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Jilted Bride: Marrying My Ex's Rival

Chapter 3

Word Count: 864 | Released on: 15/06/2026

olde's home office. The volume was low, a constant murmu

nts were precise, efficient. She was a professional restorer; she knew how t

t a podium. Flashes from cameras eru

rue you abandoned your fiancée a

"The Rhodes family requests privacy at this time. Miss Blackburn is currently under our protect

d. "My priority is the well-

honor. He didn't clarify that she wasn't the one who had walke

turned off the TV. The screen

values," she whispe

se into a reinfor

lue coveralls stepped out. They were quiet,

tape," Isolde instructed. "Use the ser

ded and beg

e she had restored by hand. The collection of first-edition po

t Isolde had a plan. For every item she removed, she rep

the first editions with coffee table books about architecture. Sh

nished, but it was soulless. It looked like a hote

ang. It was

e equity transfer papers are ready

ernoon," Isolde said. "

early that evenin

en in her lap. She wasn't reading. She was list

ie. He looked less stressed than the night before,

iving room and frowned. He looked

different in

eat. She kept her eyes on

a whirlwind of hospital reports and Emilie's anxious calls; he scanned

e that the soul of the room was gone. He only sensed a

lied smoothly. She turned a page. "An

lked over and sat next to her, the sofa dippi

d. "I had to stop the rumors. I couldn't

he pretense of turning another p

ance, but relieved she wasn't screaming. He hate

g to pivot to safer ground. "We'll do someth

curve of her lips that didn't reac

ed parties. He didn't remember

r," Arland said, standing

phone on the

. As soon as the bathroom door clicke

t mes

r at least a week. It's so lonely

it went dark. She didn't touch i

Chapter End

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Jilted Bride: Marrying My Ex's Rival

Wu Li Modern

“I sat alone on a hard wooden bench in the City Clerk's Office, smoothing the white silk of my wedding dress. It was 10:00 AM, the exact moment I was supposed to marry Arland Rhodes. But Arland never showed up. Instead, a breaking news alert flashed on my phone, showing a high-resolution photo of my fiancé at the airport, tenderly cradling his "first love," Emilie Blackburn, in his arms. Seven years of my life were erased in a single paparazzi shot. When I finally saw him, he didn't apologize; he just said Emilie had a panic attack and needed him. My own mother called me a humiliation to the family reputation, and Arland's assistant tried to buy my silence with a pink diamond necklace. That night, Arland moved Emilie into our penthouse, telling me to be "reasonable" because she had security issues. "It's just logistics, Isolde. Don't make this into something it isn't." He thought I was the perfect, drama-free partner who would wait forever. He didn't notice when I began systematically dismantling our life, replacing my priceless antiques with cheap replicas and liquidating my shares in his company. He was too busy playing hero to a woman who faked heart palpitations every time he looked at me. He truly believed he could fix a lifetime of neglect with a "do-over" date and a silver convertible he had actually ordered for her. I realized then that Arland didn't love me; he loved that I was convenient. I had spent seven years building a life on a foundation of sand, and I was done being the silent, understanding fiancée. On the morning he finally showed up at City Hall to "make it up to me," I was nowhere to be found. I had already coerced fifteen million dollars out of him as a "security fee" and signed a marriage contract with his most ruthless rival, Esequiel Stone. As Arland stood at the altar waiting for a bride who would never come, I was boarding a private jet to the Capital. The hunt had officially begun, and this time, I wasn't the prey.”