Chapter 19
CHANGE OF PLANS
No plan survives first contact with reality
Della
When I step back into my hotel room, it feels like I’ve been gone for weeks, not days. I feel like a different woman than the one who walked out of this room three mornings ago.
Dorian dropped me off before his meeting, and the moment the door clicks shut behind me, the quiet feels almost unreal.
I set my phone down, then pick it back up, typing a quick message to Alexandra.
Sorelina, I told Dorian. There is light at the end of the tunnel. I feel happy after so long. I’ll call you later to tell you everything.
And then to Jane.
Dear Jane, I’m happy to say... I'll stay some more. :) Will call you to meet up. XO.
Send. A promise kept.
I slip into a fitted navy blue dress for the office, slide on heels, and lean toward the mirror. My reflection studies me as though I’m someone new. I trace red lipstick over my lips—bold, certain. My eyes look different. Softer maybe. Or stronger. Perhaps both.
“This should have been the last day in Chicago,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror, “but it feels like the first of a totally different future.”
My fingers rise to the ruby at my throat, resting against my heart. Its weight is reassuring, anchoring me in this fragile certainty—I feel like I belong again. Safe. Loved.
I grab my purse and head downstairs.
Adriana is already at a window table; a coffee cup cradled in her hands. She spots me, her eyes widening, lips curving into a grin.
“You look… different, Della! Good different!”
Heat floods my cheeks. I smile. “Morning. I do?”
“Thank you for letting me know you were alive, by the way,” she teases, though there’s relief in her voice. “I was really worried when you disappeared and kept pestering Greg for updates. Only when you messaged me, I finally relaxed.”
“Thank you, Adriana.” My voice softens with real gratitude. “Thank you, for watching over me.”
She narrows her eyes, setting her cup down with a decisive little clink.
“Yeah, yeah. Now spill. And don’t you dare feed me that ‘someone I met five years ago’ line again. I want all of it. What’s the story with Dorian Marshall?”
Her curiosity makes me smile.
“Dorian is… a lot more than I can explain over breakfast. He’s the only man I’ve ever truly, completely, madly loved.
He was my everything and for five years I thought there was nothing left of him, or us.
The last few days we talked a lot, and while there are still some things of the past that we need to work out, we decided to give future a shot. ”
Her eyes widen. She leans closer, eager, but I take her hand first.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you this morning. I’m not flying back home with you tonight. I’m staying.”
Her face freezes in surprise before breaking into a wide, luminous smile.
“I am happy for you, Della. Sad for me—flying alone—but so happy for you. You deserve this.”
Emotion swells, blurring my vision as I lean in and hug her tightly.
She squeezes back, and for the first time in years, I let myself believe happiness is possible again.
We linger over breakfast, trading small jokes and plans, until it’s time to head to the office.
* * *
My phone buzzes with Dorian’s message.
Dinner. 7 p.m., Boka’s. No desnudo dinner, this time.
Clothes are mandatory, Love.
I bite my lip, grinning as I type back.
Underwear isn’t, is it? :)
The elevator doors slide open and Adriana steps out first in to the lobby. By the time they close behind me, my smile is gone. My breath, too.
Leah.
She stands at the reception desk, laughing with Greg. Taller than I expected, colder too. Blonde hair twisted in a flawless bun, her pale-blue suit sculpted around her like armor. Perfect. Impeccable.
“Oh, Della!” Greg beams when he sees me. “You’re full of surprises. You never mentioned you knew Miss Kingsley.”
He turns to her. “I’ll set that meeting for next week, Miss Kingsley. I’ll be in touch.”
Greg and Adriana drift away, leaving only her.
“Della, darling.” Leah’s smile spreads, sweet as poison on a blade. “So good to see you again.”
“Can’t say the same.” I steady my voice. “Why are you here, Leah?”
Her eyes glitter. The smile sharpens.
“Straight to the point? Even better.” She leans in slightly, her perfume sharp and cold. “I came to wish you a safe trip home.”
“I’m not leaving,” I answer, ice threading my tone as I hold her gaze.
