The Engagement's End, A New Beginning

The Engagement's End, A New Beginning

Gong Moxi

5.0
Comment(s)
3.3K
View
10
Chapters

Tonight was supposed to be the most important night of my life, the official announcement of my engagement to Mark Landon. But as we stood on the dais to make our toast, another woman-Isabel-let out a theatrical cry and crumpled to the floor. Before I could process what was happening, Mark shoved me. He pushed me aside to get to her, his arm connecting with my shoulder with brutal, dismissive force. The shove sent me stumbling backward off the platform. I landed hard on the polished marble floor, a collective gasp echoing through the stunned ballroom as my world shattered. He didn't even glance at me. He helped a perfectly fine Isabel to her feet, tucked her protectively against his side, and then glared down at me, his face a thunderous mask of fury. "Look what your jealousy has caused!" he snarled, his voice echoing in the silence. "This engagement is over! I will not be bound to a woman so consumed by petty envy!" The words were a physical blow. The pain in my soul was so intense it stole my breath, a searing agony as the bond I thought we shared was violently ripped away. The room spun as the pain dropped me to my knees. Kicked out a service exit, I collapsed in a filthy back alley, my body finally succumbing to a strange illness that had been draining me for weeks. Just as darkness closed in, a sleek black car screeched to a halt. A man emerged, impossibly tall and radiating an aura of power that made Mark seem like a spoiled child. He knelt, his stormy eyes locking onto the silver locket our family doctor had pressed into my hand moments before. His voice was a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through the very ground. "I have found her." He paused, his gaze sweeping over my face, his expression a chilling mixture of triumph and ice. "My true fated mate... and the daughter of the woman who destroyed my family."

Chapter 1

Tonight was supposed to be the most important night of my life, the official announcement of my engagement to Mark Landon.

But as we stood on the dais to make our toast, another woman-Isabel-let out a theatrical cry and crumpled to the floor.

Before I could process what was happening, Mark shoved me. He pushed me aside to get to her, his arm connecting with my shoulder with brutal, dismissive force.

The shove sent me stumbling backward off the platform. I landed hard on the polished marble floor, a collective gasp echoing through the stunned ballroom as my world shattered.

He didn't even glance at me. He helped a perfectly fine Isabel to her feet, tucked her protectively against his side, and then glared down at me, his face a thunderous mask of fury.

"Look what your jealousy has caused!" he snarled, his voice echoing in the silence.

"This engagement is over! I will not be bound to a woman so consumed by petty envy!"

The words were a physical blow. The pain in my soul was so intense it stole my breath, a searing agony as the bond I thought we shared was violently ripped away. The room spun as the pain dropped me to my knees.

Kicked out a service exit, I collapsed in a filthy back alley, my body finally succumbing to a strange illness that had been draining me for weeks.

Just as darkness closed in, a sleek black car screeched to a halt. A man emerged, impossibly tall and radiating an aura of power that made Mark seem like a spoiled child.

He knelt, his stormy eyes locking onto the silver locket our family doctor had pressed into my hand moments before.

His voice was a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through the very ground. "I have found her."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over my face, his expression a chilling mixture of triumph and ice.

"My true fated mate... and the daughter of the woman who destroyed my family."

Chapter 1

The weight of the small, velvet-lined box in my hands felt heavier than it should. Inside, nestled on a bed of black silk, was the antique silver watch I'd spent three months saving for. Its face was classic, the leather strap worn to a soft, supple texture. It was perfect. It was for Mark.

Tonight was supposed to be the culmination of everything, the formal announcement of our engagement. In the high-society world of Veridia, where families were more like dynasties, our union was less a romance and more a merger. But for me, it had always been love. I had loved Mark since we were children, chasing each other through the manicured gardens of his family's estate. I believed he loved me, too.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I gripped the edge of my vanity table to steady myself. My reflection stared back, a stranger with pale skin and shadows under her eyes. For weeks, this strange fatigue had been my constant companion, a persistent drain on my energy that left me feeling hollowed out.

I'd dismissed it as pre-wedding jitters, the stress of planning an event for five hundred of Veridia's most influential people. But this felt different. Deeper. A coldness that had settled deep in my bones.

I took a shaky breath, the scent of the white roses on my dresser thick and cloying, almost funereal. I pushed the thought away. *It's just nerves, Clara. Stop being dramatic.*

I slipped on my dress, a simple sheath of emerald green silk that usually made my eyes pop. Tonight, it just made my skin look sallow. I checked the time on my phone. Seven-fifteen. Mark was supposed to have picked me up fifteen minutes ago. A familiar knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach.

He'd been distant lately, his calls shorter, his touch fleeting. When I'd tried to ask if something was wrong, he'd just brushed it off, his jaw tight. "Don't be needy, Clara. I'm busy."

