Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 2

Lydia POV

Oh.

That was… unfortunate.

Because he was beautiful.

In a sharp, expensive, dangerous kind of way.

Dark suit.

Sharper jaw.

Dark eyes that looked almost black under certain lighting.

Everything about him looked controlled.

I clicked another picture.

Still no smile.

Another.

Same expression.

Another.

Still cold.

Even in candid shots, he looked detached. Like he existed half a step away from everybody else and preferred it that way.

His eyes were the worst part.

Not empty.

That would have been easier.

No, they looked like they belonged to a man who had learned very early that softness was a liability.

A headline caught my eye.

DAVE ASHTON: THE YOUNGEST BILLIONAIRE REDEFINING POWER

Another.

COLD, CALCULATED, UNTETHERED

Another.

THE MAN TOO YOUNG TO BE THIS FEARED

Perfect.

Of course.

Of course the stranger I was being forced to marry looked like he could ruin lives before breakfast and still make it to a board meeting by nine.

I shut the laptop.

There was no point reading further.

Apparently, I had the rest of my life to study him.

That thought made me sick.

I found the sleeping pills in my bedside drawer, shook one into my palm, and swallowed it with water straight from the bottle.

Then I crawled into bed fully clothed and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged me under.

When I woke up, there was a wedding gown hanging from my wardrobe.

For a moment, I just stared at it.

Minimal lace. Clean lines. Expensive fabric.

It was beautiful.

Which somehow made it crueler.

By seven in the morning, I was dressed in it.

My hair had been pinned back by a stylist who barely looked at me.

My makeup had been done by a woman who treated my face like a task to complete.

Nobody asked if I was okay.

Nobody expected honesty if they had.

My mother had said we would go together.

Naturally, she lied.

It was just me and the driver.

Just me in white satin climbing into the back seat like cargo being transported.

The court building looked exactly how I felt.

Functional.

Cold.

Forgettable.

A place where lives changed under fluorescent lighting and government paperwork.

I arrived early.

At first, I told myself that was a good thing.

Better to be early than late.

Better to get this over with.

Better not to think.

So I sat.

And waited.

One couple got called in.

Then another.

Then another.

A woman in pink heels laughed as her husband kissed her cheek.

Someone’s mother cried into a handkerchief.

A registrar called names in a bored voice from the hallway.

People kept moving.

Time kept moving.

Everything kept moving.

Except me.

I checked my phone.

No message.

No call.

No explanation.

I looked toward the entrance again.

Still nothing.

At exactly fifty eight minutes, the woman seated two chairs away from me leaned over and asked with too much sympathy, “Are you waiting for someone?”

I looked at her.

Then at my wedding dress.

Then back at her.

“No,” I said.

She blinked.

I smiled.

A little too tightly.

“I’m here for the ambiance.”

She didn’t speak to me again.

An hour passed.

Then a few more minutes.

And still

Nothing.

No groom.

No apology.

No Dave Ashton.

Just me.

Sitting in a court building in a white dress, looking more and more like a woman who had been publicly stood up on her own wedding day.

And for the first time since yesterday, something inside me stopped hurting and started hardening.

Because if this was how Dave Ashton wanted to begin this marriage

Then maybe he was exactly the kind of man I had been afraid he’d be.

And maybe this whole thing was about to get much worse.