***7
Julian Hart and Eliza Monroe were busy with their interview and hadn’t noticed us standing nearby. Just then, the CEO of the company came over and greeted me in English.
“Mr. Carrington, you seem particularly interested in those two,” he said.
I shook my head. “Not really, just curious,” I replied, and we continued our tour.
As we were about to leave, we ran into Eliza and Julian again. They looked exhausted but had a glimmer of hope in their eyes, indicating that the interview had gone well.
Eliza, still carrying that old, arrogant air, stepped toward me with a smug smile.
“Blake Carrington, I’m about to become an employee here. Just wait until I make big money–I’ll show you then!”
Her tone was as entitled as ever. I couldn’t fathom what was so proud about finding work in Australia, but she clearly thought it was worth boasting about.
She took an invitation from her bag and handed it to Chloe Dawson.
“Our jobs are set, we found a place to live, and next week, Julian and I are getting married. Make sure you two show up,” she said, casting a defiant look at Chloe.
I expected Chloe to turn her down flat, but to my surprise, she stepped forward and said, “Of course! We wish you all the best. We’ll be there.”
Eliza opened her mouth as if to say something more but was taken aback by Chloe’s sincere expression. Instead, she awkwardly nodded.
Julian looked displeased but said nothing, leading Eliza away.
Once they were out of sight, I turned to Chloe. “Why did you accept the invitation?”
She flashed a mysterious smile. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it. Just wait.”
A week later, Chloe and I arrived at the wedding, dressed casually and accompanied by a few security guards–at Chloe’s request. I had planned to attend in formal attire, but Chloe insisted otherwise without explaining why.
The wedding venue was a small patch of grass in a park, surrounded by the stench of garbage piles nearby. The supposed reception area consisted of a single long table topped with loaves of bread and cheap sausages. The entire scene paled in comparison to any picnic Eliza had ever thrown.
There were no chairs, yet the guests kept coming, likely paid to fill the space. They handed over envelopes expecting a celebration and found an unremarkable scene instead.
The groom was nowhere to be found, and Eliza, in an old dress I had bought for her–a dress she had vowed never to wear again–greeted the guests alone. There was no wedding gown, no flowers, no close family, not even Julian. Just a lone table with subpar food and no seating.
The so–called wedding was more of a mockery, even less impressive than a child’s tea party.
Eliza stared blankly at the scene before her. I could tell this was not the wedding she had dreamed of. But this was the price of her choices.
I told the guards to grab some chairs, and we sat down.
A pastor took his place at the front, calling for the bride and groom to come forward. The groom, who no one had seen, remained absent, and even Eliza seemed to disappear.
Chloe noticed something and pointed, shouting, “Look over there!”
Two of our guards rushed in the direction she indicated, leaving two with us for security.
Moments later, Eliza, disheveled and with torn clothing, was brought to the front, flanked by two burly men.
Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, “Julian took all my money. He planned to sell me to traffickers.”
She collapsed to her knees, clutching at my leg and begging.
“Blake, I was wrong. I know I was wrong. Please, I’m begging you, please forgive me.”
I had once knelt before her, pleading not to be left alone at the altar.
Now, she found herself abandoned, pleading for reconciliation. But my love wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t something that could be reignited with a few remorseful words.
I pulled out an invitation from my pocket and handed it to her.
“This is for my wedding to Chloe. I hope you’ll attend.”
Chloe had prepared the invitation in advance, complete with a plane ticket back to the States.
Eliza stared at the crimson envelope in her hands, letting go of my leg and breaking down on the floor.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
I didn’t want to hear any more. I handed her over to the authorities and walked away.
