Chapter 12

Alden's wounds still hadn't healed. His doctor had warned him repeatedly to rest, but he'd refused. He checked himself out of the hospital early. He spent hundreds of millions arranging the scene at Blythera's most luxurious rose estate. The grounds were carpeted with Juliet roses, each flown in from overseas and handpicked by him. The orchestra's playlist had taken three sleepless nights to perfect. Even the fireworks had been custom-designed for Vivian's taste, timed to explode into a starry sky before etching her name across the night at just the right moment. Alden had tasted every dish on the menu and debated the champagne's vintage like a sommelier. Seth watched him and couldn't resist teasing, "Mr. Wilder, anyone would think you're preparing for a coronation." Alden didn't bother responding. He glanced at his watch; there was still half an hour to go. Yet half an hour slipped by, then an entire hour, and still, Vivian never appeared. Alden stood on the rose-strewn terrace.