Chapter 8

Neal tried to dissuade him. "Mr. Wilder, Mr. Wilder Senior will be furious if he finds out…" "Do it." Alden's reply was curt. The tattoo gun buzzed. Its needles seemed to sink into Willow's heart and open fresh wounds. Two hours later, Alden emerged from the parlor with one hand pressed to his oozing chest. His face was bloodless, but he still climbed into the car. "Take me to Mooncrest Cliff," he told the driver. "No! That place is deadly, and you just got inked—" "Now." Willow sat in her car, the memory of Vivian's standards flashing through her mind. "He has to get my name tattooed over his heart. And they say there's a rose on Mooncrest Cliff… He'd have to pick it for me." She laughed until tears blurred her vision. "Drive," she told the driver. "Stop following them." That night, she scrolled to Vivian's Instagram post—a single photo of a full bloom rose, perched on the cliff's edge. The caption read, "Someone braved a rough journey just to bring me a flower." At 3:00 am, Alden returned. Blood stained his clothes, his right arm hung limp, and yet, a faint smile hung at the edge of his lips. … The next day, just as Willow was leaving, Alden emerged from his room. He looked pale. His right arm was bound in bandages, and his shirt collar was slightly undone. "Ms. Rooney," he rasped. "I was in a car accident last night. I'll need a few more days to recover. So I won't be able to protect you for a while." A car accident? More like a fall from a cliff, Willow thought. But she didn't call him out. She simply hummed in acknowledgement, then stepped outside. Today was the day she'd say goodbye to her closest friends. "Come on! Tonight, we drink till we drop!" In the VIP room of the upscale club, Ruth Langley—Willow's best friend—threw an arm around her shoulders. "Our Willow's about to become Mrs. Scott! That calls for a celebration!" The private room was packed tight with Willow's closest friends over the years. The champagne tower glittered under the pulsing lights. The music throbbed loud enough to rattle the walls, yet Willow felt as if the world around her had muted itself. "Honestly, a husband in a vegetative state is perfect," Ruth slurred, swirling her wine glass. "Rich, handsome, and zero demands? It's the ideal marriage." "Exactly!" another friend chimed in. "And the Scotts' empire? That will all be yours someday." Willow gave a faint smile. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass. "Once I'm married, I'll have to be proper. Can't embarrass the Scotts, after all." A hush fell over the group before a flurry of rushed reassurances broke loose. "Mr. Scott will wake up!" "You're gorgeous. How could he just stay like that forever?" "Exactly! Willow is the most stunning woman in our circle. She can't be doomed to some half-life, playing widow to a man who isn't even gone." Willow listened to their drunken chatter with quiet amusement, draining one glass after another. As they said their last goodbyes, Ruth suddenly pulled Willow into a crushing embrace. Her voice was thick with tears. "Your father's a real bastard… and Vivian too. Do you want us to teach her a lesson?" "No, it's fine." Willow patted her back. "Once I'm gone, none of this will matter to me anymore." She hugged each of them in turn, until there were tears in every pair of eyes. After settling the bill, Willow passed the neighboring private room, catching a familiar voice drifting out. "Was this flower really that hard to get?" "You have no idea! Even professional climbers avoid Mooncrest Cliff." The door stood slightly ajar, and through the gap, Willow watched Vivian twirl the rose between her fingers. Maisie's eyes glittered with hunger for gossip. "And yet he still risked his life to pick it. When he dropped it off yesterday, I think I saw your name tattooed over his heart! Is he really trying to win you over? He's just some bodyguard. Who does he think he is?" "I'm the one the Wilder family's scion is courting now." Vivian traced a fingertip along the rose's tattered petals. "But Den is easy on the eyes. Keeping him around as a plaything wouldn't be the worst idea."