The Wedding They'll Never Forget - Chapter 9: Chapter 9

The weeks of harassment finally reached their climax. Paul had clearly hit rock bottom when he realized his flowers and desperate pleas weren't working anymore. So he escalated things—in the worst possible way.
I was curled up on my living room couch with tea when the call came through. The building concierge's voice was strained. "Miss Sinclair, we've got a situation downstairs. A man named Paul is... well, he's lying across the entrance refusing to move unless you come talk to him."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Unbelievable. Now he was pulling this stunt in broad daylight? "Can't security just remove him?"
"We've tried. He won't budge. We've already called the police."
My stomach twisted. This wasn't just annoying anymore—it was unhinged. "I don't want to see him. Just let the police handle it."
Through my window, I watched the scene unfold like some bad movie. Paul was sprawled dramatically on the pavement, arms crossed like some martyr staging a protest. The cops talked to him, but he stayed put until they physically hauled him up and marched him away.
Even as he disappeared down the street, I didn't feel relief—just bone-deep exhaustion. All his guilt trips, all his theatrics... it all came down to one simple truth: he couldn't face the consequences of what he'd done. He'd already torched our relationship; now he was burning whatever dignity he had left.
That night, I called Andrew. "We need tighter security—at the office, my apartment, everywhere. Paul's completely lost it."
"Already handled," came his steady reply. "He won't get within fifty feet of you."
The next morning, my thoughts kept circling like vultures. Andrew took one look at me and frowned. "You're distracted. What's eating at you?"
I finally let the dam break. "It's Paul. As much as I hate what he's doing—the stalking, the public meltdowns—part of me worries about him. He's completely spiraling."
Andrew leaned back, considering. "We could go to the station. Talk to him straight. Maybe file a restraining order—make it crystal clear this ends now."
I hesitated. Facing Paul again? But Andrew's calm certainty steadied me. "Okay. Let's do it."
The police station smelled like stale coffee and regret. The moment Paul saw me, his whole face lit up with manic hope. Then—Jesus Christ—he dropped to his knees right there on the linoleum.
"Ruby, please!" His voice cracked like shattered glass. "I'm begging you! Save me! I'll do anything!"
I stared down at this broken man who used to be someone I loved. Pity warred with anger in my chest. "Paul. Breathe. We can't talk if you're hysterical."
After some shuddering breaths, he finally composed himself. His eyes searched mine desperately—but the girl who'd once loved him wasn't here anymore.
When he'd calmed enough, I laid it out: "This ends today. No more showing up at my job, my home, nowhere. You're going back to Casouth. If you don't, I'll get that restraining order and have you deported. Understood?"
The color drained from his face. Good. He needed to feel this.
"I'll cover what you owe for this trip," I continued. "Plus enough to get settled back home. But you leave tomorrow. No more games."
His hands shook. "You'd... you'd really do that?"
"Only if you're on that plane. We're signing paperwork here—witnessed by cops—to make it official."
The officers produced the documents quickly. Watching Paul scrawl his shaky signature, I finally felt something like closure.
Andrew stayed close the whole time, a silent sentinel. As we walked to the car, he bumped my shoulder. "You good?"
I exhaled for what felt like the first time in months. "Yeah. I think I will be."
With one tap on my phone, I booked Paul's one-way ticket home. Morning flight. No refunds.
Game over.