Chapter Seven
THE HEAT OF the day still lingered in the ground, a warmth that made the night feel suffocating as Aliyah ran. The sky above was dark, but the garden was softly illuminated by the solar lights, casting pools of pale blue light across the paths.
Every breath felt heavy, the oppressive weight of the humid air mixing with the heavy emotions swirling inside her.
She wanted to run again—from the truth, from her mother’s cruel words, from the wreckage she had made of everything. But now, it wasn’t just the outside world she wanted to escape.
This time, it was herself—the deep-rooted fear and regret, the ugly truth she’d been running from for so long. The cruelest part was how much she had believed the lies Noor had fed her. She had let them seep into her soul, changing the way she viewed herself and Constantine.
All because she’d believed that she wasn’t enough—enough to be chosen over his lifelong ambition, enough to be loved. A fear that had originated with her mother’s preference for Julian and her father’s apathy in the first place.
It had been so deep-rooted that it had sent her hurtling into the safety net Richard had provided, an empty marriage based on affection, but nothing else.
If only I had confronted Constantine.
If only I had demanded he choose me.
If only I had trusted him.
Her breath hitched at the thought. There was a thin line between holding on and breaking apart, and she was barely clinging to it.
The weight of her mother’s taunts settled on her chest like a stone, and she couldn’t bear to stay inside anymore.
Couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped in the house. She stepped out into the garden, her heels clicking sharply against the stone path as she walked without thinking.
The first misstep came quickly—her heel caught on a stone, sending her off balance. She tried to steady herself, but the uneven ground betrayed her. There was a sharp jolt as she hit the stone path, and she barely felt the tear in her wedding dress as she scrambled to stand.
The sting of scraped knees broke through her fog of frustration, but she didn’t pause. The physical hurt barely registered, absorbed by the whirlwind inside her.
Her anger burned hotter, brighter, cutting through the sadness and regret.
The garden seemed endless, the dark space swallowed up by shadows. The solar lights flickered, casting strange shapes across the garden. She kept moving, her mind running on a loop.
The greenhouse doors creaked open as she pushed them gently.
She stepped inside, feeling the coolness of the night air contrast with the humid warmth outside.
The glass walls of the greenhouse had a faint, smoky sheen to them, the dust of years sitting like a veil across the windows. But it was quiet here. Safe, even.
Aliyah closed the door behind her and stood still, her back against the door. She exhaled slowly, her chest tightening.
That anger still simmered under her skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the numbness of it all—the delusion she had fed herself that she was happy with her life, that this was all she ever wanted—started to crack.
He couldn’t find his damned bride.
The thought made Constantine laugh bitterly as he walked through the now-empty foyer, the salon and the surrounding grounds.
Wedding guests were still milling about, eager for a glimpse of any drama they could latch onto, but he was far beyond caring.
He ran a rough hand through his hair, frustration mounting, and climbed the stairs to Aliyah’s old bedroom.
It was empty.
He lingered inside, memories swarming him.
Everything about her room drew him in—a stubborn pull he couldn’t resist. The damned chip she had lodged under his skin years ago remained, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.
Music sheets, sketches, drawings, books, gardening implements—the room was as she had left it, full of the things that had once brought her simple joy.
It reminded Constantine of the quiet, shy girl who had once been his. Even now, he could still see traces of her in the woman. Her naked longing had been there earlier, when Theo had stunned them both with his sentimental toast.
Her gaze had flicked between him and her father, unable to hide the hope that maybe, just maybe, a new bridge could be built between them. As if, after abandoning them for years, she wanted their happiness.
He pressed a hand to his chest as though the action could relieve the tightness that had settled there.
He had to admit, he had been shaken by Theo’s speech.
The genuine happiness in the older man’s words had stirred something inside him.
That pathetic longing he had long buried—of Theo’s genuine affection, of becoming a true family with the old man and his daughter.
Constantine didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know how to stop himself from softening at the words he had longed to hear from the man who had occupied the role of a father and a mentor to him. Without the emotional, caring part, of course.
