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Yalda stood by the window of the penthouse, staring out at the skyline bathed in the early morning light. Her heart felt like it was folding in on itself, her stomach tight with emotion. Today was the day she would marry Alexander Monroe. She would become his wife, even if only for a little while. Her chest ached with the weight of it all.
And yet, somewhere in that ache was also clarity. She had made her decision.
But it didn’t make the pain of hurting Ioannis any less sharp. She thought about him now, his kind eyes, his quiet strength, the way he had looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. She had known he loved her. She had felt it in every word, every gesture. And she had still left.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as guilt curled its fingers around her throat. She had broken something sacred with Ioannis. He hadn’t deserved this. But Alexander... he didn’t deserve to die alone.
She wiped her tears and picked up her phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed Riley’s number. It rang twice before she picked up.
"Yalda?"
The sound of Riley’s voice made her tears return, but she managed a small smile.
"Hi. I'm in New York." She said.
"No way. What are you doing in town?" Riley asked, excited.
"I’m getting married today."
There was a heavy beat of silence. "To.... Alexander Monroe?"
Yalda swallowed. "Yes."
Another pause. Then Riley let out a long breath. "I’ll be there. Where? When?"
"It's by noon. I'll text you the details." She replied.
"I’ll be there," Riley repeated, her voice soft. "Are you okay?"
Yalda hesitated. "I'm not sure." She replied honestly. "But I will be."
They hung up quietly, and Yalda sat back down on the bed, her hands resting on her lap. Alexander had already gone into his room to get ready. He’d ordered a simple white dress for her, modest, elegant, and heartbreakingly beautiful.
The hours passed too quickly. Lena arrived with a box of pastries and a tender hug, her eyes welling up when she saw Yalda. Carl was quiet, the usual stoicism in his demeanor even more profound today. And Riley arrived, wearing a navy-blue dress and clutching a small bouquet she’d bought from a vendor on her way over.
The four of them stood in the living room, soft music playing, the city visible through the wide windows behind them.
Yalda’s breath caught when she saw Alexander walk out.
He looked tired, yes, and pale. But his hair was neatly combed, his jaw clean-shaven, and his grey eyes fixed only on her. He wore a black suit, and the faintest smile curved his lips when he saw her in the dress.
“You look like a dream,” he whispered when he reached her.
“And you look like my dream,” she whispered back.
The officiant, a quiet woman, read the simple lines of the ceremony. They exchanged rings. They said their vows in voices trembling with emotion. There were no extravagant promises, no declarations of forever, only the raw, honest truth of the moment.
“I know I don’t have long,” Alexander said, his voice low and filled with emotion. “But I promise, every moment I have left, I’ll be yours. I’ll love you the best I can, the only way I know how.”
Yalda’s voice broke as she answered, “And I’ll be yours."
When the officiant declared them husband and wife, there was a flicker of something bright in Alexander’s eyes, a quiet, peaceful triumph.
He leaned in and kissed her. It was soft, reverent, a kiss that spoke of everything they hadn’t said and everything they never would. And around them, the others clapped gently, their eyes shining with unshed tears.
The reporter, a discreet woman in her fifties, took a single photograph to be captioned The billionaire Alexander Monroe and Yalda Harris, his former secretary, sharing a kiss on their wedding day. One photo. One article. That was all Alexander wanted, one final word to the world that he had loved.
After the brief celebration, the guests drifted into the dining area where Lena had prepared a simple lunch. There were smiles, soft laughter, and lingering glances filled with meaning. But for Yalda, everything felt like it was happening through a veil. The heaviness in her chest remained.
Later, after everyone had gone, she and Alexander returned to their bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers trailing over the ring on her hand. A gold band. Simple. Honest.
Alexander came beside her and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
He kissed her temple. “I know this isn’t what you pictured when you thought of getting married.”
“No,” she admitted. “But it’s real. It’s ours. That’s all that matters now.”
He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "Thank you for giving me this. For being here."
She hugged him tightly, resting her head against his chest, listening to the soft beat of his heart.
Yalda knew time was slipping away. But for now, in this quiet sliver of the world, she was his wife. And he was hers. Even if only for a while.
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