No Longer Yours to Break novel Chapter 8

Gasps shot through the crowd. Most folks were clueless, but the sharp–eyed ones knew–something was way off.

“Everyone, please head back to your hotels. I’ll have someone drop off your gift bags soon. Any costs? Buxton Corp’s got it covered.”

Connor didn’t wait for a reaction. He spun on his heel and walked out.

He had to find Zoe. He needed the truth.

If he’d really had it wrong all these years… he owed her more than an apology.

Behind him, Vicky’s voice cracked through the silence.

“Connor… Connor!”

He froze, like he’d just remembered the girl still stranded onstage in a wedding

dress.

He glanced back. Guilt flashed in his eyes—but it wasn’t enough.

“…Sorry. I think I picked the wrong girl.”

Vicky snapped. Tears poured down her face.

“What do you mean?! The wrong person?!” Her voice cracked. “Whose bracelet is it then? Have I just been Zoe’s stand–in this whole time?!”

She screamed, throat raw.

“Why?! What does she have that I don’t?! Why does everyone leave me?!”

She smacked the champagne tower–glass and booze crashed everywhere.

Connor didn’t even blink. Whatever softness he had for her was gone.

“This is on me. If you want something, say it. But don’t you ever trash–talk Zoe again.”

His voice dropped cold. Vicky flinched.

1/3

Connor walked off without a glance.

Vicky just stood there… then cracked.

“Ha… hahaha… hahahahaha!”

Her eyes burned with shattered rage and something darker.

She could already see it–Southport’s new favorite joke. Her.

The bride dumped at the altar. Forever a punchline.

***

Connor floored it to Zoe’s house.

But when he pulled up, movers were already hauling stuff out.

He rushed one of them, panicked.

“The girl who lived here–where is she?”

The guy blinked.

“No clue. We’re just clearing it out. Place got sold. Leftovers, that’s it.”

Connor froze, stunned.

The living room was gutted.

No couch. No coffee table. No trace of Zoe’s favorite Maltese blue roses.

A sharp, twisting pain hit him.

Heart racing, he bolted to her bedroom. The layout was the same–this room hadn’t been emptied yet.

He yanked the wardrobe open.

Nothing inside–except a beat–up wooden box shoved at the bottom.

He grabbed it. The lid was coated in dust.

2/3

Chopter &

+25 Bonus

A vintage rotary lock stared back at him. He tried Zoe’s birthday. Then Pierre’s. Then

her mom’s.

Nope.

He stared at the carvings on top. Then it hit him.

He spun in his own birthday.

Click.

The box popped open. Inside was one thing–an old diary.

Connor let out a faint smile. Zoe used to guard that thing like it held the universe.

When they were kids, she’d trail after him shouting,

“Connie, Connie! Let’s write in our diaries together!”

But as she grew up, her diaries became off–limits–even to him.

Still smiling, he flipped it open-

And froze.

The first page wiped the grin clean off his face.

Support

Share