

Zayn’s heart stopped.

“What?” he stammered. “But… they said—”

Leonardo sighed heavily, setting down his pen.

“Zayn,” he began quietly, “I think I owe you an explanation.”

Zayn turned toward him, bewildered.

"Explanation? For what?”

Leonardo exchanged a look with River before saying gently, “I knew where River was. All this time.”

Zayn’s eyes widened.

"What?”

“I sent him away,” Leonardo continued. “He needed to finish his studies abroad. It was part of our agreement.”

Zayn’s voice rose, trembling.

"You knew? All this time—you saw what I was going through, how I kept looking for him, feeling like it was my fault—and you just watched?”

Leonardo’s voice softened, remorseful.

“I’m sorry, son. But River asked me to keep it that way.”

Zayn turned, his chest heaving, eyes locking on River.

"You asked him to?”

River’s gaze didn’t waver.

"Yes. I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I was just your employee,” River said evenly, his tone firm, detached. “Our deal was over. There was no reason for us to keep interfering in each other’s lives. I wanted to focus on my family and my career.”

Zayn swallowed hard, his voice breaking.

“River… I’m sorry. For everything.”

River gave a small, polite smile.

"There’s no need, Mr. Monroe.”

“River—”

“Attorney Flores,” River corrected sharply, cutting him off.

The correction hit like a slap. The distance in his voice was colder than any silence Zayn had endured these two long years.

Damian let out a low whistle, smirking.

"Feisty,” he muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Zayn.

Zayn turned on him.

"You knew about this?”

Damian raised his hands in surrender, grinning sheepishly.

"I found out about it a year ago. Dad was right. You had some growing up to do, man.”

Zayn stared at him in disbelief, then back at River, his chest aching.

River, meanwhile, adjusted his files and gathered his papers calmly.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said smoothly, turning toward Damian. “Say hi to Liana and your son for me. I’ll visit soon.”

And with that, he walked past Zayn without another glance.

Zayn stood there, frozen, watching him leave. Every part of him screamed to say something—to reach out, to stop him—but his voice was gone.

The click of River’s shoes faded down the hallway until it was just silence.

Then, suddenly, Zayn bolted.

“River!”

He burst out of the conference room, his heart pounding as he chased after him.

"River, wait!”

But the hallway was empty, the elevator already descending, the doors closing before his eyes.

And just like that, for the second time in his life, River was gone — and Zayn was left standing there, breathless.

***

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and River stepped out, the hum of the lobby filling his ears. His steps were calm, deliberate — each one echoing faintly against the marble floor. His composure was immaculate; his face cool, unreadable, as though the encounter in the conference room hadn’t left the slightest ripple within him.

He adjusted the strap of his briefcase on his shoulder and headed for the glass doors that led outside. Sunlight poured in, painting the floor gold. But just as he reached the halfway point, a voice — hoarse and breathless — echoed behind him.

“River!”

The sound made him freeze mid-step. His heart gave an involuntary jolt — the kind he hated. Slowly, he turned.

There, half-running, half-stumbling toward him, was Zayn. His suit jacket was unbuttoned, tie loose, sweat glistening on his forehead. His chest rose and fell violently as he braced himself, both hands on his knees, gasping for air.

River blinked, startled.

"Did you… just use the stairs from the third floor?”

Zayn looked up, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted in a breathless grin.

“I’ve been looking for you for two years, River,” he said between gasps, “stairs were nothing.”

For a second, River forgot how to breathe. He swallowed, hard, trying to fight the sudden sting behind his eyes.

"Why?” he asked softly. “Why were you looking for me, Zayn?”

Zayn straightened, wiping the sweat from his brow, his chest still heaving. He took a few steps forward, closing the space between them until River could almost feel the heat radiating off him. His voice trembled when he finally spoke.

“Because I hired a stranger once,” Zayn began, his tone low and raw, “and I misjudged him. I thought he was just doing it for the money. But within days, that stranger turned my life upside down. He was kind, selfless, maddeningly stubborn, and the most beautiful soul I’d ever met.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I wronged him. I broke him. And when I realized what I’d lost—it was too late. I couldn’t let him go, River. Because that stranger… was you.”

