Fated Love, Unwritten Endings

Name: Fated Love, Unwritten Endings
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Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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For three years, I paid millions to have Caleb Mitchell as my boyfriend. I funded his sister's experimental cancer treatment, and in return, the brilliant, proud student played the part of my loving companion. He resented being bought, but I was foolish enough to fall in love with him. That foolishness ended two months ago, after a fall from a horse left me with a concussion. I woke up with the horrifying knowledge that my entire life was a lie-I was just the villainess in a novel, a footnote in a story about him. In this story, Caleb was the hero, destined to reunite with his true love, Frances. I was the obstacle he had to overcome. My pre-written fate was to go mad with jealousy, try to destroy them, and end up ruined and dead. I thought it was a hallucination until the plot began to unfold. The final proof was the vintage watch I spent months restoring for his birthday. A week later, he gave it to Frances, telling her it was just some old trinket he'd found. According to the script, seeing that watch on her wrist was supposed to make me fly into a hysterical rage, sealing my tragic fate. But I refuse to follow their story. If the villainess is destined for a tragic end, then this villainess will simply disappear from the book altogether. I slid a black credit card across the polished desk. "I want to be declared dead," I told the man who specialized in new beginnings. "Lost at sea. No body."

Rebirth/Reborn Romance Billionaires Kickass Heroine Second chance

Chapter 18

08-18 20:48

Chapter 1

That foolishness ended two months ago, after a fall from a horse left me with a concussion. I woke up with the horrifying knowledge that my entire life was a lie-I was just the villainess in a novel, a footnote in a story about him.

In this story, Caleb was the hero, destined to reunite with his true love, Frances. I was the obstacle he had to overcome. My pre-written fate was to go mad with jealousy, try to destroy them, and end up ruined and dead.

I thought it was a hallucination until the plot began to unfold. The final proof was the vintage watch I spent months restoring for his birthday. A week later, he gave it to Frances, telling her it was just some old trinket he'd found.

According to the script, seeing that watch on her wrist was supposed to make me fly into a hysterical rage, sealing my tragic fate.

But I refuse to follow their story. If the villainess is destined for a tragic end, then this villainess will simply disappear from the book altogether.

I slid a black credit card across the polished desk. "I want to be declared dead," I told the man who specialized in new beginnings. "Lost at sea. No body."

Chapter 1

"I want to disappear," I said, my voice steady.

The man across the polished mahogany desk didn't flinch. He wore a tailored suit that probably cost more than a car, but his eyes were like a reptile's, cold and unblinking. His office was sterile, smelling of old money and secrets.

"Disappear, or be declared dead?" he asked, his tone flat. "There's a price difference."

"Declared dead," I confirmed. "Lost at sea. No body, or one that's unidentifiable but matches my general description. I want it to be convincing."

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Our services are top-tier, Miss Osborne. We guarantee a clean slate. New identity, new life. The arrangements for the 'accident' will be flawless. No one will ever find you unless you want to be found."

I slid a black credit card across the desk. It had no name, only a number. "That's the deposit. The rest will be transferred upon confirmation of my successful 'death'."

He picked up the card, his movements economical. "Understood. We will be in touch with the final details."

I stood up, my business here concluded. I walked out of the nondescript building and into the bustling noise of a New York afternoon. A sleek black car was waiting at the curb, the driver holding the door open.

"Good afternoon, Miss Osborne," he said, his head bowed respectfully.

I nodded and got in, the plush leather seats a familiar comfort. The car pulled smoothly into traffic, heading towards the Upper East Side. I stared out the window at the city I was about to leave behind forever.

The car stopped in front of a modern glass-and-steel skyscraper. This wasn't my family's home. It was the penthouse I shared with him. The man I had bought.

I stepped into the private elevator, and it whisked me silently to the top floor. The doors opened directly into a vast living room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Central Park.

It was a beautiful cage.

The apartment was quiet. I knew he wasn't home. He was still at Columbia, where he was the brilliant, struggling student I had plucked from obscurity.

I walked to the bar and poured myself a glass of water, my hand perfectly steady. I had to be. My life depended on it.

A few minutes later, the elevator chimed. Caleb Mitchell stepped out, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He was beautiful, with sharp cheekbones, intense dark eyes, and an air of quiet pride that hadn't been broken, even by our arrangement. He looked like the hero of a story.

