My engagement party to Preston Hawthorne III was meant to be the social event of the season, a strategic fusion of my family's political power and his corporate empire. The grand ballroom of the Four Seasons glittered with D.C.'s elite, all gathered to witness my seemingly perfect future. Then, a trashy tabloid reporter ambushed me, thrusting a phone displaying a dramatic suicide note from Chloe, Preston' s supposed "fragile" childhood friend. "Ellie, is it true Preston has been having an affair with his adopted sister?" the blinding camera flashes and relentless questions began. My fiancé, Preston, instead of defending me, rushed over only to stammer a pathetic excuse about Chloe needing him and fleeing the scene. He confirmed his betrayal and abandonment publicly, letting the vultures with their cameras feast on my humiliation. Left standing alone in the center of the storm, the hot wave of mortification threatened to drown me. How could the man I was to marry choose a manipulative girl over duty, honor, and our powerful alliance? I was Senator Vance's daughter, and this was more than embarrassment; it was a public declaration of war by a weak, spineless fool. His monumental mistake, however, wouldn't be my downfall. Just as I composed myself, Preston Hawthorne II, the true titan, proposed an unthinkable solution to salvage generations of power. "You will not marry Preston," he stated, "You will marry my other son, Caleb, a real man who understands duty." I would not be a discarded bride; I would turn this public humiliation into the ultimate display of strength. My only condition: "I want to meet him. Alone." This wasn't a setback; it was an unexpected and powerful upgrade.
My engagement party to Preston Hawthorne III was meant to be the social event of the season, a strategic fusion of my family's political power and his corporate empire.
The grand ballroom of the Four Seasons glittered with D.C.'s elite, all gathered to witness my seemingly perfect future.
Then, a trashy tabloid reporter ambushed me, thrusting a phone displaying a dramatic suicide note from Chloe, Preston' s supposed "fragile" childhood friend.
"Ellie, is it true Preston has been having an affair with his adopted sister?" the blinding camera flashes and relentless questions began.
My fiancé, Preston, instead of defending me, rushed over only to stammer a pathetic excuse about Chloe needing him and fleeing the scene.
He confirmed his betrayal and abandonment publicly, letting the vultures with their cameras feast on my humiliation.
Left standing alone in the center of the storm, the hot wave of mortification threatened to drown me.
How could the man I was to marry choose a manipulative girl over duty, honor, and our powerful alliance?
I was Senator Vance's daughter, and this was more than embarrassment; it was a public declaration of war by a weak, spineless fool.
His monumental mistake, however, wouldn't be my downfall.
Just as I composed myself, Preston Hawthorne II, the true titan, proposed an unthinkable solution to salvage generations of power.
"You will not marry Preston," he stated, "You will marry my other son, Caleb, a real man who understands duty."
I would not be a discarded bride; I would turn this public humiliation into the ultimate display of strength.
My only condition: "I want to meet him. Alone."
This wasn't a setback; it was an unexpected and powerful upgrade.
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