Vincent’s buddies followed him out, all of them casting judgmental looks in Roxanne’s direction.
And just like that, she was alone in the private room. She tried to get to her feet, but her legs felt like they were made of air, like she was walking on clouds.
A strange sensation was spreading through her body—numb and tingling all at once.
She barely managed two steps before the door swung open again.
A man in a baseball cap stepped in, head down.
“Well, well… Never thought I’d get my hands on you again, Lena.”
Lena?
The name hit her like a sledgehammer.
Her knees buckled. A splitting headache tore through her skull as buried memories came flooding back.
Twenty-five years ago, Courtney’s mother had worked as a maid in the Holbrook household. One night, she’d secretly swapped her own daughter with the real Holbrook child.
Courtney had lived her whole life as the heiress.
And Roxanne… Roxanne was Lena—the unwanted girl from a small town, abandoned and unloved.
Years later, on her deathbed, Roxanne’s adoptive mother finally told her the truth.
The Holbrooks brought her back, gave her a new name—Roxanne—and tried to give her the life she’d been robbed of.
And the man standing in front of her?
That was John Buzolic—Courtney’s biological father. He was the same criminal who had kidnapped Vincent as a child, hoping to extort the Strauss.
Roxanne had helped Vincent escape and John had beaten her within an inch of her life for it.
She’d had such a high fever afterward that she forgot everything—her name, her past, everything.
If her dad hadn’t arrived in time, she wouldn’t have survived.
And now it all made sense.
The woman Vincent had worshipped like some untouchable angel—his “savior”—was her.
Would he regret hurting her when the truth finally came out?
John Buzolic stepped closer, eyes gleaming with malice.
“Your real daddy got me thrown in jail last time. Now it’s time to settle old scores.”
Roxanne backed up instinctively. “You’re out of your mind. This is a public place—someone’ll be here any second.”
“Oh, I won't be worry about that,” he said, voice full of confidence. “Your sweet boyfriend already told the staff we’re not to be disturbed.”
Her heart sank.
So this was a setup?
All for Courtney’s revenge?
Before she could think it through, John lunged and shoved her to the floor, clawing at her clothes with frantic hands.
It was happening again.
The nightmare from seven years ago—back to life.
She fought him with everything she had, but it was no use. Her body wouldn’t listen and panic was rising like a tidal wave.
She hated Vincent for throwing her to the wolves. Hated John for his filth. But most of all, she hated herself for being powerless.
Just as John yanked at her shirt, the door slammed open with a thunderous kick.
“Get your hands off her, you sick bastard!”
Roxanne looked up, dazed.
Her best friend, Arlene Brouwer, burst in with two bodyguards behind her.
In that moment, Roxanne had never been more grateful she’d texted for help before walking into that party.
The rush of adrenaline and relief was too much. Her vision blurred. And then—black.
***
Roxanne woke up in the hospital. Again.
Vincent hadn’t shown his face since.
And she didn’t care. She had work to do.
First thing—she changed her profile picture, deleted the post she’d pinned for seven years announcing their relationship.
Second—she erased all contact with Vincent. Deleted every message, every photo, every video. Gone.
Third—she changed the locks, threw out every item they’d bought together, every gift she ever gave him.
Fourth—she packed up all his remaining things and scheduled a courier to deliver them to the wedding venue on the exact day they were supposed to say “I do.” Cash on delivery.
When it was done, she pressed a hand to her chest.
No ache. No bitterness.
Just silence.
Goodbye, wasted years.
Goodbye, Vincent.
She was ready for the next chapter of her life—and this time, she’d write it on her own terms.
