Nobela ni Mira divah

Chapter 6GabbyThe grand ballroom of the St. Michael’s Estate smelled of imported white orchids, vintage champagne, and suffocating wealth. A string quartet played softly in the corner, while crystal chandeliers threw glittered light over dozens of round tables draped in silk.I walked in with my fingers laced tightly through Nathan’s. The heavy silk of my crimson dress swished against my calves with every step, a striking contrast to the conservative pastel gowns filling the room. The moment we passed the arched doorway, the collective hum of high-society chatter dropped by half. Eyes swept toward us. Whispers rippled through the tables like a sudden breeze."Relax your shoulders, sweetheart," Nathan murmured, his voice a low, velvet rasp near my ear. He shifted his hand to the small of my back, his broad palm pressing gently through the silk, anchoring me against his side. "You look like a queen about to claim her throne. Act like it."A slow breath filled my lungs. The heat of his

GabbyThe grand glass doors of St. Michael’s swung shut behind us, cutting off the stunned murmurs of the congregation. The bright afternoon light washed over the stone courtyard, but my mind was spinning so fast the world felt completely out of focus.I stopped dead on the top step, snatched my arm back from Nathan’s grasp, and whirled around to face him."Your cousin?!" I choked out, my voice dropping into an urgent, furious whisper. "You are Joel’s cousin?!"Nathan didn't blink. He casually slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored charcoal trousers, his dark eyes calmly tracing the flush spreading across my chest and cheeks."Second cousin, technically," he corrected smoothly, his voice a cool, velvet rumble. "My father and his mother share a grandfather. But yes. Family.""Are you insane?!" My hands flew up to my temples as I took a step back on my heels. "I hired a random guy outside a church to throw off my toxic ex-boyfriend! I didn't hire his relative! Do you have any i

GabbyWe exchanged pleasantries. He told me his name was Nathan, and I told him mine was Gabriella.The heavy oak doors of St. Michael’s Church groaned open, releasing a draft of cool air scented with frankincense, polished mahogany, and fresh white lilies.I slid my hand into the crook of my fake fiancé’s arm. The muscle beneath his charcoal suit felt like carved granite. His steady heat radiated against my bare side, anchoring me as my four-inch heels clicked against the polished marble floor.The organ music echoed off the vaulted ceiling, filling the high nave. But as we stepped past the rear pews, the music seemed to drown under a sudden, wave-like murmur that rippled through the seated guests.Heads turned. Conversations faltered. Eyebrows shot up toward high stone arches.In a sea of pastel chiffons, conservative navy suits, and traditional wedding attire, my crimson red silk dress flared like a strike of lightning. The plunging neckline and fitted silhouette hid nothing of my

NathanI stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the private restroom of Le Cirque restaurant, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the high stained-glass window, reflecting off the polished marble sink.I pulled my secondary phone from my inner pocket, set it on the edge of the counter, and tapped the record button. I cleared my throat, dragging a deep breath into my lungs, and practiced under my breath, my voice low, careful, and rehearsed.“Lina, we’ve been together for almost a year now, and you’re the only woman I want by my side for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”“You got this, man,” a stranger washing his hands offered with a warm, encouraging smile as he walked toward the door. “She’s a lucky woman.”I forced a tight, polite nod. Once the door clicked shut, I reached into the breast pocket of my charcoal blazer and pulled out the small red velvet box. I flicked it open. The overhead light caught the three-carat, flawless, oval

GabbyAn hour later, a yellow cab dropped me outside Maison de L'Amour, an ultra-exclusive boutique nestled in Soho. It was the kind of store where champagne was served at the door, velvet curtains hung from the ceiling, and none of the racks displayed price tags because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.I pushed through the glass door, the heavy chime ringing overhead. The sales associate behind the marble counter—a tall, impeccably dressed woman with a sharp bob—immediately looked up. Her eyes did a rapid, practiced sweep over my frame, taking in my oversized sweater, the flare of my hips, and my curves.In the past, that assessing look would have made me fold inward. Today, I threw my shoulders back, met her gaze head-on, and walked straight up to her.“Welcome,” she said, her smile polite but distant. “Looking for something specific?”“I need a dress for a Saturday wedding,” I replied, my voice smooth, loud, and unwavering. “Something short. Something crimson red. And it

GabbyGod, I’m so tired of people seeing my size before they ever see me. And I’m especially deeply tired of men.I sat tucked into the farthest, darkest corner of The Bean & Leaf cafe, my elbows pinned to the small wooden table, my forehead pressed so hard into my palm that my fingers left red indents against my skin. Cold, quiet tears leaked past my knuckles anyway, dripping uselessly onto the scuffed varnish. People were staring—not with sympathy, but with that subtle, narrow-eyed judgment I knew all too well. They weren't staring because a woman was weeping in public; they were staring because my body spilled over the edges of the tiny wrought-iron café chair, taking up space they clearly thought I had no business occupying.My skin still burned from what had happened ten minutes ago on the busy sidewalk of 5th Avenue. A little boy, maybe five years old, holding a bright pink lollipop in one hand while his mother held the other, had stopped dead in his tracks. He’d raised a stick