Until the Final I Do

Chapter Twenty-six

BROOKLYN

"Spencer, please stop," I mumble, trying to catch my breath as I stumble beside him.

He doesn't answer, his grip tightening as he pulls me toward the car. His jaw is clenched, his eyes focused straight ahead, and I can feel the anger rolling off him in waves.

"Spencer," I say again, this time more firmly. "You're hurting me."

That finally snaps him out of it. He stops abruptly and looks back at me, his expression softening as his eyes land on where his hand is wrapped around my wrist. He releases me immediately, guilt flashing through his face.

"I'm so sorry," he says, voice low. "Get in the car. Please?"

He turns and walks to the driver's side, sliding in without another word. I stand there for a moment, staring at the door, unsure if I should run or follow.

But my feet move anyway. I get in.

We drive in silence, the tension thick enough to choke on. The only sound is the low hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal.

I finally break the silence. "What was that back there?"

"Did he tell you his name?" Spencer asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

I furrow my brow. "No. He never told me. Why?"

"That was Elijah King," Spencer says, his tone bitter. "He's not just in town anymore. He's here. In your space. In your life."

I sink back in my seat, stunned. My blood runs cold.

"I didn't even realize," I murmur. "He was... off. Something about him made me uncomfortable, but I never thought—"

"He's dangerous, Brooklyn," Spencer says, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "He's not just some shady businessman. He's ruthless. He's been accused of manipulating investors, threatening partners. There was even a rumor he hospitalized someone for refusing to sign over their company."

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the car.

"Do you think he'd hurt me?" I whisper, the fear creeping in.

Spencer glances at me, his expression unreadable. "I honestly don't know. But I know what he's capable of. And if he thinks you're standing in the way of getting the rest of the company..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. I get the message.

I close my eyes, willing the panic to subside. My chest is tight. My heart won't slow down.

Then, gently, Spencer reaches over and places a hand on my thigh. The heat of his touch travels up my spine and grounds me. I blink my eyes open and glance at him.

"I won't let him lay a hand on you," he says firmly. "I promise."

I realize he's pulled over on the side of the road. His full attention is on me now.

I don't even realize the tears that have pooled in my eyes until one escapes and trails down my cheek.

Spencer reaches up and cradles my face in his hand, brushing the tear away with his thumb. His skin is warm, steadying. My heart slows.

"What did I do to deserve meeting you?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiles gently. "I could ask you the same thing, darling."

The word sends a shiver down my spine.

With a final glance, he turns back toward the wheel, starts the car, and drives the rest of the way in silence. He drops me off in front of my house, and for a second, I don't want to get out. I want to stay in the safety of his car, where the outside world—and all its threats—can't reach me.

But I step out. And he drives away.

⸻

The rest of my morning is a blur. Whatever motivation I had to complete errands or finalize wedding details vanished after that encounter. I didn't order the flowers. I didn't confirm the decorations. I didn't finalize the bridesmaid dresses. And honestly? I didn't care.

All I could think about was Spencer. And that look in his eyes. And the way my heart seemed to break open every time I remembered what we shared.

I collapse onto my bed, emotionally spent. I hate myself for how I feel... but I don't stop feeling it.

I cheated. Not just physically—but emotionally too. With every glance, every touch, every word exchanged between Spencer and me, I drift further away from Liam. And it terrifies me.

Because when Spencer touched me earlier, it didn't feel like betrayal. It felt like home.

I press my fingers against my temples, trying to make the thoughts stop. I've always prided myself on being loyal. On doing the right thing. But I don't even recognize the person I'm becoming. I kissed my ex. Slept with him. And now I'm lying to my fiancé's face.

Maybe it's time to stop lying—to Liam... and to myself.

The door flies open and Tori bursts in like a tornado of perfume and energy. I scramble to wipe the fresh tears before she can notice.

"What are you doing in bed? It's like two in the afternoon!" she says, flopping onto the end of my mattress.

"Power nap," I mumble. "Long morning."

"Oh, tell me about it. I had breakfast with Dillon today." She grins.

That perks me up. "Really? What did you talk about?"

She shrugs. "Just the usual. Childhood stories, failed relationships, worst dates. But honestly? It was... refreshing. He listens. He's kind. He didn't once bring up anything inappropriate."

I raise my eyebrows. "A miracle, considering how you two met."

She rolls her eyes and laughs. "Okay, okay. But I'm telling you, he's different."

I nod, genuinely happy for her. "So... over Grayson, then?"

"Over and buried," she smirks. Then her smile fades slightly. "Anyway. What happened to you this morning?"

I hesitate. There's too much to unpack. Too much that I don't even understand myself. So I go with the easy route.

"I got distracted at the pet store," I lie. "You know how I get around puppies."

Tori narrows her eyes suspiciously but lets it go. "Did you at least pick your flowers?"

"Almost," I say, and just like that, she bolts toward the bathroom without another word.

It's not long before I hear her retching.

I jump up and rush to the door. "Tori? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine," she groans. "Just a stomach bug. Been hanging around all week. I'm going to see a doctor soon. Probably just need some antibiotics."

She washes up and walks out quickly, grabbing her bag.

"I should get going," she mumbles. "Text me later?"

"Of course." I frown, watching her practically flee the room.

What was that about?

But I'm too exhausted to chase her down for answers. I crawl back into bed and stare at the ceiling.

I wish I could fast-forward through time—past the guilt, the confusion, the choices I still have to make. But time doesn't wait. It never has.

So now, I close my eyes.

And hope I'll wake up with some idea of what the hell to do next.