Abandoned Fiancé: My Finger for His Dream

After that fight, Ashley didn't come home for seven full days.

Not a single message from her ever lit up my phone. She never asked how I was doing.

Still, I knew exactly where she was.

Marc constantly updated me on everything the two of them did together.

Ashley accompanied him to see the cherry blossoms. She even organized a private concert for him beneath the blooming trees.

The two of them played the piano side by side in perfect harmony, looking every bit like a couple made for each other.

In the live clips, voices could often be heard praising them as a match made in heaven.

Ashley never denied it.

Marc simply looked proudly into the camera with a satisfied smile.

By the concert's finale, the two of them were locked in a passionate kiss onstage.

Marc's attached message read, "Troy, this is just standard etiquette abroad. Please don't read too much into it. I only wanted to let you know that Ash and I are doing great, so you don't need to worry."

Not long after, Ashley and Marc posted the same image on their social media feeds.

It showed a plaster hand mold of their fingers intertwined, with the caption, "For all my days, I ask only to walk hand in hand with the one my heart has chosen."

Marc's ring finger bore the pale indent of a ring.

However, the post was deleted almost immediately.

If this had happened before, I would have lost my mind calling Ashley. I would have demanded answers and vented every ounce of my hurt and anger.

However, now, I no longer cared.

The faint vibration of my phone pulled me back to reality.

"Mr. Clinton, this is the 18th time you and Ms. Blake have postponed the wedding. We've already rearranged the venue again. Would you still like to come personally to confirm the setup?"

Every time our wedding was postponed in the past, I felt a flicker of disappointment, yet I always managed to pull myself together soon after.

I used to dull the pain by telling myself that at least I was the man she would someday marry.

I threw myself into designing 17 weddings, believing each one might finally be the real one.

This time, I was done.

Just as I was about to reply, Ashley pushed the door open and walked in.

When she saw me sitting in the living room, she froze for a moment. Then, she took off her coat and hugged me from behind.

A faint scent of tobacco drifted toward me.

I never smoked because Ashley once told me she hated men who smoked.

"Sorry. Work's been really busy these past few days. How's your hand feeling?"

I casually shook my head.

Guilt flickered across her face as she gently took my injured right hand and blew softly against it.

"I'm sorry. I was too angry that day. Don't take it to heart, okay?"

I almost laughed bitterly at that.

"I brought you a gift," she said, then pulled out a gift box decorated with cherry blossom patterns.

Inside was a limited-edition watch.

If I remembered correctly, Marc had been wearing this exact watch yesterday.

Before I could refuse, Ashley had already fastened it around my wrist.

"Troy..."

She paused for a moment before saying, "Since your hand still hasn't recovered, maybe Marc could perform that new composition for you instead."

I watched her in silence.

Today, her eyes carried a softness that seemed almost too good to be true.

She looked just like the girl I had first met at the music exhibition all those years ago—the one who had looked at me with such genuine admiration.

Only now, that same tenderness existed for the man she had never truly let go of.

A self-mocking smile crossed my lips as I took the watch off and threw it back into the box.

"He can't play my composition."

As soon as those words left my lips, every trace of softness drained from Ashley's face.

"Can't play it? Don't act so high and mighty, Troy," she snapped. "If Marc can't play it, what makes you think a cripple like you can? I've already handed the composition to Marc. Whether you like it or not, he's going to play it."

I froze. My heart, which had already shattered beyond repair, felt completely crushed into dust.

The wound on my right hand split open from her rough shove, and fresh blood began to slowly seep through the bandages.

"If he wants to play it, then let him have it…" I murmured.

The second I said that, Ashley's mood brightened instantly.

"Troy, I swear—this is the last time. Marc gave up an international music award that was practically within his reach just to help me search for a matching heart donor. I owe him for that. You get it, right?"

A sharp pain pierced my heart. I didn't want to argue with her anymore.

I softly said, "Come with me to see Mom tomorrow."

She still owed Mom a thank you.

Ashley looked confused, but she eventually nodded in agreement.

Since I hadn't replied for a long time, the wedding planner called me directly.

I lowered my voice, steadying it as best I could. "I'm sorry, but the wedding is canceled. There's no need to prepare anything going forward."

Ashley walked out of the bathroom just then and asked casually, "No need to prepare what?"