His words had stung, leaving a small, cold wound. I told myself he was just stressed. His father had been putting immense pressure on him at the company, grooming him to take over. This engagement was a crucial part of that plan.

Another ten minutes passed. The silence in my apartment was deafening, broken only by the distant wail of a siren on the streets of Veridia below. I couldn't wait any longer. The party was at his family's city manor, only a few blocks away. I'd walk. Maybe the crisp autumn air would clear my head.

Grabbing my coat and the gift box, I left. The air outside was sharp, smelling of rain and exhaust fumes. The city lights blurred into a watercolor painting as I walked, my heels clicking a lonely rhythm on the wet pavement. My coat, a simple wool thing I'd had for years, felt thin and inadequate against the biting wind.

As I approached the manor, the sound of music and laughter spilled out from the grand, lit windows. My heart sank. The party had already started. He hadn't just forgotten to pick me up; he'd gone without me.

I slipped in through a side entrance, hoping to avoid a grand, humiliatingly late arrival. The heat and noise of the party hit me like a physical blow. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, champagne, and gourmet food. I scanned the crowded ballroom, a sea of tailored suits and glittering dresses, but I couldn't see him.

A prickle of unease ran down my spine. I knew his habits, his favorite spots to escape the crush of a party. I made my way through the throng, murmuring apologies as I squeezed past gossiping guests, and headed for the glass doors that led to the secluded back gardens.

The moment I stepped outside, his scent hit me-that familiar, clean fragrance of sandalwood and bergamot. It led me away from the manicured rose bushes and toward a small, hidden grove of weeping willows near the old stone wall. Their long, trailing branches created a private, shadowed alcove.

And there he was.

He wasn't alone. A woman stood with him, her back to me. She was delicate, with a cascade of pale blonde hair that seemed to shine even in the dim light. I recognized her instantly. Isabel. A junior analyst from one of the lesser families, someone who had always looked at Mark with a kind of hungry adoration.

Mark wasn't kissing her. He wasn't holding her in a passionate embrace. It was something far more intimate, far more devastating. He was holding her hand, his head bent low, his focus entirely on a tiny, insignificant cut on her finger. He dabbed at it with his own handkerchief, his touch impossibly gentle, his voice a low, soothing murmur that I hadn't heard him use with me in months.

The world tilted on its axis. The blood rushed in my ears, drowning out the distant party music. It was the tenderness that broke me. The casual, unthinking intimacy. The way his broad shoulders were hunched to protect her from the chill. He looked up, and his eyes, the warm chocolate eyes I had loved my whole life, were filled with a concern so deep it made my own heart ache with jealousy.

The small velvet box in my hand suddenly felt like a block of ice.

"Mark?" My voice came out as a choked whisper.

His head snapped up. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt, before a cold mask slammed down. Isabel pulled her hand back, a faint, triumphant smirk playing on her lips before she composed her features into a look of fragile innocence.

"Clara," Mark said, his voice flat, devoid of warmth. He didn't move toward me. He didn't let go of Isabel.

"The party started," I said, the words feeling stupid and small. "You were supposed to pick me up."

"Something came up," he said, his gaze flicking to Isabel, a silent question in his eyes. "Isabel had a little accident. I was just helping."

"An accident?" The tremor in my voice was humiliating. I could feel the eyes of the city's elite boring into my back, even though we were hidden. My weakness, my foolishness, felt like it was on display for the world.

He finally took a step toward me, his movements stiff. "Don't overreact. It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," I whispered, the pain a physical thing, a shard of glass in my chest. "The way you were looking at her..."

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking violently. "Isabel is vital to a new project at the company. She's important." He gestured vaguely toward the ballroom. "This whole thing, the party, it's just a formality, Clara. A business arrangement. You need to start understanding that."

*A formality.* The words echoed in the silent, cold space between us. Our entire life together, my unwavering love, reduced to a line item on a balance sheet.

He turned his back on me then, placing a proprietary hand on the small of Isabel's back. "Come on," he murmured to her, his voice soft again. "Let's get you a glass of water."

He walked away, guiding Isabel toward the light and warmth of the manor. He didn't look back. Not once. I was left standing alone in the dark, the cold seeping into my bones, clutching a gift for a man who had just shattered my world with a single, dismissive phrase.

