“I need to see it. With my own eyes.”
Tristan’s voice chased after her. “And what will you do once you do?”
Scarlett didn’t know. All she knew was that she had to see.
The cold wind slapped against her face, but she felt nothing. She walked through the corridors she had once crossed beside Ryan countless times. And then, outside the gates of his private garden—a place no outsider ever entered—she froze.
The gates stood open. A red carpet bisected the courtyard, white floral arrangements flanking its edges. In the center, Ryan stood in a black tuxedo so perfectly cut it seemed to belong in a portrait. Beside him, Rowena adjusted his collar with a graceful smile, her wedding dress glimmering like a sheet of new snow.
“Ryan, she’s useless now. Don’t you think it’s the time to get rid of her?” Her voice carried across the garden.
Ryan lowered his head slightly, allowing her hands to adjust his collar. His profile was soft, patient, gentle—expressions Scarlett had never once seen on his face.
“Of course,” he said quietly. “Thank you for everything, Rowena.”