Too Late For Your Second Chance

of my movement. My legs felt like lead, but I forced one foot in front of the other, walking away from the st

ir scrape back, a frantic sound. But then, Frida's soft, insistent voice, "Bentley, don

isted with a fresh, sharp pain. But this pain was different, infused with a newfound

ng me, a simple art student, over a pre-arranged engagement. He had said then, "Adelle, you are worth fighting for. More than any alliance, more than any fortune." His words had been a shield, a promise

man who once fought for me now fought against me. The man who promised to always ch

ike the ones I'd cried over my mother's coffin. These were tears of release, of an ending. The first time I had truly cried

throwing the last few items into my suitcase. There was nothing left for me here. Nothing but ghosts and a suffocating silence. I dragged the hea

e was a snarl, tight with fury. "Adelle, what the hell was that yesterday? Ar

teady, devoid of the emotion that was churning

eaking up with me? After everything?" His voice escalated to a shout. "Fine! If that's what yo

en years of my life, gone in a single, brutal phone call. A decade of love, hope, and sacrifice, reduced to a childish argument and

since the horrors began. But now, with the world stripped bare of its false promises, the canvas called to me. I painted with a frantic energy, pouring all my grief, all my anger, all my newfoun

through the crisp evening air. It was Frida's voic

unaway bride," Frida's saccharine voice cut through the twilight. She stood with a group of her impeccably dressed fr

satisfaction of a response. I tried to wal

r hand, adorned with glittering rings, reached out

, her laughter tinkling, as hollow as wind chimes. "Cat got your tongue? Or is it just that Bentley finally got tired of your little

engage. She might have thought I was humiliated,

ng to a theatrical whisper, but loud enough for her friends to hear. "I heard about your mother. Such a tragedy. Poor woman. Though, s

g me cold and numb. This wasn't just a dig; this was a de

ran the red light. You were on your phone. You swerved." My hand, deep in my pocket

g to do? Tell the world? No one would believe you. Bentley will protect me. He always does." She stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss.

g resolve. My fingers tightened around my phone. "I won't just tell

ou can even pack your pathetic art supplies. You really think you can stop me? You're just a nuisance." She paused, then added, her voice dripping with venom, "Even if y

vered for her. The thought twisted in my gut. He was truly gone. I

, closer. The air grew heavy, the scent of damp earth and crushed leaves intensify

d, her voice thin with panic. The rumble turne