Engagement

When I took the phone from Alice, I saw it immediately—the way her face changed.

It was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it. But I didn’t.

Her smile faded, not all at once, but slowly, like something retreating inward. Her shoulders stiffened, and for a split second, she looked like she was bracing herself for something she didn’t want to hear but already expected.

That look tightened something in my chest.

I turned away from her without a word and stepped toward the window, lowering the volume on the phone as I answered the call.

“Speak,” I said quietly.

My grandfather didn’t waste time.

“What about the proposal between us and the Brooklyn family?” he asked.

Straight to the point. As always.

I didn’t answer immediately. I stared out the window instead, watching the night lights stretch across the city, sharp and distant, like a battlefield I’d already decided to walk back into.

“There is no proposal,” I replied coldly.

There was a pause on the other end.

“You don’t get to say that,” he said. “We made a promise to them.”

I laughed under my breath. No humor in it. Just disbelief.

“We never made any promises,” I said.

“You did,” he insisted. “You just didn’t sign it yourself.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

The memory came back whether I wanted it to or not.

Too vivid. Too sharp.

A few weeks after Alice sent those divorce papers.

I could still remember the envelope in my hand. The weight of it. The way my name looked so final on those pages. I’d gone numb that day—worked through meetings like a machine, drove home late, rain streaking across the windshield.

Then the impact.

Metal screaming against metal. Glass shattering. The world spinning violently before going black.

When I woke up, everything smelled like disinfectant and blood.

I had almost died.

It hadn’t been an accident.

One of the men they sent—the hitman—had been sloppy, but not sloppy enough. If the ambulance had arrived five minutes later, I wouldn’t be standing here now.

Three months.

That was how long I stayed in the hospital.

Three months of surgeries, tubes, silence, and pain.

Three months where the company bled.

Stocks fell. Rivals circled like vultures. The board panicked.

And that was when the Brooklyn family appeared.

A helping hand, they called it.

Capital support.Media support. Political connections.

A lifeline.

In exchange—

A marriage.

To Lilian.

I hadn’t known.

I hadn’t signed anything.

But my grandfather had.

I swallowed, jaw tightening as I forced myself back to the present.

“You signed it,” I said into the phone, my voice low and sharp. “Not me.”

“You were unconscious,” he replied. “The company was collapsing. We had no choice.”

“You had a choice,” I snapped. “You just didn’t choose me.”

Silence followed.

Then his voice came again, quieter this time, heavier.

“The Brooklyn family is asking for a date. They’re asking when the engagement will be announced.”

I closed my eyes.

Behind me, I could feel Alice’s presence even though she wasn’t saying anything. I didn’t need to turn around to know she was listening pretending not to, but listening anyway.

“There will be no engagement,” I said firmly.

“You can’t just cancel it,” he warned. “Do you know what it will cost us?”

I turned slightly, glancing over my shoulder.

Alice was standing near the bed now, arms folded loosely around herself. She wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze was fixed on the boys’ room door instead, like she was holding herself together by sheer will.

I felt something twist painfully in my chest.

“I don’t care what it costs,” I said.

“Vincent—”

“I came back for Alice,” I interrupted, my voice unwavering. “And my kids.”

The words felt right. Solid. Unshakable.

“There is nothing,” I continued, “nothing you or the Brooklyn family can put in front of me that will stop that.”

Another pause.

“You’re asking for a war,” my grandfather said quietly.

I smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

“I’ve already survived one,” I replied. “This one won’t kill me.”

He sighed heavily.

“The Brooklyn family won’t take this lightly.”

“Then reimburse them,” I said. “Every cent. Double it if you have to. Send the money, the contracts, whatever appeases them.”

“And Lilian?”

“There is no Lilian,” I said coldly. “The engagement is cancelled.”

The line stayed silent for a long moment.

Finally, he spoke again.

“You’ve changed.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I have.”

I ended the call before he could say anything else.

For a second, I just stood there, phone still in my hand, breathing slowly, grounding myself.

Then I turned back.

Alice was looking at me now.

Her eyes searched my face, not accusing, not hopeful, just… cautious. Like someone who had been hurt too many times to trust words alone.

“What was that about?” she asked softly.

I walked toward her.

“The Brooklyn family,” I said. “An arrangement my grandfather made while I was unconscious.”

Her brows knitted slightly.

“Arrangement?”

“A marriage,” I said plainly. “One I never agreed to.”

She went still.

I continued, my voice steady. “It’s over. I told him to cancel everything. I’m reimbursing them. Whatever it takes.”

She stared at me for a long moment.

Then she looked away.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” she said quietly.

“I know,” I replied.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice.

“But I’m doing it anyway.”

She inhaled slowly, like she was trying to steady herself.

“For the record,” she said, “this doesn’t change anything.”

I nodded.

“I know,” I said again.

But inside, my resolve only hardened.

I was done letting other people decide my life.

I was done losing the things that mattered most.

This time

I wasn’t backing down.