My Wedding, His Takedown

Six years after our divorce, I ran into Sebastian at the police station.

He had climbed the ranks from an undercover agent to a respected inspector. I had fallen from a cherished heiress to a social pariah.

He was there, flush with success, planning his wedding. I was there to collect my father's death certificate.

As I turned to leave, his voice halted me.

"Stella, do you still hate me?"

I shook my head.

Hate is the offspring of love.

After six long years, the love was gone. And so was the hate.

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