Chapter 9
654 Words
The wedding was over. The crowd had dispersed. The cameras were gone.
But the silence in the guest room was deafening.
Talia sat at the edge of the plush bed, still dressed in her champagne gown, now wrinkled at the edges. Her curls had started to frizz, and the glow the makeup artists had painted on her skin had long faded.
This wasn’t how brides were supposed to feel.
She got up and walked to the window. The moon was high, casting a silver wash over the Locke estate. A few reporters still lingered by the gates, their silhouettes barely visible behind the hedges. A drone buzzed somewhere in the distance, its red light blinking like a distant eye that never blinked.
Talia Locke.
The name still didn’t sound real.
There was a soft knock on her door.
She didn’t answer at first. A pause. Then the door creaked open, and Cassian stepped in, already in sweatpants and a black T-shirt. He looked tired but wired, like sleep was the last thing on his mind.
“I figured you’d be up,” he said gently.
Talia gave a small smile. “Hard to sleep when the whole internet thinks you’re either pregnant or plotting a billionaire takedown.”
Cassian chuckled, stepping further in. “I saw a headline that said we eloped because you cast a spell on me.”
“Maybe I did,” she teased, voice light, but her hands were still clasped too tightly in front of her.
They stood in silence for a beat, the air stretching between them.
“I just wanted to check on you,” he said finally. “You okay?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know yet. You?”
“I will be. Once this dies down. Once the press gets bored and moves on to someone else's scandal.”
He didn’t say once the marriage is over, but the implication hung there, unspoken, heavy.
She nodded. “Thanks for checking in.”
Cassian gave her a long look, not flirty, not playful. Just… searching. “If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”
“I remember.” Her voice softened. “We agreed.”
He gave a short nod and stepped back. “Sleep well, Talia.”
“You too, Cassian.”
The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
She sat back down on the bed, then reached for her phone on the nightstand.
One ring.
Two.
“Tell me you didn’t run,” came Phoebe’s groggy but alert voice.
Talia let out a quiet laugh. “Still here.”
There was a pause, and then Phoebe’s tone softened. “How are you really?”
“I feel like I just walked off the set of a movie where I had no idea what genre I was in.”
“Romantic comedy with a sprinkle of emotional chaos?”
“Try high-budget drama with paparazzi extras.”
Phoebe snorted. “Well, for what it’s worth, you looked stunning. Like, stupidly beautiful. People are gonna be obsessing over your gown for months.”
Talia leaned back on the pillows, the compliment barely landing. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, Phee.”
“Yeah, but sometimes mirrors show you what you could be. Don’t write that off just yet.”
Talia went quiet for a moment, then said, barely above a whisper, “It felt real for a second. The kiss.”
“You think he felt it too?”
“I don’t know. And that scares me.”
Phoebe didn’t rush to reply. “Whatever happens, you’ve got me. Okay? If you ever need to walk away, I’ll be parked outside with snacks and bail money.”
Talia smiled through a welling ache in her chest. “Thanks. I love you.”
“Love you too. Now go take that damn gown off and get some sleep, Mrs. Locke.”
Click.
- Writer
