Publicly Rejected

The word echoed off the vaulted ceilings. Fiancée. Fiancée. Fiancée.

​"She is gentle, she is kind, and she is the light of my life. So I demand that every single one of you look after her, respect her, protect her with your lives."

​The applause was thunderous. But underneath the roaring clapping, a vicious current of whispering began to spread like a virus through the crowd. 

The very same people who had parted for me moments ago were now closing in, their eyes filled with mocking pity and cruel amusement.

​"Oh, how embarrassing," a diamond-draped heiress whispered loudly, deliberately standing close enough for me to hear. 

"Did you see the enforcer's face? She actually thought he was talking to her."

​"Pfft," another socialite sneered behind her champagne flute. 

"An orphaned street rat has the audacity to fantasize about being Mrs. Ronway. How incredibly funny. Delusional."

​I stood rooted to the spot, my entire body turning to ice. The blood drained from my face.

​"Look at what she wore," a rival boss muttered to his lieutenant, gesturing toward my black suit. 

"Dressed like a glorified bodyguard while the real lady wears couture. How could someone of her violent caliber ever think a man like Mr. Ronway would want her in his bed? She’s a weapon, not a wife."

​"Pathetic. She practically threw herself at him for five years. Everyone knew it. He kept her around like a useful, desperate attack dog."

​Every word was a serrated blade sawing through my ribs. The humiliation was a toxic acid flooding my veins. 

It wasn't just rejection; it was a public humiliation of my dignity. He knew how I felt. He knew everyone in this room knew how I felt. 

He had chosen this specific night, ordered me into this specific masculine outfit to let me believe the spotlight was mine, just to publicly sever the association forever.

​I looked up at the stage through a burning haze of unshed tears. Saga was looking down at Sapphire as if she hung the moon.

​I couldn't hold it back anymore. A pathetic sob escaped my lips. I took a staggering step backward.

Saga's dark eyes locked onto my tear-streaked face. He took a half-step forward, his mouth opening to speak my name.

​"Ahhh!"

​A sharp cry shattered the moment. Sapphire suddenly swayed, her incredibly high stiletto catching on the edge of the microphone cord. She stumbled sideways, crying out in alarm.

​"Saga! My ankle twisted! I'm sorry!" she whimpered, collapsing dramatically against his chest.

​Instantly, he scooped her slight frame into his massive arms without hesitation.

​"Doctor!" Saga roared. The crowd panicked, scattering backward to give them space. 

"Call the estate doctor immediately!"

​I was standing paralyzed at the foot of the stairs, directly in his line of sight, blocking his quickest path to the VIP elevator.

​His eyes, cold and merciless as the reaper's, locked onto mine. There was no affection left. 

​"What the hell are you just standing there for?!" Saga screamed at me, the venom in his voice stripping away the last decade of our shared history. 

"Can't you see Sapphire is hurt?! Move out of the way and fetch the goddamn medical team! Go!"

​The scream hit me with the kinetic force of a hollow-point bullet. 

​He could have just said no. Over the last five years, he could have just pulled me aside firmly, permanently said no. Instead, he allowed me to sleep at his door like a loyal hound, let me bleed for his empire, let me dream, let me hope. 

He led me to the edge of the cliff, handed me a parachute that was nothing but an empty bag, and pushed me off while the whole city watched me fall.

​A wounded noise tore out of my throat. 

​I shoved past the murmuring elites, ignoring the mocking laughter that trailed behind me.

​I hit the top of the staircase leading to the lobby. 

​Gravity ripped me downward. The world flipped upside down. I tumbled hard.

​My head snapped back, slamming viciously against the corner of a stone pillar.

​A sickening crack echoed in the empty stairwell. I laid there, staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling as warm blood began to seep from my hairline.

My blood. It was trickling down the side of my face, stinging my eyes.

​Am I dying? The thought drifted through my fractured mind, strangely detached. 

Ten years of orchestrating executions, ten years of watching the life drain from men who begged for mercy. Is this divine retribution? 

Karma finally circling back to collect the debt I owed the universe? It felt fitting. To die discarded like trash at the bottom of the staircase I had helped secure.

​My eyelids fluttered, too heavy to keep open.

​Suddenly, the suffocating cold was pierced by a startling heat. Two large warm hands slid beneath my shoulders and the back of my knees, hoisting my limp body upward with effortless grace.

​"Boss, you don't have to." A rough, breathless voice echoed from somewhere above me. 

"Let me carry her instead. Your suit—"

​"No need." The reply was a low rumble that vibrated against my cheek where my head lolled against a broad chest. 

It was a commanding tone.

​I forced my eyes open, mastering up every last ounce of my fading energy. Through the hazy red film of my own blood, I caught the blurred line of a sharp jaw and the expensive fabric of a coat.

​"Who... are you?" I rasped.

​A cool breath brushed across my forehead. "Ask me once you feel better."

​The world spun violently. The thud of double doors being kicked open. Then, the chaotic screeching halt of heavy tires on pavement. 

​"Drive. Now." That same commanding voice barked at the order. 

"Get the surgical team ready."

​The engine roared. The blaring of sirens, the steady rhythmic thumping of a heartbeat beneath my ear—it all blended into a chaotic symphony before the darkness finally dragged me under.

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