Shattered Proposal, Unexpected Bride

Shattered Proposal, Unexpected Bride

Gavin

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It was my 30th birthday, and I was all set to propose to Sarah, my girlfriend of five years, at the fanciest restaurant in the city. I had the ring, the perfect table, and a future all planned out. But as I waited, she walked in, not alone, but with another man – her colleague. And then, in a devastating twist, she got down on one knee and proposed to him, right there in front of everyone, as my world shattered. My mother called, wishing me a happy birthday, and confused when I could only whisper about the arranged marriage she' d mentioned. Sarah' s excited shouts of "She said yes!" echoed in the background as the entire restaurant applauded their engagement. Moments later, her text popped up: "Happy Birthday, Ethan! Sorry, got held up at work. On my way home now. I got you a cake!"-the lie a final stab. When she came home that night, full of excuses about how it was just a "career play" and a "fake engagement," I smelled his cologne on her. The lie was too much. I packed a single suitcase, leaving behind five years of a life that was nothing but a pretense. The next morning, at the office, the humiliation continued. Sarah and her fiancé, Mark, announced their engagement, and Mark took the promotion that should have been mine. Sarah told me I was fired, then orchestrated a cruel setup, framing me for stealing Mark' s Rolex. She publicly shamed me, slapped me across the face, and accused me of being a lowlife. Why had I given up everything for her? Why was she so intent on destroying me? With my world crumbling, I accepted an arranged marriage with Olivia Sterling, a woman whose calm, sharp eyes suggested a powerful intelligence, and who just might be my unexpected salvation.

Introduction

It was my 30th birthday, and I was all set to propose to Sarah, my girlfriend of five years, at the fanciest restaurant in the city. I had the ring, the perfect table, and a future all planned out.

But as I waited, she walked in, not alone, but with another man – her colleague. And then, in a devastating twist, she got down on one knee and proposed to him, right there in front of everyone, as my world shattered.

My mother called, wishing me a happy birthday, and confused when I could only whisper about the arranged marriage she' d mentioned. Sarah' s excited shouts of "She said yes!" echoed in the background as the entire restaurant applauded their engagement. Moments later, her text popped up: "Happy Birthday, Ethan! Sorry, got held up at work. On my way home now. I got you a cake!"-the lie a final stab.

When she came home that night, full of excuses about how it was just a "career play" and a "fake engagement," I smelled his cologne on her. The lie was too much. I packed a single suitcase, leaving behind five years of a life that was nothing but a pretense.

The next morning, at the office, the humiliation continued. Sarah and her fiancé, Mark, announced their engagement, and Mark took the promotion that should have been mine. Sarah told me I was fired, then orchestrated a cruel setup, framing me for stealing Mark' s Rolex. She publicly shamed me, slapped me across the face, and accused me of being a lowlife.

Why had I given up everything for her? Why was she so intent on destroying me?

With my world crumbling, I accepted an arranged marriage with Olivia Sterling, a woman whose calm, sharp eyes suggested a powerful intelligence, and who just might be my unexpected salvation.

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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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