Chapter 3
I stared at the hospital ceiling, counting the tiny holes in each acoustic tile to distract myself from the hollow ache in my chest. The monitors beeped steadily beside me, a cold reminder that while my body was recovering, my heart remained shattered. No flowers. No Adrian. Just the lingering betrayal of watching him choose Everly—again—even as I fought for breath on that marble floor.
The door opened with a soft click, and my mother swept in, elegant as always in her cream Chanel suit. Victoria Hamilton never appeared disheveled, even in crisis. Her eyes, however, betrayed what her posture did not—fury barely contained beneath her composed exterior.
"Darling," she said, setting her Hermès bag on the visitor's chair and taking my hand. Her fingers were cool against my skin. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been betrayed by the man I loved for five years," I replied, my voice still raspy from intubation. "So, physically terrible, emotionally worse."
Mother's lips pressed into a thin line. "What Adrian did was unforgivable. The Hamilton name has been dragged through gossip columns because of his actions."
"I know you warned me about him," I whispered.
"I didn't come to say 'I told you so,'" she said, surprising me. She reached into her bag and pulled out a leather portfolio bound with a blue ribbon. "I came with a solution."
I raised an eyebrow. "A solution?"
"Leo Harrison has returned from London," she said, watching my face carefully. "He's approached your father and me with a proposal. An arranged marriage, as was once discussed between our families years ago."
"Leo Harrison?" The name stirred something in my memory—a tall, quiet man with intense eyes who'd disappeared to London around the time I'd met Adrian. "The real estate developer?"
Mother nodded, untying the ribbon. "He's been in London these past five years, building his empire... and apparently, thinking of you."
She opened the portfolio, and I gasped. Inside were detailed sketches of wedding venues, dress designs, flower arrangements—all annotated with my preferences. Blue hydrangeas, not white. Bateau neckline, never strapless. Santorini-inspired color schemes with whites and blues.
"He created all of this... for me?" I whispered, turning pages to find more sketches, fabric swatches, even a floor plan for a honeymoon villa overlooking the Mediterranean.
"Leo told us he's loved you from afar for five years," Mother said softly. "He left for London when you chose Adrian, but he never stopped planning for the possibility that someday, you might be his."
I traced a finger over a sketch of a sapphire engagement ring—my birthstone, not a diamond. Something Adrian never remembered despite my hints.
"This is... overwhelming," I admitted.
"It's a chance to heal, Serena," Mother said. "With someone who has proven his devotion before you've even given him a chance. Consider it."
She left the portfolio on my lap, kissing my forehead before departing. I spent hours examining each page, each detail that proved someone had been paying attention to my dreams while Adrian had been trampling them.
The next morning, I woke to find a man sitting beside my bed—not Adrian, whose absence still stung despite everything, but a stranger with familiar eyes. Leo Harrison wore a simple gray suit, his dark hair slightly tousled, as if he'd run his hands through it nervously before entering.
"Ms. Hamilton," he said, his voice deeper than I remembered. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"You're the man who's been designing my wedding for five years," I replied, unsure whether to be flattered or unnerved.
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "When you put it that way, it sounds rather presumptuous of me."
"It is," I agreed, but found myself smiling back.
Leo didn't bring flowers—a relief after years of Adrian's predictable roses. Instead, he placed a small blue velvet box on my bedside table.
"Not a ring," he assured me, seeing my expression. "That would be rushing things, even for someone who's planned as far ahead as I have."
I opened the box to find a delicate sapphire bracelet, the stones arranged in a pattern that immediately reminded me of Santorini's iconic blue domes against white buildings.
"How did you know?" I whispered.
"Five years ago, at the Carmichael gala, you spoke for ten minutes about wanting to see Santorini's sunset," Leo said quietly. "I've remembered every word."
As he fastened the bracelet around my wrist, his fingers warm against my pulse point, I realized what true attention felt like—and how long I'd been starving for it.
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