The final Game

Nine Rejected Marriages, I Wed My Ex's Rival

Mattie Valelly

Amelia sat alone at the City Marriage Bureau, watching the clock tick down to closing time. Fifteen minutes before the doors shut, a phone call shattered her last flicker of hope. Her fiancé, Kayson, wasn't coming. He had abandoned their wedding registration because Kamila-her stepsister-had twisted her ankle. It was his ninth broken promise. When Amelia returned home, there was no comfort. Her biological mother sneered at her humiliation, shielding the stepsister while ordering Amelia to apologize to Kayson. "Who would she marry without Kayson?" her mother mocked. "Let's see how long she survives out there without his money." Meanwhile, Kayson arrogantly dismissed her absence. Finding out she had vanished, he just laughed it off with his assistant. "It's just a tantrum to force my hand," Kayson smirked. "She still can't live without me." After nine years of absolute devotion, she was nothing but a convenient placeholder to the man she loved, and a worthless joke to her own family. The suffocating weight of their betrayal finally snapped something inside her. She packed a single suitcase, threw away nine years of anniversary gifts, and permanently blocked Kayson's number. Standing in the freezing wind, she pulled out her phone and dialed the private number of Kayson's biggest, most ruthless rival. "Mr. Thornton, what you said seven months ago... does the offer to marry me still stand?" Ten minutes later, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb.

Billionaires Modern Rival in love Flash marriage Hidden Identities Billionaire

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The sun, previously beating down on the battlefield with its heat, was now blotted out by many dark clouds. Even its majestic energy was overshadowed by a sea of pungent mist.

Filling the air was the smell of rancid blood and iron, sickening enough to make your stomach churn.

It was the smell of rancid blood and iron. But it was that smell that helped him focus in the fog.

There he stood. The figure of a man could be seen, alone, looking onwards. His name was Jacender Ashfield. Proud son of the Ashfield line and guardian of the gate.

The mist slowly dissipated, revealing dozens of strewn bodies laid all around him. It was apparent that Jacender remained the last man standing.

"Khak!! Khak!!" he coughed fiercely into his hand.

He had become exhausted from the raging battle against the demon hordes. So much so that he fell to his knees, blood on his glove.

"D-Damn it!!" He grunted, propping himself up with the hilt of his sword.

Just as he started to rise, a domineering voice came from overhead.

"Stay down…or die."

Peering up toward the voice, all Jace could see blood red skin. And it's wearers were a seemingly endless army of demons.

'Ravishers. And even more than before…' he thought, tight-lipped.

They were all ready to devour him with their jagged teeth, however they maintained their distance.

It was clear why.

Above them, perched on the hill above, dressed in white, a figure--presumably the boss, stood, looking down at Jace.

The ravishers would not attack unless given the permission.

Outfitted in a white overcoat as if to directly contradict Jace's black one, the figure also donned a white mask with carvings of an apple under one eye, and a book underneath the other. Two swords were also equipped on his waist.

Jace stared the man in the eyes with a fierce determination.

"Yeah…?" He panted mockingly as he pushed himself up.

"Ngghhh!!" his heart thumped, reverberating through his ears as he faced his enemies.

He gritted his teeth, gripping his sword and faced it at the man.

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