Sweet Submission: Love Me, Mr. Billionaire

Skylar

The hall was bright and full of life. Laughter and chatter mixed with the soft clinking of glasses as the guests smiled, raising their drinks in celebration. It was a beautiful night—one that should have been mine.

I stood there in a flowing white dress, my hands curled slightly at my sides. My eyes stayed on the man in front of me.

Ethan.

He wore a black suit, his smile easy and charming. He nodded as people congratulated him, his expression filled with happiness.

For a moment, I wanted to believe this was for me. That this was our special night. A surprise he had prepared for me.

But sadly, it wasn’t.

The proposal party I had dreamed of, the moment I had longed for, was unfolding before my eyes, but I was not the one in the spotlight. I was merely the pianist, playing background music for the celebration of another couple.

I closed my eyes, forcing the sharp pain in my heart to fade. The moment I reopened them, the sight before me burned into my soul like a hot coal. My fingers trembled over the piano keys as I forced myself to watch the man I loved—my boyfriend—kneeling before another woman.

No. Not just any couple.

Him.

And her.

The cheers of the crowd swelled around me, accompanied by the clinking of champagne glasses and the scent of sweet desserts. The luxurious banquet hall glowed under golden chandeliers, its walls adorned with hydrangeas—the very flowers that once held special meaning between us.

If only I had known.

If only I had known that this was the proposal party for Miss Celeste Rothwell, the most favored daughter of the Rothwell family. If only I had known that the generous wages and hefty tips being promised tonight came at the cost of my dignity, I would have never taken this job.

But I hadn’t known.

And now, I was trapped in this nightmare, forced to witness my world crumble before me while my fingers danced over the keys, weaving a melody too beautiful for such a wretched occasion.

My gaze flickered to the hydrangeas decorating the hall, and a memory came rushing back, raw and vivid.

A quiet street bathed in moonlight. The distant hum of music from the lively party we had escaped. The warmth of his hand in mine as we walked, laughing softly. The streets had been lined with hydrangeas, their petals swaying in the night breeze.

And then—his voice, soft and full of promise.

"My beautiful Skylar, will you marry me? I will make you happy and never betray you."

I had laughed, thinking he was joking, but then he plucked a single hydrangea and held it to my chest, his gaze tender and sincere.

"I'm serious, Skylar. You’re the only one for me… no one else but you."

I had believed him.

I had believed every single word.

Now, that same voice filled the banquet hall, but this time, it wasn’t calling out to me.

"Celeste, my love, will you marry me?"

A sharp pang shot through my chest. My fingers faltered, hitting the wrong note. The discordant sound echoed through the hall like a crack in the perfect moment.

Silence immediately followed. All eyes turned toward me, as if I was a plague about to ruin the perfect moment, but none were as piercing as his.

A warning look. A silent command.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to continue playing, my hands shaking as they returned to the familiar keys.

I tried not to look, but my eyes betrayed me.

He was kneeling before her, a velvet box in his hand. The ring inside gleamed under the chandelier’s light.

Immediately he opened the velvet box, my breath caught in my throat.

I knew that ring!

The complex knot design, the careful arrangement of gemstones—there was no mistaking it.

It was the ring I had painstakingly designed.

I had spent weeks perfecting it, pouring my heart and soul into every detail. I had wanted it to be special, a symbol of our love, a one-of-a-kind masterpiece meant for no one else but me.

I still remembered the way he had stared at my design, his fingers tracing over the sketch for what felt like hours.

"A beautiful ring like this shouldn’t just stay on paper, Skylar," he had said, his eyes filled with admiration. "It should be worn by a special and amazing woman. It should be real."

And I had let him take the design.

Because I had trusted him. Because I had loved him.

My vision blurred as I watched Celeste Rothwell extend her soft hand, allowing him to slip the ring—the ring that was supposed to be mine—onto her finger.

Applause erupted around me. The guests cheered, celebrating their love, oblivious to the silent scream in my chest.

I wanted to rush forward, to rip that ring off her hand, to shatter every last trace of this betrayal. I wanted to yell and scream that the ring should have been worn by me! I should be the one getting proposed to by the customized ring I had painstakingly designed myself!

But I couldn’t.

Because I knew deep down, I was nothing compared to her.

Celeste Rothwell—the beloved daughter of the Rothwell family, the woman who had everything I had lost.

And me?

I was just Skylar McLair, the daughter of a bankrupt businessman, a woman barely holding on after her father’s accident destroyed everything.

No one would believe me.

No one would care.

The moment my performance ended, I stepped away from the piano, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. The crowd was too enraptured by the newly engaged couple to notice my retreat.

I walked down the corridor, my steps quick and unsteady. The dim lighting helped me hide my misery, but it could not hide the anger boiling in my veins.

A choked sob escaped my lips, and in a burst of uncontrollable rage, I swung my fist against the wall.

Pain shot through my knuckles, but it was nothing compared to the agony tearing me apart inside.

How could he do this to me? How could Ethan betray me this way? After all the years we'd spent together? After all the promises made?

Why? Why? Why?!

I clenched my teeth and raised my fist again, desperate for some kind of release—

But suddenly, a deep, amused chuckle echoed through the corridor.

I froze.

Someone was there.

I turned sharply, my breath hitching as I scanned around my surroundings. A dark figure leaned casually against the wall a few feet away, half-shrouded in shadow.

I couldn’t make out his face, but the way he stood, his arms crossed and his posture relaxed, sent a wave of unease through me.

Had he been watching me all this time?

How much had he seen? I didn’t even wait to find out.

I turned and quickly hurried away, my heart pounding.

I had already been humiliated enough for one night.

I wasn’t about to let a stranger witness my complete and utter breakdown.