He Chose Her, Not Me.

Scarlett’s POV

[Six months later]

The Goldwyn estate looked almost unreal as my car rolled up the long, winding driveway. The evening light bathed the house in gold, glinting off the tall windows and white stone walls. Strings of fairy lights hung across the gardens, swaying gently in the breeze.

 I could already hear the faint music and laughter floating through the air, my grandmother’s birthday celebration in full swing.

I stepped out slowly, smoothing the silver gown that hugged my figure. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light, the off-shoulder sleeves brushing softly against my skin. My hair was pulled into a neat low bun, leaving only a few strands loose to frame my face. I had chosen the dress carefully. It was elegant, simple, and perfectly respectable.

One of the security men walked up to me.

“Welcome, ma’am.” His gaze swept over me, and then trailed behind me, as if expecting someone to come out of the car after me.

I had come alone.

Collins had texted that morning. Something came up at work. No apology, no explanation. It had been ten months since our wedding, and in that time, I had learned to stop expecting him beside me.

Still, as I looked up at the grand house, a rush of memories hit me: laughter echoing down the halls, the scent of roses from the garden, the sound of my grandmother’s voice calling after me and Sienna as we ran through the yard. This place had once felt like everything warm and safe.

Now it just made my chest ache.

A waiter approached as I entered the garden, his polite smile practiced. “Madam Radford?”

I nodded and accepted the glass of wine from his tray. “Thank you.”

The evening was beautiful. Guests dressed in glittering clothes, the soft glow of candles lining the paths, a live band playing old romantic tunes. My grandmother sat surrounded by admirers, radiant in blue silk, her silver hair pinned with jeweled combs.

I bent and kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday, Grandma,” I whispered.

Her wrinkled hand brushed over mine, her eyes warm. “You look lovely, Scarlett. Where is Collins?”

“Caught up with work,” I said with a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

She nodded but said nothing.

As I moved through the crowd, greeting relatives and friends, I began to notice the glances, the quiet, pitiful smiles. Whispers that stopped when I passed. The look people give to someone they feel sorry for.

I pretended not to notice.

After a few more greetings, I felt a heaviness in my chest, a familiar restlessness crawling beneath my skin. “I’ll just freshen up,” I murmured to no one in particular and slipped into the house.

The moment I stepped inside, the noise faded. The air was cooler, filled with the faint scent of polish and old books. The marble floors gleamed beneath the chandelier light, and portraits of my ancestors watched silently from the walls.

My heels clicked softly as I walked down the corridor, my wine glass still in hand.

Every step brought another memory.

Sienna and I used to race through these halls, our laughter echoing as Grandma called out warnings we never heeded. We used to hide behind these pillars, whisper secrets, and dream about the future. I almost smiled at the thought.

But things were different now. We were different.

As I turned into the east wing, the familiar hallway stretched before me, quiet and cold. My old room was near the end. I hadn’t been there since my wedding night. Somehow, I just wanted to see it again, to breathe in something that still felt like mine.

As I approached the door, I heard a soft sound, a stifled moan, faint but unmistakable.

I froze.

The door to my room was half-open, a line of golden light spilling across the floor. I frowned and took a few hesitant steps closer, my pulse quickening. Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe one of the maids…

But I heard the sound again. A woman’s gasp, a low, rough sound that made my blood run cold.

“Collins,” I muttered.

My breath caught.

I pushed the door open.

The world seemed to tilt.

Collins was there, on the bed, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, his face buried in the neck of the woman beneath him—Sienna.

My twin sister. My twin sister and my husband.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. I just stood there, staring, unable to make sense of what I was seeing. Sienna’s brown hair spilled over the sheets, her skin glowing in the light. Her hands clutched the blanket to cover herself. Her panicked eyes grew wide as they met mine.

My lips pulsed as I noticed the small, unmistakable curve of her belly.

She was pregnant. The ache in my chest increased as if someone had driven a dagger into it.

The glass slipped from my hand before I even realized it. It shattered on the floor, the sound slicing through the thick air. Red wine splattered across the marbled floor, dark and sharp like blood.

They both turned toward me.

Collins’s face drained of color. Sienna’s lips parted, trembling, as if she wanted to speak.

But I didn’t wait.

I turned and ran.