Chapter 200

~ Annie ~

By the time I reached Chicago, the city greeted me with its legendary wind—not the kind that simply slips through your coat, but the kind that wraps around your skin and reminds you that you are somewhere entirely different. Somewhere I could finally breathe. For the first time in months, the negative thoughts about where my life had gone wrong felt muffled, silenced by the sheer scale of the Windy City. I was finally far from the Harrington shadow.

I switched on my phone as I taxied toward the gate. A text from Ayanna told me that Ethan’s driver, Craig, was already waiting at the terminal. She described his sharp charcoal uniform and ended the message with a string of heart emojis, saying she couldn’t wait another second to see me.

When I stepped into the terminal, I scanned the crowd and found him—a tall, professional man holding a signboard that read MISS ANNABEL REAGAN in elegant script.

"Craig?" I asked, arching an eyebrow as I approached.

"Miss Annie?" He smiled warmly. "Yes, ma’am. I’m Mr. Ethan’s driver. You look exactly like Miss Ayanna."

"Thank you, Craig," I said as he effortlessly took my suitcase.

"Let’s get you home," he said. "Miss Ayanna and Mr. Ethan have been checking the flight tracker every ten minutes."

We stepped out to a waiting Rolls Royce, and I was immediately treated like royalty. Inside the pristine leather interior, a spread of chilled fruits, delicate desserts, and a selection of drinks sat waiting. Craig glanced in the rearview mirror with a wink. "Enjoy, ma’am."

I was in awe. Ayanna had truly found her Prince Charming. As soft jazz drifted from the speakers, I leaned back, sipping a glass of champagne and staring out at the Chicago skyline. I felt like I was on cloud nine.

When we pulled into the drive of Ethan’s estate, my breath caught. It was a sprawling mansion surrounded by manicured grounds—a literal fairytale castle. It was everything Ayanna had ever dreamed of, and seeing her have it made the ache in my heart ease just a little.

Inside the foyer, before I could even take in the marble floors, I heard a shriek. "Annie!"

I turned just in time to be tackled into a hug. "Hey, big sis!" I squealed, squeezing her so tightly I thought she might pop. "I missed you so much, Ayanna."

"I’ve missed you more," she said, pulling back to study my face. She was glowing, her hair in dark, voluminous curls, looking every bit like a Hollywood starlet—think Sydney Sweeney but with a regal edge. She looked happy. Truly happy.

She turned to Craig. "Take my sister’s luggage to the Lakeview suite. I want the room spotless, the flowers fresh, and the balcony doors open. I want her to have the best view in the house."

"Isn’t that a bit much?" I laughed.

"You’re my sister, Annie. ’Too much’ is the baseline. I’m going to spoil you rotten until you forget New York even exists." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "You look exhausted."

"That’s because I am exhausted," I admitted.

The house was a hive of activity—florists, caterers, and staff moving with purposeful grace. It felt alive. Once we were settled in my room—which was larger than my entire apartment and featured a chandelier that looked like a frozen rainstorm—Ayanna sat me down on the king-sized bed.

"Alright," she said, tucking a stray hair behind my ear, a habit from our childhood. "Tell me everything."

I sighed, and for the next hour, I let it all out. I told her about Dorian’s sickening proposal, about the web of lies in the Flemington empire, and about my decision to walk away from it all. By the time I finished, Ayanna looked stunned.

"Wow. That is...a lot," she whispered. She pulled me into another hug. "I’m so proud of you, Annie. For choosing your soul over that monster’s money. You did the right thing."

"Thank you, Ayanna. I really needed to hear that."

"Mom will be here tomorrow," she added. "She’s staying with Clinton until her flight. She promised to keep a close eye on things."

At the mention of Clinton, my heart gave a dull throb, but I pushed it down. "Good," I nodded.

"And Dorian? What do we do?"

"Octavia is handling him," I said firmly. "She has the evidence. I’m just the witness who refused to be bought."

The wedding day arrived with a burst of brilliant sunshine. As the chief bridesmaid, I spent the morning in a whirlwind of silk and hairspray. Ethan stood at the altar looking devastatingly handsome in a classic black tuxedo, his smile widening as the ceremony began.

My mother was radiant, ready to walk Ayanna down the aisle. When it was my turn, I glided down the path, clutching a bouquet of white and red roses. Ayanna followed, a vision in Vera Wang lace, her long veil trailing behind her like a cloud.

The ceremony was a blur of beauty—the "I do’s," the whispered vows, and the passionate kiss that set the guests cheering. But throughout the reception, a small part of me remained heavy. I kept looking at the door, hoping against hope that a certain face would appear.

After the toasts, I found myself alone at the refreshment table, watching Ayanna and Ethan share their first dance. They were so perfectly in love that it hurt to watch. I felt a tear prick my eye, and I turned away to grab a glass of wine.

"Annie-bell."

The voice was a low, warm rumble—the only voice in the world that could make my soul vibrate.

I froze. I didn’t move for five seconds, terrified that if I turned around, I’d find nothing but empty air and my own imagination. Slowly, I rotated on my heels.

There he was. Clinton.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, his hair slightly tousled, his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made the room vanish.

"Clint?" I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth. "Is it...is it really you?"

He stepped forward, reaching out to take my hand. His skin was warm, his grip solid. "It’s really me, Annie. In the flesh."

"I thought...I thought you weren’t coming. I thought you were done with me."

"I called you," he said softly, tilting my jaw up so I had to meet his gaze. "You put me on your blacklist, Annie-bell. I realized then that I’d pushed you too far. I realized that if I didn’t show up today, I might lose you forever."

"I had to protect myself, Clint. I couldn’t keep being the backup plan."

"You were never the backup plan," he said, his voice dropping to a raw, sincere register. "I was just too blind and too stubborn to see what was right in front of me. I’m sorry. For the confusion, for the hurt, for the silence. I promise you, right here, I won’t mess this up again."

My heart did a violent backflip. "Do you mean that?"

"I love you, Annie. Truly. I’m not in love with Octavia—I realize now that what I felt for her was a shadow compared to this. You are the one I want. You are the one I choose."

The breath left my body in a rush. "You’re my girlfriend now, right? If you’ll have me?"

"Okay," I whispered, a smile finally breaking through. "I’m all yours."

He didn’t wait. He leaned in and kissed me—a deep, soul-searing kiss that tasted like forgiveness and new beginnings. When we finally pulled apart, the music shifted to a slow, romantic ballad.

"Dance with me," he said.

We swayed on the floor, perfectly in sync. Everything else—Dorian, New York, the stress of the past year—faded into the background.

"Did Ayanna show you your graduation gift yet?" Clinton asked, nuzzling my temple.

I pulled back, confused. "What gift?"

He smiled, glancing toward my sister, who was winking at us from across the floor. "I’m the gift, Annie. I spoke to Ayanna weeks ago, after my birthday. We planned this surprise together. She knew you’d be thrilled to see me."

"You two went behind my back?" I laughed, leaning my head against his shoulder. "I can’t even be mad. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received."

"Who knows?" Clinton murmured, pulling me closer. "By next year, this could be us."

I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t have to. The future finally felt like it belonged to me.

Later, when the DJ called for the bouquet toss, I joined the crowd of women. Ayanna turned her back, laughed, and threw the flowers high into the air. They soared, spinning in the light, and landed—perfectly, impossibly—right in my arms.

The crowd erupted in cheers. My mother gasped, clapping her hands to her cheeks. I looked over at Clinton. He was leaning against a pillar, a charming, knowing smirk on his face as he winked at me.

The message was clear. I held the flowers, I held the man, and for the first time in my life, I held the future.