My Betrothal Partner And The Secrets We Share

She was abandoned on her wedding day. He was the stranger who gave her his name. But in a marriage built on secrets, how long can love survive before the truth tears it apart?

In the seventh year of being in love with the Don, George Grimaldi, I said yes to his proposal. Inside a top-tier luxury bridal boutique, I stood in front of the mirror wearing the first wedding gown of my life. I looked at myself again and again and couldn’t stop smiling. Behind me, he watched in silence for a long moment. Then suddenly, he spoke, “Oh, right. We can’t get married for now. I’m married to someone else.” For a second, I thought I had misheard him. However, my entire body went stiff. The color drained from my face. “Josie is a benefactor of my family,” he explained casually, like he was talking about the weather. “My father insisted I register with her. But don’t worry. She won’t affect our relationship.” My ears rang. It took me a long time before I could finally process his words. “So you’ve been lying to me for seven years?” He frowned, as if I were the unreasonable one. “I wasn’t lying. I just forgot to tell you. This is my fault. If you don’t mind, we can still hold the wedding as planned—the gown, the ring, the honeymoon. You’ll have everything you deserve.” I lowered my gaze. My hand drifted down and rested gently against my lower abdomen. There was something else here, too—a secret I had planned to tell him today.

On my wedding day, my fiancé showed up with another woman, flashing a marriage license. He announced, "She's my true love. Don't even think about taking her place." My doting brother sided with her too. "You've had a cushy life for over 20 years. Let her have this." I left quietly. My brother and my fiancé breathed a sigh of relief. They paraded the new girl around town, my brother even calling her his adopted sister to boost her status. They didn't know I'd gone to the border until someone mentioned me. I was done with them, but they started to regret it.

I've been a goody-two-shoes for 18 years. The only outrageous thing I've ever done is get into a secret relationship with my stepbrother, Kieran Brock, even though my mom and my stepfather, Andre Brock, are still living in the same house as us. During the day, we're stepsiblings who aren't familiar with each other. At night, however, we tangle with each other heatedly in the same bed. During the fifth year of our underground relationship, I accidentally overhear Kieran's conversation with his friend. "When you were 21, you robbed your stepsister of her virginity. Now that you've toyed with her for five years, aren't you planning on giving her a legitimate position by your side?" I feel my heart tensing. Somehow, I look forward to hearing Kieran's answer. As Kieran plays with his lighter, he shoots his friend a flippant smile. "Like you said, she's my sister. She's not meant to be known as my lover. Had I not plan on getting revenge on her mom for ruining my family, there's no way I'd sleep with her! "Also, I've already proposed to Vivian. She's the only woman who is worthy of becoming my wife." I don't break down and demand answers from Kieran. Instead, I pretend to not hear anything as I turn on my heel and walk away. On the day of Kieran's wedding, he specifically tells his friends to watch over the venue to prevent me from causing trouble there. What he doesn't know is that I've already boarded a flight meant for another country. This time, I will never come back.

I was in love. He was handsome and seductive. However, what was supposed to be love became a marriage contract. When my family lost everything, including dignity, I was forced to marry, not out of love, but out of interest. My husband never knew the real reason I accepted his proposal, and I pray he never finds out.

I'm getting married. But Ryder, my boyfriend of seven years, has no idea. He recently hired a new assistant, Blair, and has been swamped ever since. The two of them are the toast of the high-society circuit, a perfect power couple frequently seen at galas and parties together. To celebrate a major project Blair landed, Ryder booked an entire restaurant for a celebratory dinner. During the dinner, Blair intentionally swapped my lemonade for a strong cocktail. Unaware, I took a large sip. Ryder just watched, smiling playfully as he asked, “How is it, baby? How does it taste?” He forgot. He forgot that I have a deadly alcohol allergy. My throat swelled shut faster than I could have imagined. As I collapsed, the only sounds were my own gasps for air and a porcelain plate shattering on the floor. That night, I lay in the family's private medical wing. When I opened my eyes, the oxygen mask was still pressed to my face. I nodded at my mother. The arranged marriage. I agreed to it.