Four Brothers and a Bride-Chapter 220

DEMI

The house is beautifully quiet tonight. Even the wind feels hesitant, brushing softly against the curtains as though afraid to disturb the silence.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, the little leather-bound journal open on my lap. It’s become a strange comfort lately, this ritual of documenting a life I no longer fully recognize.

My therapist says it’ll help with memory recall, that writing things down can reconnect broken threads. But for me, it’s more about control. if I can record what happens, maybe I can convince myself that I still have some say in how the pieces of my life fit together.

I tap my pen against the page and start writing as I reminisced about the book fair.

The fair was... better than I expected. Crowds of people drifting from one stall to another, the hum of chatter mixing with the scent of roasted coffee and paperbacks. I’d almost forgotten what ordinary joy looked like; people smiling, arguing over prices, clutching books like treasure.

For a while, I felt...invisible but not in the bad way. I was just another face in public and. I couldn’t have wanted it any other way. Who knew most book nerds didn’t have time for entertainment news where the old Demi and her in-laws were constantly featured.

Even with the disguise being a tacky reading glass, no one stared too long or whispered while gesturing towards me. No one took photos in secret. Nobody cared as they brushed past me. It was a relief, frankly.

Everything was going smoothly...that is until she appeared.

A girl with wild, electric-blue hair and sharp eyes. She moved through the crowd with a restless kind of energy, her boots scuffing against the ground. When she stopped in front of me, my first instinct was to step back.

Something about her felt both reckless and deliberate. I remember thinking she looked... dangerous—not in a violent way, but in the way people who’ve been hurt too deeply tend to be: unpredictable, wounded but defiant.

At first, I thought she had mistaken me for someone else. But then she made some confident statements that proved she knew exactly who I was, and that changed everything.

The way she said my name, I felt a jolt of realization. She wasn’t just a random encounter. This girl knew me, the version of me I am still trying to understand.

I felt her gaze linger too long, her curiosity sharpening into suspicion as my throat went dry. If she saw through me and realized I wasn’t the same person I used to be, then the fragile balance I’ve managed to maintain would shatter.

So, I did what I’ve learnt to do when cornered. I smiled, muttered something, and walked away before she could look too closely.

I managed to lose the blue-haired girl and that’s when I ran into Naomi Vale. It’s like the universe was trying to compensate me for the hurtful encounters from my aunt and the strange girl.

Naomi was standing by a display table, arguing quietly with a man who looked seconds away from losing his temper. That dynamic oddly seemed familiar to me: a woman trying to explain, the man refusing to listen. It was the kind of argument built on exhaustion, not fury.

I lingered nearby, pretending to browse through a few books while their voices floated over the hum of the fair.

"You’re overreacting," she said, her tone firm but tired.

"I’m not," he shot back. "You don’t get to decide what counts as betrayal. Why won’t you just admit what you did was wrong so we can move on from this silly fight?"

A few heads turned. I looked down, flipping pages I wasn’t reading. Naomi dropped her voice a few octaves but enough of it sailed in clearly to my ears.

"You always do this. How could you act like I committed a heinous crime against you when all I did was try to support your dreams? You should be apologizing to me for making me feel like shit, especially after you went behind my back and got the agent’s help with fixing what’s missing in your book."

The rest of her words were blurred by hum of laughter. The man responded in lower tones. Whatever he said threatened to spill tears from her eyes. Then he stormed off, brushing past me so hard that I stumbled. His hand shot out instinctively and steadied me, but the moment his eyes met mine, he froze.

Something about them screamed recognition.

I saw it bloom in his widened pupils. His mouth opened, like he wanted to say something, but no words came. He let go of my arm like it burned him and walked away very fast.

Naomi hurried after him, then stopped when she saw me. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry about that," she said. Her voice was soft but unfiltered, like someone who didn’t care much for pretense.

I shrugged, brushing off imaginary creases on my dress. "It’s fine. It didn’t hurt that bad." I follow her gaze to the crowd where the man had disappeared into. "Everything okay?"

"Nothing I can’t handle," she sighed, then gave a small smile and shot out a hand. "Naomi Vale."

Her beauty was the understated kind: warm eyes, a face that looked honest even when it wasn’t trying to be. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but she beat me to it.

"You’re Demi Branson."

I froze. It took everything in me to keep my expression neutral. Two people recognizing me in less than ten minutes apart? Anna had been wrong. Hiding here wasn’t as simple as she’d assured me. Was Naomi going to be another blast from my past I would end up running from?