For a heartbeat, her smile falters, then reforms, tighter.
“You really should leave, Della.” She takes a step closer, her voice dipping low, serpentine. “For good. Forever.”
I meet her stare, force a small smile onto my lips just to spite her as I touch the ruby.
“You don’t scare me, Leah. Dorian told me everything.”
“Oh?” She tilts her head, feigning concern, fingertips brushing her cheek in mock innocence. “Did he?”
“Yes, he did" I fire back. My stance doesn’t shift. "He told me about your fake pictures and snake behavior."
And, without even blinking, she strikes back, sharper.
“Did he also tell you how he saved his business? How he sold you and your love… for money?” Her tone drips like acid. “My money?”
The words punch the air from my lungs.
The world goes silent, and the joy I’d felt just moments ago drains from my body. My knees nearly buckle. My chest clenches tight. I feel her poison clawing through me, burning. Selling me?
The hand, resting on the ruby, drops as if it has been struck.
But I won’t let her see me break.
I lift my chin.
“He told me,” I say evenly, though my pulse hammers in my throat. “He told me I am his only true love—the one he would burn the world for, just to keep me safe and smiling.” I let the words sink in before I add, softer but deadlier: “He told me I am his heart. His fire.”
For the first time, the mask cracks. Her lips twitch, her composure quivering. A flush rises against her perfect cheekbones. Barely there—but I see it. And I know my words hit like venom.
I force a step back, voice cutting clean.
“And now, if you’ll excuse me—I have far more important things on my agenda. Goodbye, Leah.”
Her eyes follow me like daggers as I turn, spine rigid, chin high. For a heartbeat, I feel her gaze burning into my back. Then—heels clicking sharply against the marble, the sound fading toward the doors.
I don’t falter until I’m alone in the marble bathroom, bracing against the sink.
The mirror stares back at me, my face pale, my hands trembling. My throat burns.
Why? Why?
I slam my eyes shut. No. Not now. Not here.
I need to leave.
I stride to Greg’s office, pushing the door open before I lose my nerve.
“Della, good,” Greg says at once, looking up from his desk.
“We’re starting your transfer for the work visa.
HR is preparing your petition. Once it’s approved, you’ll need to return home for the consular process.
Then you’ll come back as part of our Chicago office.
I’m glad Marshall requested you. You’re a great asset to the team. ”
“Thank you, Greg,” I manage. My voice is breaking. “But I need a favor. I need to leave. Now. Please.”
He rises immediately, concern clouding his face. His hand brushes my arm. “Della, are you all right?”
“Not really.” My lips tremble. “But I will be. I just… need to leave.”
He nods once. “Of course. Call me later.”
I nod in return, already leaving.
The office.
The building.
The city.
* * *
The clouds drift beneath the wing, soft and weightless, shifting from one shape into another. Pure white. Ephemeral. Just like my happiness.
Here one moment. Shattered the next.
A couple of words. That’s all it took. One poisonous whisper, and I plummeted—from the clouds straight to the hotel room floor.
I still feel it—the carpet against my knees, the ruby cutting into my palm as I clutched it like it could anchor me through the storm.
My body shook with sobs so violent I thought they might break me open for good.
Leah’s voice still echoes in my skull, sharp and merciless: “…he sold you, your love, for my money.”
Déjà vu.
The same cruel triangle—me between Dorian’s silence and Leah’s venom.
Different years, same wound reopening.
“Can I get you anything, madam?”
The stewardess’s voice cuts through the fog, pulling me back to the thin air of thirty thousand feet.
A new heart, I almost say.
Instead, I murmur, “No. No, thank you.”
I press my forehead to the window, watch the clouds blur and scatter. My heart is in pieces, and the only way to hold them together is distance.
Back in the room, once the tears dried, I’d stood on trembling legs and packed as quick as I could.
I knew myself too well—if I saw him, if I heard his voice, if he touched me… I’d forgive. He’d explain, and I’d understand. He’d say he loved me, and I’d believe it. And I couldn’t. Not again.
So, I left. Checked out in less than an hour. Headed for the airport before he had the chance to find me, stop me.
