Seven Years of Love Disappeared with the Wind

Startled, I turned around, and a wave of joy washed over me.

"Lawrence..."

He gave me a reassuring smile and stepped beside me, offering quiet support for my weary self.

"Already found someone new, Stella? That was quick," Maurice said, his voice laced with a hint of anger.

"I have a childhood friend, too, Mr. Christy." I replied, stressing his name as a way to draw a line between us.

"Ah, just like us, Maurice," Cara added with a sweet smile, clearly trying to draw a parallel between her and Lawrence.

But Maurice didn't respond to her. His eyes were fixed on me, cold and unrelenting.

I ignored him, slipping my arm through Lawrence Wilde's, straightening my back, and walking away with my head held high.

Only when we were alone did I finally relax, stopping in my tracks as tears blurred my vision.

"Lawrence, I..."

"Don't worry, Stella. I'm here."

Lawrence gently pulled me into his arms, and my face pressed against his warm chest. The steady beat of his heart was soothing, providing a comfort I desperately needed.

My tears soaked his shirt, and I realized that while my feelings for Maurice had withered, they wouldn't vanish overnight.

I told myself it wasn't worth the pain, yet my chest ached with an unbearable sorrow.

I could face Maurice without flinching, but standing before a childhood friend like Lawrence, all my defenses crumbled.

Lawrence stroked my hair with a tenderness that seemed uncharacteristic of him.

"Stella, sorry that I was late. If I'd known you were going through this, I would've knocked him out earlier."

I wiped my tears and looked up at Lawrence's indignant expression, breaking into a smile despite myself.

"Next time, you better give him a good punch."

Lawrence and I had grown up together, our childhood filled with the playful bickering of two close friends. But before anything more could develop, he had left to study abroad.

At first, we stayed in touch, sharing everything, but that changed when I started dating Maurice.

Our communication became sparse. Even when I sent him an invitation to my wedding, his only response had been a terse "Okay."

In hindsight, I was relieved he hadn't come. That disastrous scene had been humiliating enough to leave my parents furious. I had barely managed to send them off on a flight, saving them from further embarrassment.

My wedding was not a glorious thing, and I didn't want Lawrence to see it.

Lawrence drove us to a cozy diner, where he ordered a table full of my favorite dishes.

The irony wasn't lost on me. After all, it had never been me who enjoyed French cuisine. That was all Cara, who had spent years living in France.

I smiled bitterly, silently vowing to forget Maurice.