But Naomi noticed my hesitation and quickly added, "Don’t worry. I’m not a crazy fan or anything. I just... didn’t think it’d make sense to pretend I didn’t know who you were. Not sure you remember me but I bought a couple of books from Rahl’s bookstore where you formerly worked."

"Really?" Her attempt at reassurance somehow made me more uneasy. Then she said something that caught me off guard.

"Yeah. Never thought I’d get the chance to tell you this in person but can I be honest with you? I was rather disappointed when you married into the Rollins family."

My eyes snapped to hers. "Oh?"

She smiled apologetically, reaching to straighten a stack of books. "Don’t get me wrong. You handled yourself with grace, but... I am almost certain you used to have a strong dislike for the Rollins quads...just like I do. That was something that caught my attention that day at the store; you being one of the drastically few females in Danvarr who didn’t fancy those pompous boys. It was a breath of fresh air and I contemplated inviting you to my book club."

"You had a book club for girls who loathe the quads?" We both burst out laughing at that.

"No, I have a regular book club but damn, I wish I had that back then. It would have been packed by now, especially after the family scandal." She heaves a sigh. "I’ve never liked the Rollins family. I’ve always believed there’s no smoke without fire, and that kind of wealth doesn’t come with clean hands."

Her words should have offended me, but instead, they felt refreshingly good. Finally, someone who wasn’t hypnotized by the family’s charm. This should have been Anna.

I found myself laughing quietly. "Wow, you’re refreshingly blunt."

"Thank you. I’ve been called worse." She chuckles. "Just to clarify, this is a safe space, right? We can air out our true feelings because you dumped Ashley’s ass?" She winks conspiratorially at me.

It was kind of her to assume I was too good for that family and refer to my divorce (which I gathered was a public shit show) as me dumping Ashley Rollins. I liked her instantly, so I nodded. She took my hand and led me to her stand.

We conversed easily after that, her tone casual but charged with conviction. She said she admired that I didn’t let my in-laws change me or make me their puppet, and that she always felt I didn’t belong in that family.

I bit my tongue. She didn’t know how right she was. I didn’t belong there, and I’m not sure I ever will.

But when Naomi started reminiscing Demi Rollins’ life, my mask began to slip. She asked small, harmless questions that I should have been able to answer without thinking.

"Remember that scandal?" she asked, eyes bright with curiosity. "The one about Ashton’s ex-fiancée making you trip and almost lose your pregnancy. What was her name again? Mira? Mina?"

My mind went blank. There was a scandal of me pregnant? I should’ve known but I couldn’t possibly read up every article or news clip about my past as Demi Rollins. There are just too many. I scrambled in my head for the name of Ashton’s ex-fiancée but each time, the answer fluttered just beyond reach, like moths taunting the light.

Naomi tilted her head at my lisping lips. "I think she’s the daughter of your in-laws’ biggest competitor, Spelling.... Group or something. I forget the company’s name. They are often neck and neck with Rollins Group."

Again, I draw a blank and this time, it became painfully obvious to Naomi that something wasn’t right with me. She gave me a soft, knowing smile and waved it off.

"Never mind."

I forced a small smile. "Sorry. I’ve just... put all of that behind me."

Her expression softened. "Good. As you should. It’s the healthiest thing you could ever do after they messed with your mental health."

She changed the subject after that, asking what kind of books I liked. When I told her, she lit up.

"You’d love something my boyfriend wrote. It’s not published yet, but at the risk of sounding biased, it’s one of the most heart-wrenching tales you’ll ever read. I promise you."

"Wow. Now I have to read it for myself. Tell me when it’s published. I’ll buy it."

"Buy it?" She laughed. "No, I’ll send it. Signed copy. Promise."

***

With a smile, I close my journal quietly, letting the weight of the day sink into my bones. Anna is fast asleep, her breathing steady and untroubled. I envy her for that.

I climb out of bed, wrap my shawl around me, and step onto the veranda. The air is cold enough to sting, but I like it. The night glows in fragments from streetlights. Somewhere down there, people are laughing, living, not haunted by gaps in their own story.

I don’t feel sleepy yet. I’d love it if I could unpack my day with someone who isn’t judgmental. So, I take out my phone and scroll through my contacts. My thumb hovers over one name; Lucien. He shocked me this morning when he read me so accurately. I need to ramble right about now and he did promise me a listening ear.