River’s lips parted slightly, his composure cracking for a fleeting second. His eyes softened, then fell to the floor before meeting Zayn’s again. He took a step closer, close enough that their breaths mingled, his tone quieter now.

“When I came back to my father,” River said softly, “I was heartbroken. Because I’d truly loved you, Zayn. Even before you knew I existed.” His throat tightened as he spoke. “That same day, my father almost died. He collapsed right in front of me. I thought I’d lose him too. But thanks to your father—Leonardo—who had sent someone to keep an eye on me, he survived.”

Zayn’s eyes glistened.

"Thank God for him,” he whispered.

River nodded.

“Yes. Thank God for him. But Zayn…” He stepped back slightly, his gaze steady. “If Leonardo hadn’t gone searching for the truth, if he hadn’t been there… would you and I be standing here right now?”

The question hung between them like a blade. Zayn opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat burned, his heart twisting painfully.

“I—” he stammered. “River, I’m sorry. For everything. For the lies, for not believing you, for letting others get in between us. I’ve spent two years trying to move on, but I can’t. I haven’t been with anyone since. I still love you, River. Please… just give me another chance.”

His voice cracked on the last word, the desperation in his tone cutting through the air.

River looked at him, silent. His gaze searched Zayn’s face — the same face that once broke his heart and haunted his dreams. Then, slowly, he exhaled and took another step closer, his voice calm, almost too calm.

“Zayn…” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle. “You know me well enough to know that I’m not one for office romance.”

Zayn’s eyes flickered in confusion.

“What?”

“I don’t mix business with pleasure,” River said firmly, a faint, almost teasing smile curling on his lips. “It’s… unprofessional.”

Zayn’s shoulders slumped. The air seemed to leave his lungs. He stared at him, lost for words, the weight of rejection hitting like a tidal wave.

River adjusted his glasses, the faint smirk still lingering, and turned toward the exit.

"Good day, Mr. Monroe.”

And with that, he walked away, the click of his shoes echoing across the marble as the automatic doors opened and swallowed him into the sunlight.

Zayn stood there motionless. The silence around him felt suffocating. His heart sank like a stone in his chest. His throat burned. He tilted his head back, blinking away the tears that stung his eyes.

He had imagined a thousand ways of seeing River again, a thousand ways to apologize — but not like this. Not with him walking away so easily, leaving Zayn feeling like the world had just caved in.

He pressed a trembling hand to his face, taking in a shaky breath. God, why did it still hurt this much?

“Zayn.”

The voice — warm, smooth, familiar — made his head snap up.

There, just outside the glass doors, River was standing again. The sunlight framed him, softening his sharp edges, his hair slightly tousled by the wind. His lips were curved in a faint smirk.

“What are you waiting for?” River asked casually, tilting his head.

Zayn blinked, his heart skipping.

"W–What?”

River’s smirk grew.

“I said I don’t do office romance,” he said, voice light now, teasing. “We’re outside.”

For a moment, Zayn just stood there — stunned, his mind refusing to process the words. Then, slowly, a disbelieving laugh broke out of him. He ran a hand through his hair, tears mixing with his laughter.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, you know that?”

River chuckled, stepping aside to let him through.

“You’re dramatic,” he said, eyes glinting playfully. “Now hurry up. I’m starving. You can make it up to me with fast food.”

Zayn shook his head, still laughing as he joined him.

“After what you just pulled? You’re cruel, Flores.”

River smiled faintly.

"Maybe,” he said softly. “But you still came running.”

Zayn turned to look at him — really look at him — and his chest felt lighter than it had in years. He smiled, voice low and warm.

"Yeah. And I’m not stopping this time.”

River met his gaze for a brief, lingering moment before turning toward the street.

"We’ll see about that,” he murmured, and started walking.

Zayn followed, the ghost of a smile still tugging at his lips as they disappeared down the sunlit sidewalk — together at last, and yet, with that same thrilling uncertainty that had always defined them.

***

The car rolled gently to a stop at the drive-through window, the scent of fries and grilled beef filling the air. The sun cast a warm glow through the windshield, catching in River’s hair — making it shimmer like spun gold. He was smiling, a real, soft smile, one that reached his eyes as he turned his head toward Zayn.

