She stood before the man who was her father. For years, the word "father" had been a hollow echo, a concept rather than a face. But now, here he was, flesh and bone, with green eyes that mirrored her own and a tension in his stance that spoke of years unspoken.

In his hand, he held a red velvet pouch, its vibrant color stark against his calloused fingers. His grip was light, but she noticed the way his thumb pressed against the fabric, as if the pouch anchored him. She wondered if it was heavy, or if it was the weight of the moment that seemed to bend the space between them.

"What's inside?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. Her eyes flicked to his hand and then back to his face, searching for an answer he wasn't yet offering.

He hesitated, his lips parting as though the words had to be pried loose. "Something I should have given you a long time ago."

The air seemed to hum around them, thick with unsaid things. She found herself holding her breath as his fingers tugged at the drawstring, revealing two simple gold wedding bands nestled inside.

Her breath hitched. The rings, though unremarkable in design, glimmered with a golden hue. One was slightly larger, its edges softened with age, while the other bore a faint scratch, as if worn through years of quiet perseverance.

"They belonged to your mother and me," he said softly, his voice thick with a mixture of regret and tenderness. "I thought... I thought you should have them."

Her lips, still a little sore, pressed into a thin line as she let out a sharp exhale. "Now?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief, a sudden heat stirring in her chest.

His hand fell to his side, his shoulders sagging slightly, but he didn't look away. "I know I don't deserve—"

"You don't," she cut him off, her green eyes flashing, so much like his own that the resemblance felt like a cruel joke. She held up the pouch, her fingers trembling. "These don't fix anything."

"I know," he said again, quieter this time. "But they're all I have left of Elizabeth."

No.No.No. Alice's thoughts screamed.

"You had a brother. Tyler. Did you know that?" he choked out.

"No," Alice hissed again, her fingers digging into his collar as she yanked him forward. "You don't get to unburden yourself because of guilt." His back slammed against the edge of the pew, the wood creaking under the force of her anger

His hands fumbled to steady himself against the pew, his grip slipping on the worn wood. "Alice—"

"Don't." Alison's voice cracked, but her grip remained steadfast, her bloody missing nails, painfully biting into the fraying fabric of his torn shirt. "You abandoned her. You abandoned us. And now—now you crawl back with a name, a memory? As if that's enough to erase what you did?"

"I loved her," he said, the words trembling as they escaped. "I paid for everything—your school, her house, your clothes. Her treatment... I paid for all of it."

"And still you left us." Alison's voice dropped to a whisper, raw and unforgiving, her fingers twitching as though torn between striking him and letting go.

Clayton stepped closer, placing a steady hand on her shoulder, his touch a quiet anchor. "You're in pain, Alison," he said softly, his own unease betraying him in the quiver of his voice. "Take a break. Just—breathe."

The church seemed to hold its breath with them. Candles flickered along the altar, their fragile flames dancing against stained glass that cast fractured rainbows onto the worn stone floor. From the back pews, Sam, Daniel, and Ruth exchanged tense glances, their hushed murmurs lost beneath the weight of the unfolding drama.

Alison froze, the stillness of her body brimming with suppressed fury. "Clayton. It's just not fair," she hissed, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "He hurt me because of him. He raped me because of him. Tormented me for hours because of him."

The tremor in his hands betrayed his stoic facade, yet Clayton didn't step away. Sam shifted uneasily in his seat, Daniel leaned forward as though straining to hear every word, while Ruth's hand hovered near her face, a subtle gesture of shock or perhaps sympathy.

"I didn't know," Clayton broke.

"Well. Now you do." Alice choked, avoiding his eyes.

"I still smell his sweat. His blood. Everything." She finally admitted

Richard flinched as Clayton and Alice broke apart, his breath shallow, each word hitting him harder than the last. He took a step closer, though it felt like miles stood between them. "Alison, I never—"

"No," she cut him off, her voice sharp and decisive, a trembling finger pointing at him. "Don't you dare. You don't get to justify it. Not now. Not ever."

There was a pause.

"Now, this is how it's going to go," Alice said, her voice sharp as steel. "You will not run. You will be arrested, brought back to the states, and tried in court. After that, you will spend the rest of your days in federal prison. People want you dead—but I'm feeling lenient." She didn't flinch, her arms crossed with an unwavering authority, eyes locked onto her adversary.