He was. Just not mine.

He saw me and his expression, which had been neutral, cooled. He dropped his backpack by the door.

He walked towards me, his long legs closing the distance in a few strides. He reached out to cup my face, his touch a practiced, empty gesture. "You're home early."

I flinched and turned my head away, his hand falling to his side. "Don't touch me."

His brows furrowed. "What's wrong, Jaliyah? Another bad day at the charity gala planning committee?" His voice held a faint, almost unnoticeable trace of mockery. He thought my life was a series of frivolous events.

He wasn't entirely wrong. It used to be.

"I have a headache," I lied, turning my back to him to place the glass in the sink. It was the easiest excuse. He always accepted it.

He sighed, the sound a mix of impatience and resignation. "Alright. I'm going to my room to study. I have a midterm tomorrow."

"Okay," I said, keeping my voice even.

He paused at the hallway entrance. "You've been acting strange lately."

I didn't turn around. "I'm just tired."

He accepted the lie, as he always did. He never pushed. He never cared enough to. He disappeared into his wing of the penthouse. I listened to his footsteps fade and the soft click of his bedroom door.

For nearly three years, he had been my boyfriend. A role he played in exchange for millions of dollars that paid for his younger sister's experimental cancer treatment. It was a cold, transactional relationship. I got a handsome, intelligent companion to show off to New York society, and he got to save his sister's life.

He hated me for it. I could see it in the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching. A deep, simmering resentment for being bought, for being owned by a woman like me.

I used to dream that one day, he would see past the money. That he would see me. I had hoped my devotion, my quiet support, my love, would eventually warm his cold heart.

What a fool I had been.

That foolishness ended two months ago, after a fall from a horse left me with a concussion. When I woke up in the hospital, my mind was flooded with information that wasn't mine.

I saw a story. A whole novel, laid out from beginning to end.

In this novel, Caleb Mitchell was the protagonist. A brilliant, proud man who would eventually create a tech empire and become a billionaire.

And I, Jaliyah Osborne, was the villainess. The rich, arrogant heiress who used her money to trap the hero, separating him from his one true love, his sweet and innocent childhood friend, Frances Kirby.

According to the plot, Caleb was destined to leave me. He would reunite with Frances, the novel's true heroine. And I, driven mad by jealousy, would try to destroy them. My attempts at revenge would fail spectacularly, leading to the ruin of my family and my own tragic, lonely death.

At first, I didn't believe it. It was absurd. A hallucination from the concussion.

But then, the events of the novel started happening. Small things at first. A chance encounter with Frances, a specific line of dialogue from Caleb, a business opportunity he stumbled upon, exactly as the story described.

The final, undeniable proof came in the form of a vintage watch. I had spent months painstakingly restoring it for Caleb's birthday, even having it custom-engraved. A week later, he gave it to Frances, telling her it was just some old trinket he'd found. Frances, of course, made sure I saw her wearing it.

That was the day I accepted my fate. Or rather, the day I decided to fight it.

I wasn't a villain. I was just a woman in love with a man who was destined to destroy me. And I would not let that happen. If the story demanded a tragic end for the villainess, then the villainess would have to disappear from the story altogether.

My plan was set. I would orchestrate my own death. I would sever every tie to this world, to Caleb, to the fate that was written for me.

Just then, Caleb's door opened. He walked out, already shrugging on a jacket. His phone was pressed to his ear.

"I'm on my way now," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "Don't worry, Fran. I'll be right there."

He hung up and looked at me, his expression hardening again. "I have to go. It's an emergency."

I knew who "Fran" was. Frances Kirby. The heroine. I knew there was no real emergency. She just wanted him, and he always went.

I wanted to ask him to stay. The old me would have. I would have demanded it, maybe even thrown a tantrum. The villainess would have.

But I just nodded. "Go."

He seemed surprised by my easy acquiescence. He hesitated for a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He started to say something, then stopped.

"Fine," he said, his tone clipped. He turned and walked out, the elevator doors closing behind him.

The penthouse was silent again.

I walked to the window, looking down at the city lights.

"Goodbye, Caleb," I whispered to the empty room. "I hope you have a happy ending."

Because I was going to get mine.