The Woman Who Died Waiting

In the seventh year of my engagement to Declan Ramsey, he was busy fulfilling the one condition required to unlock his family's multi-billion-dollar trust fund: having a child with his late brother's fiancée, Hazel Vance.

Whenever he returned from Hazel's room, reeking of her perfume, he would whisper in my ear.

"Just a little longer, Gillian. Once she's pregnant, we'll have our wedding."

In those six months, Declan went to Hazel's room fifty-two times.

Finally, I received the news of Hazel's pregnancy. But with it came rumors that they were getting married.

I glanced at the champagne-colored roses the staff were arranging for the wedding, pulled my son Julian into my arms, and whispered,

"Yes, Julian. Your father is going to marry the woman he loves. It's time for us to go home."

What Declan didn't know was that the women of my Lumina community never grovel for a man's love.

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1

After tucking my son Julian into bed, I opened my phone and booked a flight back to Portland.

Unfortunately, with the holidays approaching, tickets were scarce. The earliest flight was seven days away.

I stared at the date on the screen, frozen.

February 14th. Valentine's Day. It was also the seventh anniversary of my engagement to my fiancé, Declan Ramsey.

How cruelly ironic.

A bitter smile touched my lips. Maybe it's for the best, I thought. We began on this day; it's only fitting we end on it, too.

A rich scent of tuberose enveloped me from behind, followed by Declan's gentle voice murmuring just above my head. "What are you looking at, Gillian?"

I instinctively locked my phone screen and said nonchalantly, "Just some new perfume formulas."

In just six months, Hazel Vance's signature tuberose perfume had seeped into every inch of Declan's being.

I pushed him away, a wave of disgust rolling through me. "Go take a shower."

Declan sniffed at his shirt, his arms falling away awkwardly. "Right, I'll go now... I'm sorry, Gillian. I know I've been neglecting you. I promise, I won't go over to Hazel's for the next few days."

Hazel.

The way he said her name... so intimate.

At first, he would use her full name. Now, he couldn't even be bothered with the pretense.

To any outsider, Hazel might as well have been his actual fiancée.

The bathroom door opened, and Declan emerged with only a bath towel wrapped around his waist. His body was lean and toned, making him look dangerously handsome, far younger than his years.

For a dizzying moment, I saw a flash of the man from seven years ago—the one who’d scrambled through the window of my Portland apartment, still damp from the morning mist. Back then, he was so full of life, proudly declaring to the world, "Gillian, from this day on, you're mine. Let's spend the rest of our lives together—just the two of us."

He caught my gaze, and the corner of his mouth quirked up as he pulled me into his arms.

"I'm not going anywhere tonight, Gillian. I'm staying with you."

The fresh scent of his citrus body wash mingled with the tuberose fragrance that clung stubbornly to his skin, a combination so nauseating I had to shut my eyes.

The man I fell in love with was gone.

Just then, a series of urgent knocks on the door shattered the quiet.

"Mr. Ramsey! Miss Vance isn't feeling well, please come quickly!"

The tenderness on Declan's face vanished, replaced instantly by a mask of worry. He hastily threw on his clothes and rushed toward the door.

"What's wrong with her? Has the family doctor seen her?"

He took a few steps, then suddenly turned back, his gaze apologetic as he looked at me leaning against the doorframe.

"Hazel's not well. I have to check on her. You know, since my brother passed away, she has no one else."

"I'll be back soon. Thank you, Gillian. You're always so kind and understanding."

Kind and understanding? I must have heard those exact words fifty-two times in the last six months.

The moment he turned to leave, I called out to him. "Declan Ramsey."

He frowned, words of comfort already on his lips. But when he felt a weight settle on his shoulders, he swallowed them.

I had just draped a cashmere sweater over him.

"There's a sea fog rolling in. It's getting cold."

He clutched the sweater, his expression flickering with something unreadable. "Gillian, you..."

Before he could process it, I shut the door in his face.

I only had to wait seven more days. After that, my waiting would be over.