"Everything is yours Alice. As soon as you hit eighteen. It's all yours." Richard said, trying to get his final word in.

The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with the weight of her words. Alice stepped closer, letting the sound of her footsteps echo in the church—a deliberate reminder that she wasn't done. "Thank you. Now, you made your choices Richard, and now you'll live with the consequences."

Alice turned her head, just slightly, as Claudia stepped into the church. Her presence radiated authority, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing outside.

In her hand, the unmistakable glint of handcuffs caught the flickering red and blue lights streaming through the stained windows. "Richard," Claudia said, her voice calm but laced with steel. She moved forward with deliberate steps, her gaze locked on the man by the altar.

Her focus was entirely on Richard, who remained frozen, his hands twitching as though weighing his options.

"It's over," Claudia said, her tone flat, matter-of-fact. "You're coming with me." She lifted the handcuffs slightly, their metallic clink a stark punctuation to her words.

Alice stepped aside. Clayton moving beside her, his size alone automatically a sight of comfort as she watched Richard being taken away.

"Are we done?" Sam echoed up the aisle, fists resting against the pew.

"Yes." Alice admitted. Finally.

******

The waves rolled in, a rhythm as steady as her breathing. She buried her toes in the warm Bahamian sand, feeling the soft grains shift against her bruised skin as she showed off her new bikini, white and strapless. The turquoise waters shimmered like an impossible dream, brighter than anything she had let herself imagine in so long. It didn't quite feel real.

He had gotten what he wanted. No, they had. At last. Rest. Not just the kind of rest you find in sleep, but the kind that sinks deep into your soul, that untangles knots you didn't know were there.

Alice tilted her head back, letting the sun kiss her face. Even its heat felt like a luxury, a reminder that she was here, away from the weight of before. It was Claudia's doing—the most uncharacteristic move, letting them go like this. Five days. Five days of borrowed peace. The private plane, the arrangements...all of it might as well have been another life entirely.

She glanced at the others. The easy laughter, the soft clinking of beer bottles—it all felt distant. Not unwelcome, just...separate. She traced their outlines from her spot by the shore, her gaze returning to Clayton. He was in deep blue swim trunks, but just so still while watching the ocean with a quiet smile that softened his features in ways she rarely saw. He seemed lighter under a face and body of bruises and scars somehow, as if he'd let something go.

The heat was lulling her into a dreamy haze, her body pressed against Clayton's shoulder. She could feel the sun's warmth on her skin, faintly pink where she'd forgotten to reapply sunscreen. Her shoulders burned slightly, a reminder of her carelessness. When his lips brushed her neck, her sunglasses slipped down her nose, and she stirred, half-opening her eyes.

"Mr. Clayton," she murmured, her voice soft as she touched her tender, bruised lips. The hint of pain brought a flush to her cheeks.

He smiled at her, his tone light. "You're turning pink, my love. Turn over. I'll get some sunscreen."

She bit back a smile, rolling over onto her stomach. The chair felt cool beneath her, contrasting with the heat radiating from her back. Clayton's hands worked efficiently, smoothing lotion onto her shoulders, and she couldn't help feeling cherished in his touch.

Then Sam's voice cut in, sudden and blunt, pulling her out of the moment. "Alice. Your eyes. Real or fake?"

Her cheeks burned deeper. She glanced at him, her lashes fluttering as she composed herself. "What do you think?"

Sam laughed, turning to Daniel with that teasing grin she'd come to expect. "I bet him ten bucks they're fake. Contacts?"

Daniel's chuckle carried on the breeze, and she watched him lean over to kiss Ruth—a rare tenderness in their otherwise strained interactions. "You owe me ten bucks, Sam," Daniel said, punching his friend's arm lightly.

The moment carried a strange camaraderie, yet Alice's gaze returned to Clayton. His large hands were still warm on her back, grounding her, reminding her of the safety he offered. She felt herself sinking deeper into his presence.

"We can go home?," she said softly, her voice meant only for him.

He hesitated, just for a beat, before his smile answered her fears. "Yes, babe. But a quick stop in London. I'm officially retired and we have your inheritance to settle."

Something shifted in his expression—something she hadn't seen before. The weight of his words sank in, filling the silence between them. For the first time, she felt like she could truly believe in his promise, believe in their future. A warmth spread through her chest, not from the sun, but from him.