Archie’s POV
A sudden ache bloomed in my chest—sharp, tight, like something was slipping through my fingers and I couldn’t stop it.
And then Betty’s sugary voice cut into my thoughts.
“What are you thinking about, Archie?” she purred.
We were in the bridal lounge, tucked away in one of the powder rooms reserved for the bride and groom.
The wedding was minutes away, and she was glowing, content. I was… not.
“Nothing,” I lied, grabbing my phone. “Just need to make a call.”
I stepped out before she could follow.
I hadn’t heard from Sabrina. I figured she was still pissed—my mother had publicly announced my marriage to Betty, even though I’d planned to tell her myself.
What she didn’t know—what no one knew—was that this wedding was for show. A move. A game piece.
But then, just as I unlocked my phone, her message appeared.
“Hope you enjoy your wedding today. Don’t bother checking in. We’ll be no longer your worries.”
What the hell?
Enjoy your wedding? We’ll be no longer your worries?
A chill slid down my spine.
Suddenly, the unease made sense. I hadn’t heard from her since yesterday. No call. No text. Nothing. And now this?
I tried calling her immediately.
No answer. Again. Straight to voicemail.
Panic rose in my throat like fire.
I didn’t care about the tux, or the flowers, or the five-hundred-person guest list. I called my assistant with a voice I barely recognized.
“I told you to keep tabs on Sabrina,” I barked. “Where is she?”
A pause. Then: “Boss… she and Elly got into a cab this morning. Headed to the airport. I thought maybe they were just going on a holiday trip…”
I didn’t even let him finish. I turned, bolting toward the gate. “Send the driver over. Now. I want to go to the airport.”
…
The drive was torture.
I called her again. Again. Again.
Nothing.
My pulse was erratic, hands clenched tight on my knees.
The driver slowed at an intersection, veering left.
“Don’t take detours!” I snapped. “Straight to the airport.”
“Mr. Valez,” he said, glancing at me through the mirror, “Christmas Eve traffic. Roads are closed off in a few places. This is the only route still open.”
“Damn it,” I hissed under my breath. “I forgot it was Christmas Eve.”
I’d been drowning in wedding plans, distractions, power plays.
But not this. I should’ve remembered this.
Christmas Eve was our anniversary.
The night we met.
Maybe that’s why Sabrina was acting strange. Maybe she was hurt that I forgot.
But then again the text didn’t sound like anger. It sounded like goodbye.
My chest squeezed again, the kind of fear one feel when they realize someone they love is slipping away—and they might already be too late.
“Faster,” I told the driver.
Meanwhile, I started checking flight schedules, searching for anything that matched the timeline.
And I saw it. A flight to Las Vegas.
Sabrina’s hometown.
