Sophie’s POV
By one in the morning, my anxiety has transformed into something sharper, more urgent. Adrian still hasn't responded to any texts or calls. The silence feels intentional now, heavy with implications I don't want to examine.
"I need to see him," I tell Cleo outside the restaurant. "I can't go into this wedding with all these questions."
Cleo studies my face. "Are you sure? It's his bachelor party."
"He lied to me about seeing Lolita, and now he won't answer his phone. I need to know what's going on."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No. I need to do this alone."
She doesn't look happy but nods. "Text me when you get there. And Sophie? Be careful."
I nod in return before jumping in the car.
I drive to the club address Bellamy mentioned, my hands tight on the steering wheel. What if Adrian's keeping bigger secrets? What if the Lolita situation isn't resolved? What if I'm walking into my wedding blind?
I park and try calling Adrian one more time. Straight to voicemail.
Growing dread pushes me out of the car, toward the entrance. The bouncer takes one look at my face and apparently decides I'm not worth arguing with. I slip inside, immediately assaulted by loud music and the press of bodies.
I don't see Adrian in the main room. Don't see any of his friends. But I spot a group of men near the back exit, smoking, their voices raised in what sounds like argument. I push through the crowd toward them.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Adrian Lewis?"
One of them points toward a door marked EXIT. "Back alley. But you might want to…"
I don't wait to hear the rest. My heels click against pavement as I push through the door, round the corner into the alley behind the building.
And stop dead.
Adrian is leaning against the brick wall, one hand pressed to his face. When he pulls it away, I see blood running from a split above his eyebrow.
Several feet away, Bellamy stands with his back to the opposite wall, lip bleeding, a bruise already darkening his cheekbone.
They both freeze when they see me. The air in the alley is thick with violence and testosterone and things unspoken.
"What happened?" My voice comes out higher than intended. "Why are you both bleeding?"
Adrian's laugh is bitter, drunk. "Ask him. Ask your loyal bodyguard what we were discussing."
The venom makes me flinch. I look between them, trying to understand.
"Adrian, I need to talk to you."
"Not now, Sophie." He pushes off from the wall, swaying slightly as he heads toward me. "I can't do this right now."
"Do what? Talk to your fiancée? Explain why you’ll most likely have hematomas three days before our wedding?"
He tries to walk past me but I grab his arm. He shrugs me off with more force than necessary, and I stumble back a step.
"I said not now, Sophie. Go home, please. We'll talk tomorrow."
"Adrian!"
But he's already gone, disappearing back into the club, leaving me alone with Bellamy and too many questions.
I turn to Bellamy slowly. Take in the split lip, the bruise forming, the guilty set of his shoulders. His hands are loose at his sides but I can see the tension in every line of his body.
"What happened?" I ask again, quieter.
Bellamy is quiet for a long moment, and I watch him debate with himself. Then his shoulders drop slightly, like he's made a decision.
"He asked me if I thought he was making a mistake. Marrying you."
My breath catches. "What did you say?"
"I deflected, but then he asked what I would do if you called me right now. Asked me to come get you, to take you away from all this."
The alley feels too small. "...And?"
"I told him the truth." Bellamy meets my eyes. "That I'd come running. Immediately. Without question."
The words hit like a physical blow. Not because I didn't know—some part of me has known for weeks. But hearing it spoken aloud makes it real.
"Then he asked if I was in love with you," Bellamy continues. "I didn't deny it, so he threw the first punch."
I'm trying to reconcile the controlled, professional Bellamy with the man admitting he'd abandon everything if I asked. "You fought back."
"I let him hit me at first. Just absorbed it." He touches his split lip. "But instinct took over eventually. I pushed him back—too hard. Didn't mean for him to hit the dumpster."
I see the dumpster with a small smear of blood on its edge—Adrian's blood. Because they were fighting over me.
"What did he say after?"
Bellamy's expression is carefully neutral. "That I'm fired. That I should stay away from both of you. That if I come to the wedding, he'll finish what we started."
Bellamy fired. Banned from the wedding. Told to stay away permanently. Because he told the truth.
"Bellamy…"
"He's right, Sophie." His voice is gentle but firm. "I should stay away. This—whatever this is—it's making everything worse. You're marrying him in three days. You made your choice."
I don't understand what's happening," I say, my voice breaking. "Why did this fight happen? Why tonight, three days before my wedding?"
"Because he asked the question and I answered honestly," Bellamy says quietly. "Because we're both tired of pretending there isn't something complicated here."
"This is my fault." The realization hits me. "I should have been more careful, should have maintained better boundaries. I let things get too…"
"Don't." Bellamy cuts me off firmly. "Don't take responsibility for my feelings, Sophie. I'm an adult. These are my choices, my confessions. You didn't make me feel anything."
"But I didn't stop it either," I whisper. "I knew there was something between us and I just... let it exist. While wearing his ring. While planning our wedding."
The truth stings. Bellamy and I stand in silence. I hug myself with my arms, as if trying to protect myself from all the difficulties that have fallen on me in recent days.
"I don't know what to do," I whisper.
"You go home, you clean Adrian up, you talk to him, you figure out what you actually want."
Bellamy says gently.
"And in three days, you either walk down that aisle because you genuinely want to marry him, or you don't. But you make that decision based on what's right for you. Not for him, not for me, not for anyone else. Just you."
He turns to leave, and panic flares. "Bellamy, wait."
"I can't, Sophie." He stops but doesn't turn. "I can't keep doing this. Standing close enough to want you but far enough away to be appropriate. Watching you choose him while knowing part of you wants to choose me. I just can't."
Then he's walking away, disappearing around the corner, leaving me alone with blood on the pavement and three days until a wedding.
I stand there for a long time, staring at nothing, trying to process everything that just shattered.
Then I pull out my phone and do the only thing I can think of.
I call Cleo.
"I need you," I say when she answers. "I need you to come get me. I can't... I don't know what to do."
"I'm on my way," she says immediately. "Stay where you are. I'm coming."
I sink down against the alley wall, heedless of my white dress, and wait for my best friend to come save me from the mess I've made.