Continue Reading

Other books by Gong Moxi

More
My Ex's Unseen Son

My Ex's Unseen Son

Romance

5.0

Her world revolved around the sterile precision of Boston General, a frantic pace that helped Evie outrun a haunting premonitory dream. Then he returned: Dr. Julian Vance, her former fiancé and the brilliant surgeon whose abrupt departure had shattered her four years prior. He wasn't alone; a stunning woman in a pristine white dress, just like her dream, was by his side, introduced as his fiancée. His cool, dismissive gaze, devoid of any shared past, was a stark reminder of their painful ending. He publicly dismissed their intense history as "nothing," twisting the knife of her past, desperate attempt to secure his future. Julian's fiancée, Victoria, a woman straight from Evie' s nightmare, systematically dismantled her reputation, turning colleagues into a whispering gallery of judgment. The final, brutal blow came when Julian, a cardiothoracic genius, coldly refused to operate on Evie' s dying father, abandoning him to succumb to his illness. How could the man she once loved, a man sworn to save lives, deliver such a cruel, calculated act of revenge? Was all their shared history, all her past sacrifice, truly worthless to him, or was this a deeper, colder malice she couldn't comprehend? The raw pain and burning hatred consumed her, every breath a testament to his unforgivable betrayal. With nothing left but fractured dreams and a hollow heart, Evie packed a single bag, determined to outrun Boston, him, and the wreckage of a life defined by his cruelty.

You'll also like

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

Too Late: The Spare Daughter Escapes Him

SHANA GRAY
4.3

I died on a Tuesday. It wasn't a quick death. It was slow, cold, and meticulously planned by the man who called himself my father. I was twenty years old. He needed my kidney to save my sister. The spare part for the golden child. I remember the blinding lights of the operating theater, the sterile smell of betrayal, and the phantom pain of a surgeon's scalpel carving into my flesh while my screams echoed unheard. I remember looking through the observation glass and seeing him-my father, Giovanni Vitiello, the Don of the Chicago Outfit-watching me die with the same detached expression he used when signing a death warrant. He chose her. He always chose her. And then, I woke up. Not in heaven. Not in hell. But in my own bed, a year before my scheduled execution. My body was whole, unscarred. The timeline had reset, a glitch in the cruel matrix of my existence, giving me a second chance I never asked for. This time, when my father handed me a one-way ticket to London-an exile disguised as a severance package-I didn't cry. I didn't beg. My heart, once a bleeding wound, was now a block of ice. He didn't know he was talking to a ghost. He didn't know I had already lived through his ultimate betrayal. He also didn't know that six months ago, during the city's brutal territory wars, I was the one who saved his most valuable asset. In a secret safe house, I stitched up the wounds of a blinded soldier, a man whose life hung by a thread. He never saw my face. He only knew my voice, the scent of vanilla, and the steady touch of my hands. He called me Sette. Seven. For the seven stitches I put in his shoulder. That man was Dante Moretti. The Ruthless Capo. The man my sister, Isabella, is now set to marry. She stole my story. She claimed my actions, my voice, my scent. And Dante, the man who could spot a lie from a mile away, believed the beautiful deception because he wanted it to be true. He wanted the golden girl to be his savior, not the invisible sister who was only ever good for her spare parts. So I took the ticket. In my past life, I fought them, and they silenced me on an operating table. This time, I will let them have their perfect, gilded lie. I will go to London. I will disappear. I will let Seraphina Vitiello die on that plane. But I will not be a victim. This time, I will not be the lamb led to slaughter. This time, from the shadows of my exile, I will be the one holding the match. And I will wait, with the patience of the dead, to watch their entire world burn. Because a ghost has nothing to lose, and a queen of ashes has an empire to gain.

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

He Thought I Was A Doormat, Until I Ruined Him

SHANA GRAY
4.5

The sterile white of the operating room blurred, then sharpened, as Skye Sterling felt the cold clawing its way up her body. The heart monitor flatlined, a steady, high-pitched whine announcing her end. Her uterus had been removed, a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't clot. It just kept flowing, warm and sticky, pooling beneath her. Through heavy eyes, she saw a trembling nurse holding a phone on speaker. "Mr. Kensington," the nurse's voice cracked, "your wife... she's critical." A pause, then a sweet, poisonous giggle. Seraphina Miller. "Liam is in the shower," Seraphina's voice purred. "Stop calling, Skye. It's pathetic. Faking a medical emergency on our anniversary? Even for you, that's low." Then, Liam's bored voice: "If she dies, call the funeral home. I have a meeting in the morning." Click. The line went dead. A second later, so did Skye. The darkness that followed was absolute, suffocating, a black ocean crushing her lungs. She screamed into the void, a silent, agonizing wail of regret for loving a man who saw her as a nuisance, for dying without ever truly living. Until she died, she didn't understand. Why was her life so tragically wasted? Why did her husband, the man she loved, abandon her so cruelly? The injustice of it all burned hotter than the fever in her body. Then, the air rushed back in. Skye gasped, her body convulsing violently on the mattress. Her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, staring blindly into the darkness. Her trembling hand reached for her phone. May 12th. Five years ago. She was back.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book