I text him. "Are you awake? I need to talk. You said you’d listen."

The reply comes quickly, but my chest tightens when I read it.

Ashton: I’m listening.

My blood runs cold.

I stare at the screen, mortified. Of course, he’s still pinned at the top of my messages. Old habits die hard. I switch off my phone in a panic, my face burning. How many times is this going to happen? How am I supposed to convince him—and myself—that it’s over, if I keep making these stupid mistakes? Why didn’t I doublecheck?

I pace the veranda, replaying the slip-up over and over. He probably thinks I’m reaching out because I regret the breakup and can’t let go. Or maybe he thinks I want to apologize for Lucien and I earlier today.

I close my eyes, remembering how Naomi had described the old me as bold and fearless today at the fair. Maybe she was right. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding behind this fragile shell called ’amnesia’ and stand my ground.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I turn the phone back on and call Ashton.

"Demi?" His voice is low and a tad bit weary.

"I just wanted to apologize," I say quickly. "For the text. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to bother you."

"You’re not bothering me," he says softly. "It gladdens my heart to hear from you, even if it’s by mistake."

The warmth in his voice makes my chest ache. That’s what scares me; the way he still sounds like home.

I swallow hard. "I meant to text Lucien." I bite down on my lip. He didn’t deserve that.

There’s a pause. Then he says gently, "Your bodyguard."

"Yeah." I cringe. Why am I so worried about hurting his feelings? Yet, doesn’t go on a rant like a jealous and insecure boyfriend would. Instead, he surprises me with an apology.

"About this morning, I didn’t mean to spook you. I hurried as fast as I could after I overheard you and your aunt’s conversation. I was worried about you but then...I’m glad Lucien was there to comfort you." he sighs. "I just want you to know... I understand now. I’m sorry I didn’t see how trapped you felt before. I’m sorry if I made you feel broken and not as lovable as the old you. I’m sorry you felt like you had to embrace an unrecognizable life against your wishes just to feel wanted."

I lean against the railing, my heart thudding painfully. Tears shimmer in my eyes as his voice soothes me. His sniffle tells me he’s crying too and that draws the tears out of my eyes, streaming down my cheeks.

"I’m not going to question your choices going forward," he continues. "If you want distance, I’ll respect that. I won’t haunt Anna’s place just to see your face. I’ll try not to text or call you randomly. I’ll give you space to heal. Just promise me you won’t make permanent decisions for this new Chapter of your life on a whim, like cutting off old ties." He waits a beat for me to catch his drift, and I do. "If you wake up three months from now and still want a life...where I am not in it, I’ll back away for good. Give me three months, Demi, please. I promise I won’t try to coax you or seduce you. I just need 3 months of friendship while you heal."

His voice breaks a little at the end. It’s the kind of restraint that hurts.

I blink fast, because suddenly I can see flashes—the sofa in his office at the auto company, the smell of wet grass on a rainy night, his lips against mine under the shower in a bathroom with glass walls coated with steam. My pulse spikes. I hate that my mind remembers what my body has forgotten.

"Demi? You still there?"

"Yeah," I whisper, wiping my eyes. "Three months. Got it."

He exhales with relief. "Thank you."

The silence wears on between us but for the first time, it’s not uncomfortable. Like with Naomi, my chest feels lighter talking to him.

To make up for name dropping Lucien earlier, I decide to tell him about some of the memory recalls I’ve had in the last few days. I think it will make him happy to know that recovery is going well.

But before I can tell him, a woman’s voice echoes in the background, calling his name. I freeze. It’s past midnight and he’s not alone? My stomach knots and every warm, fuzzy feeling that had engulfed me in the last five minutes fizzles away.

He must have noticed the silence get awkward because he says, "Demi—"

I hang up so fast it feels like a reflex. My pulse is racing as I drop the phone on the railing. I tell myself it’s none of my business. We’re not together and he’s free to be with whomever he pleases. Yet, a misplaced sense of betrayal gnaws at me from the inside out.

I drag myself to bed and turn my face to the wall, willing the night to swallow my wandering thoughts. Hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. Instead, I am assaulted by imaginations of him in bed with the mystery woman while he fed me words to make me feel...special.

The ache doesn’t go away, but grows thicker with the darkness of the night, till I am left with a throbbing head and a wet pillow.