Jilted Bride, Unexpected Proposal

Jilted Bride, Unexpected Proposal

Gavin

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Tonight was supposed to be the happiest night of my life, my engagement party to Alex Turner at the grand St. Regis ballroom. He was handsome, the heir to a fortune, and I had loved him for three years. As he reached for the ring, a woman stumbled in, disheveled and crying. "Alex!" she wailed, claiming she' d been drugged. It was Chloe Hayes, his childhood friend, the one he always called "just like a sister." Without a moment' s hesitation, Alex abandoned me on stage, scooping Chloe into his arms and disappearing into a private lounge. The crowd' s whispers and snickers burned my ears. "Did you see that? He just left her." "On their engagement night, too. How humiliating." My joy curdled into a cold, hard knot. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. How could he do this to me, after everything? Why was I always the one left behind, the one humiliated? Just as shame threatened to consume me, another figure stepped into the spotlight. It was Daniel Sterling, Alex' s business rival. He picked up the abandoned engagement ring, ascended the stage, and knelt before me. "He can' t even be bothered to give you the ring himself," he said, his eyes surprisingly kind. Then, he held up the ring and asked, "Jane Lim, he doesn' t deserve you. Will you marry me?" My mind went blank. He then pulled out a stunning emerald bracelet. "This is a Sterling family heirloom," he declared. "It belongs to the matriarch of our family. I want you to have it." In that moment, I saw a lifeline, a chance to reclaim my dignity. Looking at Daniel, a man I barely knew, offering more respect than Alex ever had, I took a deep breath. "Yes," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "I will."

Introduction

Tonight was supposed to be the happiest night of my life, my engagement party to Alex Turner at the grand St. Regis ballroom.

He was handsome, the heir to a fortune, and I had loved him for three years.

As he reached for the ring, a woman stumbled in, disheveled and crying.

"Alex!" she wailed, claiming she' d been drugged.

It was Chloe Hayes, his childhood friend, the one he always called "just like a sister."

Without a moment' s hesitation, Alex abandoned me on stage, scooping Chloe into his arms and disappearing into a private lounge.

The crowd' s whispers and snickers burned my ears.

"Did you see that? He just left her."

"On their engagement night, too. How humiliating."

My joy curdled into a cold, hard knot.

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.

How could he do this to me, after everything?

Why was I always the one left behind, the one humiliated?

Just as shame threatened to consume me, another figure stepped into the spotlight.

It was Daniel Sterling, Alex' s business rival.

He picked up the abandoned engagement ring, ascended the stage, and knelt before me.

"He can' t even be bothered to give you the ring himself," he said, his eyes surprisingly kind.

Then, he held up the ring and asked, "Jane Lim, he doesn' t deserve you. Will you marry me?"

My mind went blank.

He then pulled out a stunning emerald bracelet.

"This is a Sterling family heirloom," he declared. "It belongs to the matriarch of our family. I want you to have it."

In that moment, I saw a lifeline, a chance to reclaim my dignity.

Looking at Daniel, a man I barely knew, offering more respect than Alex ever had, I took a deep breath.

"Yes," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "I will."

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On the night of my career-defining art exhibition, I stood completely alone. My husband, Dante Sovrano, the most feared man in Chicago, had promised he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Instead, he was on the evening news. He was shielding another woman—his ruthless business partner—from a downpour, letting his own thousand-dollar suit get soaked just to protect her. The headline flashed below them, calling their new alliance a "power move" that would reshape the city. The guests at my gallery immediately began to whisper. Their pitying looks turned my greatest triumph into a public spectacle of humiliation. Then his text arrived, a cold, final confirmation of my place in his life: “Something came up. Isabella needed me. You understand. Business.” For four years, I had been his possession. A quiet, artistic wife kept in a gilded cage on the top floor of his skyscraper. I poured all my loneliness and heartbreak onto my canvases, but he never truly saw my art. He never truly saw me. He just saw another one of his assets. My heart didn't break that night. It turned to ice. He hadn't just neglected me; he had erased me. So the next morning, I walked into his office and handed him a stack of gallery contracts. He barely glanced up, annoyed at the interruption to his empire-building. He snatched the pen and signed on the line I’d marked. He didn’t know the page tucked directly underneath was our divorce decree. He had just signed away his wife like she was nothing more than an invoice for art supplies.

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