A Chance at Love

Chapter 9

Over the past month, I have dedicated myself intensely to finishing my latest novel, which serves as the conclusion to the eight-part series that earned me my largest fan following. This space drama, blending elements of science fiction and romance, has finally reached its conclusion, and I have been focusing all my energy on it. The antagonist of the series, Drogon of the Four Clans, a feared warlord, has spent the last three novels relentlessly pursuing the protagonist, the legendary and quick-witted Aira Rusk. However, in the opening of this final novel, I finally disclosed that Drogon has harbored feelings of love for Aira for many years. Although it appeared that he was attempting to capture her, his true aim has always been to win her heart. Throughout this time, her closest confidant and occasional romantic partner, Burke, has been secretly working against her, sabotaging her missions to earn credits without her knowledge.

I had not originally intended for Drogon to fall in love with Aira, yet I found myself increasingly captivated by the character I had developed. He was a multifaceted individual, appearing somewhat dark and mysterious, but beneath that exterior was a man who recognized and valued beauty and simplicity—at least when he wasn't engaged in acts of pillaging. This complexity made him all the more intriguing to explore. So, while the series was about Aira and her journeys, this last book was meant to be his redemption.

After pouring so much effort into the novel, I was totally thrown off when Clara texted me at seven one evening, wondering where on earth I was. For a split second, I was utterly baffled, and then, with a dramatic groan, it hit me—tonight was the bridal party Clara’s coworkers had planned for her. Swearing under my breath, I slammed the save button on my computer and shot her a quick text saying I’d be there ASAP. Thankfully, I’d showered not too long ago, and my hair was mostly dry, so I wasn’t a total disaster. I grabbed a simple black maxi dress and a trusty jean jacket, slipped on some sandals, and threw my hair up into a high ponytail. Sweet and simple—plus, if anyone dared ask why I hadn’t gone all out with my look, I could blame my “pregnancy brain” for the laziness, rather than a total lack of interest in appearances.

Luckily, catching a cab was smooth sailing, and I made my way into Manhattan to join the party at this trendy pop-up Korean/French fusion spot that everyone was raving about. All in all, a last-minute scramble turned into a surprisingly stylish save, and I managed to show up looking like I actually belonged—well, mostly.

When I reached the bistro, the windows glimmered with strings of golden lights. I could hear laughter ricocheting off the sidewalk before I even stepped inside. Clara’s coworkers had transformed the space—there were vases stuffed with wildflowers on every table, and a banner in swooping cursive announced “Cheers to Clara!” She spotted me almost instantly and bounded over, her eyes bright with excitement and relief.

“You made it!” she chirped, pulling me into a hug that smelled of lavender and sweet white wine. I apologized for being late, blaming Drogon and Aira for my tardiness, only half joking. Clara laughed, shaking her head. “Only you would cite fictional warlords as a reason for missing my big night.”

The party unfolded in a whirl of clinking glasses, lively stories, and well-meaning interrogations from Clara’s colleagues. The playlist was a jumble of retro pop and indie ballads, and the conversation veered from wedding plans to workplace gossip to speculative theories about my series’ ending. At one point, someone asked me if the antagonist would ever win the heroine’s heart, and I found myself hesitating, unwilling to give away the secret that had taken root in the final chapters.

As the evening stretched on, I drifted to the edge of the crowd, tracing the rim of my mocktail and watching Clara dance beneath the fairy lights. Her joy was contagious—whole and unguarded—and for a moment, I let go of the tension that had gathered in my shoulders over weeks of solitary writing. I promised myself that tonight, I would be present, to celebrate not only Clara, but the endings and beginnings that tied our stories together.

One of her colleages, Natasha, cornered me later in the evening and started asking about the baby. I smiled, happy to talk about being pregnant. When I told her it was twins, she looked like she was going to pass out.

“Twins? Oh my god, I’d kill myself. I guess the father is pretty damn pleased with himself.” She laughed.

My face shifted and I just shrugged. I didn’t feel like discussing my personal life with that much detail. Luckily, before I could say anything else, Clara demanded a group selfie.

#Marcus

A few days ago, Jordan had flown back to London, and since I hadn’t seen him since his parents’ anniversary party, we arranged to meet up this morning for a run followed by coffee. We met at six o’clock in the park and spent an hour trying to outpace each other with the same energy and enthusiasm we had when we were younger. Sadly, our bodies, long accustomed to sitting behind desks, had other ideas. We barely managed to leave the park before flagging down a cab and heading to the coffee shop on the High Road.

“Old man,” Jordan laughed, still out of breath.

“Old?” I chuckled. “I’m not the one who got a Charlie horse halfway through.”

He just snorted and pulled his phone out of his pocket, rolling his eyes. “This woman, she’s still keeping me young at least.”

I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead and glanced out the window as the cab driver abruptly cut off another car, wincing at the move, then looked back at Jordan. “Is she still awake?”

Jordan shrugged. “Hopefully not. She sent this just as we started our run.” He shifted in his seat across from me and held up his phone. “The girls at the office threw her a party.”

Not particularly interested, I barely glanced at the photo on his phone before snatching it from his hand and zooming in on a familiar face among the nine women crowded around Clara. I could only see her face, her gentle smile, but I recognized her immediately.

“Luna.”