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Forty seven

Zane's POV

The past twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind, a mess of emotions I couldn’t seem to shake. I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Belle in my head. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way she looked at me—determined, yet fragile. It was the eve of her wedding, and despite my desperate appeal to her yesterday morning, she was still set on marrying Dave Scott. The thought made my stomach churn, a mix of anger and helplessness gnawing at me.

I needed a drink. No, I needed to drown the thoughts, the pain, the frustration. I dressed quickly, throwing on a shirt and jeans, and headed out to one of the bars I knew would be dark and quiet enough to let me brood in peace.

The whiskey went down smooth, burning just enough to distract me from my thoughts, if only for a moment. I ordered another, and then another, losing count as the hours slipped away. The bar was a blur of muted conversations and the clinking of glasses, but none of it registered. My mind was trapped
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