CHAPTER 9
Before arriving for the wedding, Alisson had spent the last two days caught in a maze of connecting flights—airports, terminals, delays, cramped seats, and time zones blurring together. She had flown in from the other side of the world, and by the time her plane finally landed in her home country, she was running on willpower alone.
There was no pause, no moment to breathe. The moment she stepped out of the arrivals gate, she headed straight for the port, hauling her luggage through the humid air. She purchased a ticket on the next boat without thinking twice. The island where the wedding was held was still miles away, but she pushed forward. She had come all this way. She couldn't miss this.
By the time she arrived at the island hotel—the venue for Corinne McKenzie's private garden wedding—she was exhausted, travel-worn, and very, very late.
She approached the reception desk, stopping abruptly in front of two young receptionists who immediately straightened, startled by her sudden presence and striking appearance.
"Hi, where is the wedding of Corinne McKenzie?" she asked, voice firm despite the fatigue threading through it.
One receptionist blinked before pointing toward a pathway lit with warm garden lights. "Ma'am, it's—"
"Prepare a room for me," Alisson said, cutting gently but decisively through the explanation. She slid her purse across the counter. "My ID is inside. You can get it yourselves. I'm already late."
Before either of them could respond, she added, "And please take care of my luggage."
The two receptionists exchanged a wide-eyed look, mouths parting in surprise—not only at her bold efficiency but at the effortless elegance she carried even after two days of traveling. She gave them a small, tired smile, one that only amplified their stunned silence.
Then she turned away, following the direction one of them had indicated earlier. Without waiting for confirmation or paperwork, she headed toward the glowing garden entrance, heels striking softly against the path.
Behind her, the receptionists stood frozen, her purse in their hands and their jaws practically on the floor—still recovering from the whirlwind of her arrival and the beauty that had walked in and blown past them.
The memory faded as Alisson blinked, grounding herself back in the present—standing once again at the same reception desk where she had dropped her purse earlier. The lobby was warm with soft lights and a faint citrus scent drifting from hidden diffusers. Several staff members straightened when she approached, greeting her with noticeably friendlier smiles this time. Word had clearly spread about the poised, breathtaking guest who had rushed through the lobby hours ago.
"Good evening again, Miss McKenzie," one receptionist said warmly. "You're here for your purse?"
Alisson nodded, and the girl quickly retrieved it from behind the counter. But the moment Alisson followed up about the room she had requested earlier, the receptionists' expressions shifted. Smiles dimmed. Shoulders stiffened.
"Miss McKenzie…" the girl began carefully, "we're very sorry, but the hotel is now fully booked. The last extra room reserved for the wedding guests was taken by someone who arrived earlier today."
Alisson's shoulders sagged subtly at the news. She released a quiet breath, unable to hide her disappointment this time.
A second receptionist spoke up quickly, her voice tight with apology. "We also called the other hotel on the island on your behalf, but they're fully booked as well. There are many events, as the island's festival is coming so expectedly there would be high occupancy. We're truly sorry."
Alisson didn't answer at once. She simply stood there, accepting the reality she had unintentionally created for herself. She'd come unannounced. Her mother hadn't reserved a room because she had insisted she wouldn't attend the wedding at all. And then—out of nowhere—she changed her mind and traveled halfway across the world to be here.
It wasn't their fault. It wasn't anyone's.
Just exhaustion catching up to her.
But despite the growing heaviness in her eyes and posture, she managed a small, composed smile.
"It's alright," she murmured gently. "I understand."
She retrieved her purse and added, "I'll come back later to get my luggage. Please take care of it for now."
Relief visibly washed over the receptionists. Before she turned away, Alisson asked softly, "By the way, where's the restroom?"
They straightened immediately, eager to redeem themselves. "Just down that hall, Miss—second door to the right," one said quickly, pointing clearly.
She offered a polite nod. "Thank you."
Then she headed in the direction they showed her, her steps steady though her body begged for rest.
Behind the counter, the receptionists let out the breath they'd been holding.
"I thought she was going to snap at us," one whispered.
"Me too," the other agreed. "But she stayed calm. So composed."
They traded astonished looks.
"For someone with her presence and beauty, I expected a spoiled attitude," one admitted. "But she's… nothing like that."
And as Alisson disappeared down the hallway, they watched her go—still impressed, relieved, and quietly in awe of the woman who carried her exhaustion with such graceful restraint.
She pushed open the restroom door and stepped into a space that instantly soothed her senses. The room was bright, clean, and styled with a natural, resort-like aesthetic—soft cream walls accented with vertical wooden slats, warm lantern lights, and potted indoor plants placed strategically near the corners. The faint scent of eucalyptus and mint lingered in the air, blending with the quiet hum of running water from the decorative fountain built into the far wall.
She slipped into one of the cubicles, locking the door behind her. The moment she sat down, the peaceful atmosphere was broken by the sound of multiple cubicle doors slamming open outside. A group of girls rushed in with animated chatter, their heels clicking sharply across the tiled floor.
"Girl, we'll wait for you outside," one of them said, her voice echoing lightly in the room.
"Okay," came a reply—from the cubicle directly beside Alisson.
The voice tugged at her memory. Familiar. Annoyingly familiar.
Within seconds, the cubicle door next to hers opened. The footsteps moved toward the sink area.
Alisson finished up and stepped out as well. She headed to the sinks, her pace unhurried. When she lifted her gaze to the mirror, the reflection waiting for her pulled her to a stop.
Their eyes locked.
It was her.
Claudia.
The same girl who earlier reached out to grab her arm—before Xavion blocked her with that sharp, fluid movement and a firm "Don't."