Now, as the seatbelt light flickers, I thumb the phone one last time before switching it off. A single message. A severed thread.
Won’t make it for dinner. I’m leaving.
* * *
Dorian
David enters my office and I can see on his face that he found something. Good. I want that low life.
I stand and walk toward him clasping his shoulder hard before pulling him into a half-hug.
“Hey,” he says back, his eyes stay steady on mine. “Good to see you again, Dorian!”
“You, too.” I reply, already restless. “What have you got?” I ask, restless.
“Good news. Bad news.” David says, dropping into the chair across from me. “Andy’s in the US. Chicago. But he’s wrapped up with the Russian mob—the faction led by Viktor ‘the Bear’ Morozov. If he’s under the Bear’s wing, it’s going to be damn near impossible to touch him.”
“I don’t care, Dave.” My voice is gravel, my chest burning. “We’ll find a way. Andy Moldovan doesn’t deserve to breathe. He will pay for what he did to Della.”
My fists curl until bone creaks, rage painting fire behind my eyes.
“He killed our unborn baby. And he almost killed her, too.”
David stills, eyes widening in shock, then sinking into grief. He drags a hand over his face before lowering himself heavily into the chair beside me.
“Jesus, Dorian… so that’s what she was hiding.” His voice breaks. “That bastard…” He exhales sharply. “How is she?”
I shake my head, words rough.
“I still don’t know how she’s even standing after what she went through… how she’s still sane.”
I tell him everything—her nightmare, her silence, the truth she finally bled out to me. The words burn on my tongue, but I force them out. And just as I finish, my phone buzzes against the desk.
One glance. One line.
Won’t make it for dinner. I’m leaving.
The words slice clean through me.
For a second, I don’t breathe. Don’t think.
It’s like the ground has been ripped out from under me and I’m falling, fast and endless.
No. No. Not again.
My hand tightens around the phone until my knuckles bleach white. Something cracks inside my chest, a dark, jagged fracture, sharp enough to tear through flesh.
“Dorian?” David’s voice cuts through the roaring in my ears.
But I don’t answer.
I hit call. Once. Twice. Again.
Disconnected. Gone.
Just like five years ago.
A sound leaves me—low, raw, feral. Not fit for boardrooms or clean air. David freezes, reading the truth on my face. He doesn’t ask. He knows. This isn’t business anymore. This is about Della.
“She’s leaving,” I bite out, each word ground between my teeth. “We were supposed to meet for dinner, move forward. She was happy, she was—” I stop, fury shaking me. “What the hell happened?”
The chair crashes back into the wall as I surge to my feet. My blood is fire, my veins ice. I slam the intercom button, my voice cutting like glass.
“Call the hotel. Now. I don’t care who—manager, maid, anyone. I want to know if Miss Toma is still there. And if she isn’t, I want to know when she left, and how.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up before he finishes, already dialing Greg. My hand shakes so violently it slips on the screen.
Greg answers on the second ring, cheerful until he hears my voice. “Greg. Where’s Della? Tell me.”
He hesitates, then sighs.
“She left the office a couple of hours ago. She wasn’t feeling well.”
My heart claws its way into my throat. “Why? What happened?”
“Nothing, really. She met Miss Leah Kingsley right as she arrived at the office,” Greg admits. “Minutes later she asked to leave.”
The world goes still. My jaw locks, my teeth grinding until my temples throb.
Leah. Of course it was Leah.
She must have told her about the deal. About the one stain I hadn’t yet confessed.
My vision burns black at the edges. Rage and guilt coil in my gut like barbed wire.
“I thought she’d be happy about the news I gave her regarding the transfer file to Chicago,” Greg adds carefully. “But… she seemed… shattered.”
Shattered.
Because of Leah. Because of me.
The storm inside me twists tighter—devastation twisting with guilt and fury. I can feel it eating at me, hollowing me out.
The phone nearly cracks in my hand. I want to destroy everything in reach, burn the city to ash, find Leah and—
But first—before anything else—I have to find Della.
I will not lose her. Not again.
If I have to drain the ocean to bring her back, I will.