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Annabelle sat in the VIP section beside two of her best friends, Vivian and Celeste, both equally intoxicated by gossip, wealth, and cruelty. Vivian leaned closer first. "So it’s true?” she asked loudly over the music. “Lucian really married that girl?” Annabelle downed half her drink before answering. “Yes.” The bitterness in her voice was impossible to miss. Celeste frowned dramatically. "I still don’t understand what he sees in her.” Annabelle laughed humorlessly. “Neither do I.” But the words hurt more than she wanted to admit. Because deep down, she did understand and that was the problem. Lucian loved Elara in a way he could never love Annabelle. And she hated Elara for it. Hated her for being chosen so effortlessly despite her poor background. “They’re everywhere online,” Vivian muttered while checking her phone. “People are obsessed with them after the accident. They’re calling them some tragic romance couple now.” Annabelle’s grip tightened around her glass again.
The city looked different at night. It felt colder and crueler.The glittering lights outside the tall glass windows of Annabelle Kingley’s penthouse reflected against the darkness like jewels scattered across black silk, beautiful and cold all at once. From above, the streets looked tiny, insignificant, filled with people who would never understand what it felt like to lose something that was supposed to belong to you.Annabelle stood near the floor-to-ceiling window with a glass of untouched champagne in her hand, still dressed in the elegant black outfit she had thrown on after leaving the spa.Her reflection stared back at her through the glass.Perfect makeup. Perfect hair. Perfect posture. And eyes filled with poisonous thoughts.The anger inside her had not cooled. If anything, it had become worse and more dangerous.The words from those headlines still echoed inside her skull like mockery.Lucian Hale and his wife, Elara Hale.Every time she thought about it, her chest burned
The attendants exchanged nervous glances at her sudden mood shift. Neither woman dared move or even question if they could help her with anything. Annabelle barely noticed they were still there. Her mind was unraveling too quickly. Because the public never officially learned their engagement had collapsed. In society’s eyes, Annabelle was still Lucian Hale’s future wife. This meant that everyone reading those headlines right now would immediately understand what had happened. She had been replaced publicly, humiliatingly. And not by someone powerful. Not by a woman from one of the elite families. But by Elara... That girl. That insignificant little nobody who somehow stole everything Annabelle believed belonged to her. Memories crashed into her all at once. The whispers during charity galas. The women pretending sympathy while secretly enjoying her humiliation. The subtle pity in businessmen’s eyes when Lucian stopped accompanying her to events. The tension i
Annabelle Kingsley had always loved luxury because luxury reminded her of who she was supposed to be. Untouchable, desired, and chosen. She was not ordinary. Never ordinary. Everything around her reflected that belief with obsessive tendencies. The private spa suite occupied the highest floor of one of the most exclusive wellness clubs in the city, accessible only to elite members whose names carried enough power to open doors before they even touched them. The walls were lined with cream-colored marble veined faintly with gold, illuminated by warm recessed lighting that made everything glow softly like a dream designed for the rich. Expensive candles flickered in glass holders along the counters, releasing the scent of vanilla, lavender, and sandalwood into the air. A slow instrumental melody drifted through hidden speakers overhead, delicate piano notes blending with the faint sound of water trickling somewhere nearby. The atmosphere was designed to soothe people, to calm
Lisa stepped forward again, slower this time, more intimidating. She stopped in front of Aaron, her gaze locking onto his. “You,” she said quietly. And somehow, that was worse than shouting. “Start talking.” Aaron stiffened. For a brief second, just a second, hesitation crossed his face. Real, undeniable hesitation. Then he forced his voice steady. “We didn’t do anything.” But the words fell flat. Even he didn’t believe them. Lisa’s brow lifted slightly, her expression sharpening. “Oh?” she said softly. “So she just ended up like this on her own? Why does she look more distraught now? She wasn’t like this when we left her earlier.” She didn’t need to point. The slight tilt of her head toward Elara said everything. Elara’s eyes widened and she pointed at herself. When did she look distraught? Lucian looked at her and shook his head slightly, indicating that she should just watch another show. Elara was stunned and she tried to hide her smile and gave in to the act of acting
BACK AT THE HOSPITAL Marjorie stepped forward too quickly, and that alone said everything. Panic was already creeping in beneath her carefully maintained composure because she could feel the situation slipping beyond her control, unraveling faster than she could contain it. The shift in her expression happened almost instantly, her features softening with practiced sweetness, her eyes glistening just enough to appear emotional without losing control completely. She looked... Fragile, heartbroken, and convincing. The kind of performance perfected over years of manipulation. She reached for Seraphina’s hands like she was searching for comfort, for understanding, for sympathy she had no right to ask for. “A-After everything…” she began softly, her voice trembling at exactly the right moments. “After everything we’ve done for Elara… I found her starving, abandoned… I begged to take her in… I raised her, protected her, loved her like my own…” Every word flowed too smoothly, too
Grandma Hale did not raise her voice. She didn’t need to. The moment she rose from her seat, straightening her spine with that terrifying, unyielding posture that had once commanded families, dismantled rival conglomerates, and bent entire bloodlines to her will, the room fell into a tense, unnatur
Elara had just convinced herself, truly, genuinely convinced herself, that Lucian was finally gone. The kitchen had settled back into something resembling peace. The pot on the stove bubbled softly, thick and fragrant, releasing waves of steam that smelled like herbs, garlic, and comfort. The
By the time Elara went downstairs, the house had finally settled into that rare, fragile, almost reverent silence that only came after emotional storms, after raised voices, clenched jaws, truths spoken too sharply or not enough at all. The living room had filled again, as if drawn together by an
Despite Lucian’s cold, razor-edged warning, Grace did not back down. In fact, she seemed to take it as a challenge. She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, the kind that scraped against the ears, and waved her hand dismissively as though Lucian’s words were nothing more than the buzzing of an anno