Zayn looked at him, his hand still resting on the steering wheel, his heart thudding a little faster than it should.

"I can’t believe this,” he said, his voice thick with disbelief and laughter. “After all this time, after everything… I’m sitting in a car with you.”

He gave himself a light slap on the cheek, then another.

“Just making sure I’m not dreaming.”

River’s smile deepened, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

"I could help with that, you know,” he said softly.

Zayn blinked, confused for a second.

“Help with wha—”

Before he could finish, River leaned in, one hand reaching out to grasp the back of his neck. His fingers were warm, steady — and then his lips met Zayn’s.

It was tender at first, hesitant, like rediscovering something that had been lost. Then it deepened — slow, searching, filled with everything unsaid. Zayn’s breath hitched in surprise before melting into it, his heart leaping against his ribs. River’s lips were soft, tasting faintly of mint and coffee, and a quiet sound — a small, unguarded moan — escaped between them.

The world felt like it had paused, holding its breath just for them.

Then—

“Uh, excuse me, sir… your order?”

The voice jolted them apart, both breathing heavily. Zayn turned sharply toward the window, his eyes lingering on River’s lips longer than he intended before fumbling for words.

“I—uh, sorry—uh—”

But the rest of his sentence died on his tongue.

The woman at the window wasn’t just anyone. She had a scarf covering her head, no makeup, her skin bare and dotted with small pimples. She looked pale and thinner than he remembered, thinner than the beauty standards that she used to talk about. Yet those eyes—those sharp, once-proud eyes—were unmistakable.

“Veronica?” he breathed.

She froze, tray trembling slightly in her hands.

"Here’s your food,” she said softly, her voice thin and trembling. “It’s… it’s thirty-five ninety-nine.”

Her tone cracked halfway through, the pain beneath it unmistakable.

Zayn stared, his eyes wide from shock and something that he couldn’t keep his finger on. River glanced between them, confused and wide-eyed. Without a word, Zayn reached into his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it over.

River blinked, startled.

“Zayn—”

The car behind them honked impatiently, cutting him off.

“Keep the change,” Zayn said quietly, and then pressed the accelerator, driving off into the warm glow of sun.

The silence between them stretched for a moment before River finally asked,

"Did you… know she worked there?”

Zayn shook his head, eyes still fixed on the road.

“No. First time I’ve seen her since that day. Last time I heard, she was in jail over what she did with Harry. But I don’t want to talk about her,” he said, his voice softening as he turned slightly to River. “I want to talk about something more productive, like us.”

River chuckled, unwrapping his burger.

"Well, we can talk,” he said with a grin, “but I’m starving first.”

That laugh — light, teasing, warm — filled the car like music. Zayn smiled helplessly as River took a huge bite, his cheeks full like a child’s.

“You still eat like that,” Zayn teased.

“Like what?” River asked with a mouthful, raising a brow.

“Like you’re in a competition.”

River laughed, swallowing before dipping a fry into Zayn’s soda.

"And I’m still winning,” he said, grinning.

They ate, laughed, and talked — about everything and nothing. About how River had finished his studies, about how Zayn had spent two years searching for him, and how strange it felt to finally be sitting there, together, like old times.

At one point, River picked up a fry, looked at Zayn with mock seriousness, and held it up.

"Say ah.”

Zayn rolled his eyes but leaned forward obediently, taking it with a soft laugh.

"You’re impossible.”

“Mm,” River said with a cheeky grin. “And you love it.”

The car filled with laughter, the kind that comes from relief and rediscovery — the kind that makes you forget how much time you’ve lost.

And for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter.

Because inside that small car, parked on the side of the road with greasy wrappers and shared soda, there was something pure — something real. The kind of love people spent their lives searching for.

*

And maybe River didn’t know it then, as he laughed and fed Zayn fries between jokes, but he had found it — that ridiculous, passionate, once-in-a-lifetime kind of love he used to think only existed in soap operas.

He didn’t know that one day, he’d be standing beside this same man, in front of friends and family, saying vows that would make everyone cry.

But we wouldn’t want to spoil that… would we?

Outside, the sky turned gold and pink — and the two men drove off into it, laughing between bites, hearts finally at peace.

The end...

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