Christos, what a fool he was. An incurable fool. It was happening all over again.
The father and daughter duo luring him in, like some hapless spider to their web, messing with his head, disrupting his plan.
Making him feel things he had armored himself against years ago.
He was shocked to find that his bride’s trail led him to the dilapidated greenhouse.
Once it had been a place of soft memories—now abandoned but not entirely neglected. He’d had the staff come in occasionally to tidy up. A part of him had never wanted to let it completely fall apart. Which just showed what a sentimental fool he’d been, even after she left.
The old hinges creaked as he opened the door and stepped into the dim space.
The flicker of the light bulb overhead was weak.
He squinted as he adjusted the switch, the light buzzing faintly as it flickered on, casting long shadows across the dusty shelves and forgotten plants that hadn’t been tended to in years.
There, in the far corner, seated on one of the old wooden benches, was Aliyah. The pale lace and silk of her wedding dress looked like a white shroud around her, the fabric crumpled at her knees.
She looked up as he moved, her chin tilting upward in challenge.
“Running away already?” He couldn’t keep the taunt out of his voice. “And there I was, eagerly searching for my new bride, hoping for a decadent wedding night.”
He expected her to return his challenge with a bite, like she had done at the engagement party. Instead, something flickered in her eyes, signaling a strange, unfamiliar mood.
His gaze drifted down as he walked farther in.
Her makeup was smudged, mascara streaking down her cheeks in dark trails. Her carefully styled hair was a silky mess kissing her shoulders. But it was more than just her appearance that had him pausing.
The tear in her dress caught his eye. The fabric was ripped at the waist, and it was bunched up over her knees in a way that didn’t feel like the poised woman he had married.
Her posture too—this wasn’t the composed Aliyah he knew. It was almost…rebellious for her. There was something raw and fierce in her body language, something he had never seen in her, even as a teenager.
It was as if she was challenging the world to see her broken edges but not allowing it to break her.
And then he noticed the scrape on her knee—a bleeding wound—and the faint cut on her lip, the kind that happened when someone fell too hard, too fast. His chest tightened, and his steps quickened. A thread of worry squeezed his stomach.
Moving closer, he kneeled down before her. “You are hurt,” he said, voice low in the dark.
Aliyah raised a perfectly shaped brow, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
This close, he could see the sweaty flush to her skin. Somehow, it made her beauty keener, earthier, as if in this version, she wasn’t afraid of going after what she wanted, however wrong or hard.
“Wow, observation skills sharp as ever, huh?”
His lips twitched, relief flooding through him in waves. Despite the wreckage surrounding her, despite the weariness in her eyes, her spirit—he realized—hadn’t been broken.
All day, he had worried that forcing her into this marriage would break her. He had noted how emotionally raw she’d been during the ceremony, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. A part of him had even expected her to flee.
It had been a pleasant surprise when she’d walked in on Theo’s arm, head held high, gaze composed. There had been strength and grace beneath the nervousness that he couldn’t help but admire.
As there was now, beneath the ruined makeup and the messy hair and the tear-streaked cheeks.
“Who upset you, poulaki mou?” he said, unable to rid his tone of the gruff anger that followed the relief.
A tinkling laugh filled the air around them—utterly incongruous with the exterior she presented.
“How are you so sure it’s not you?” she said, teeth flashing white against her lips.
“Or is that you are allowed to turn my life upside down but no one else is?” She tapped her finger over his collar, something playful entering her eyes. “Pretty twisted, I think.”
Constantine grabbed her wrist and turned it gently, aware that she was right on both counts. There were long red scratches on the inside.
The idea of anyone upsetting her made him want to destroy them and yet, this entire marriage was based on his thirst for a little revenge, his need to keep her in his life so that he could taste her sweet surrender over and over again.
“I admit there’s not much rationality in me when it comes to you. Especially when you look like this.”
He pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket before pulling his jacket off. Gently, he dabbed on the scratches on her wrist first, then pressed the neat white square to her bloody knee. It came away red instantly.