Until the Final I Do

Chapter One

SPENCER

Being one of New York's wealthiest men has its advantages—but it also comes with chains. Power and money can feel like a gilded prison, trapping you in endless meetings and obligations you didn't exactly ask for.

As a kid, I never pictured this life. Sitting alone in a towering office with a panoramic view of the city below, I imagined I'd have a wife and children by now. I almost had that once. But when my father fell ill, I chose duty over dreams. I took over the company. My mother offered to help with the business, but I wanted her by his side, not buried in boardrooms and investor calls. I hoped her presence would ease his pain. Maybe even help him recover.

That was a year ago.

Duane King still lies in a hospital bed, with my brother Mitchell faithfully by his side.

I could ask Tristan for help, but he just started a family down in South Carolina. The hours this job demands don't mix well with newborns and sleepless nights.

A sharp beep pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Excuse me, sir," the receptionist says through the intercom. "You've received an envelope. Should I bring it up?"

I press the button. "Yes, thank you."

A twinge of curiosity hits me—like the feeling you get as a kid waiting for a birthday card to arrive. Maybe it's something from Tristan, a photo of his baby, or a letter from my mother.

Right on cue, Margaret walks in, her sleek black bob swaying slightly as she approaches my desk with the envelope.

"Thanks, Margaret. That'll be all," I say, accepting it from her outstretched hand.

I toss the envelope onto my desk and rub my face, trying to wipe away the fatigue. The sun is setting now, bathing the skyline in a warm, golden haze.

I glance back at the envelope and run a finger along the flap before tearing it open. Inside is a soft pink card, glittering slightly, adorned with two interlocked rings.

A wedding invitation?

That catches me off guard—I can't think of anyone close to me tying the knot.

I slide the card out, discard the envelope, and open it.

You're invited to the union of Liam Hayes and Brooklyn West. Save the Date: July 24th.

My heart drops.

Brooklyn.

Her name jumps out in elegant calligraphy, but all I see is the date—July 24th. The day I asked her to be mine. Two years ago.

Everything rushes back—her laugh, her touch, waking up with her by my side almost every morning. I held her, told her I loved her, made her promises I thought I'd keep.

But when I took over the company, I had to leave. Daytona Beach, our life, her. She was twenty-one, I was twenty-three, and I truly believed someday I'd see her walking down the aisle toward me. Dressed in white, her dark brown hair pulled back, her blue eyes shining with love. We'd cry through our vows, unable to believe it was real.

Her father would've known I was the right man for her.

But now, someone else will stand there waiting to take her hand.

I know it's been a year. She's allowed to move on. So am I, in theory. But how do you erase someone who never left? Her scent still lingers in the memory of my sheets. No one else even comes close.

I thought staying away was the kindest thing I could do. I heard from her friends that she was a mess when I left. I figured it was easier for her to hate me than to love me from afar. I thought I was protecting her.

Now I wonder if I was just protecting myself.

My phone rings, dragging me back to reality.

Justin, the caller ID reads.

He manages one of our Florida hotels—Daytona Beach, actually. The first property we ever built. It's due for a remodel.

I answer.

"Hey, Spencer," he begins. "I talked to the contractors and relayed your notes. They said the plans are still under revision on your end and we need to schedule a meeting before demolition can start. Want me to book you a flight?"

"I'll have Margaret handle it," I reply.

"Got it. They're open next week. Wednesday at three?"

"That works," I say, ending the call.

Looks like I'm heading back to Daytona Beach.

It's been a while since I visited my childhood home—and now, six months until Brooklyn's wedding, I'm going back.

Funny how timing works. One meeting, one return trip. A week in the place where it all began. Who knows what the next few months will bring?