Choosing The Forgotten, Finding My King

Kallie POV The snickers and whispers followed me, a constant, irritating hum. "She'll never tolerate Dennie," one cousin hissed, eyes darting in my direction. "How will she cope when Austen flaunts his affairs?" Another chimed in, a smirk playing on his lips, "She'll probably just clear out any woman who dares to get close to him, like she used to!" Laughter erupted around them. My past self would have felt a hot flush of shame. I remembered those days, a lifetime ago. The desperate, pathetic girl who believed that if she just loved him hard enough, fought hard enough, he would finally see her. I had even taken self-defense classes, fantasizing about physically fending off his numerous flings. I had screamed at innocent women, threatened them, all for a man who saw me as nothing more than a convenient accessory. The memory made me cringe. My old self had been a fool. The laughter in the room swelled, echoing the derision in my mind. Then, Austen strode towards me, cutting through the crowd like a shark through water. His eyes held a familiar, cold contempt. "Frederick is about to make the formal announcement, Kallie," he said, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust. "Just a reminder of our... arrangement. No shared accounts. No shared bedroom. And certainly, no questions about my life. My freedom, my choices, are non-negotiable." He leaned in, his voice a condescending drawl. "I'll even overlook your utterly evil and unbearable nature. Consider it my magnanimity. Just sign the prenuptial agreement." I simply stared at him. He truly believed he was doing me a favor. He saw himself as the sun, the center of the universe, and I was merely a satellite, orbiting around him, grateful for the light he granted. He thought giving me his name, the Griffin name, was an act of grace, and that my unquestioning acceptance of his sordid affairs was a small price to pay for such a gift. "Independent life," I repeated, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Is that because you're afraid, Austen? Afraid I'll discover just how utterly inadequate you are?" The laughter in the room abruptly died. Silence, thick and heavy, descended. Austen's face flushed crimson. "Inadequate? I am the chosen heir, Kallie! Frederick is officially handing over the reins tonight!" he roared, wounded pride flashing in his eyes. "Your five years of pathetic begging, your desperate attempts to win my affection, they paved my way, you fool! Your obsession made me victorious!" He stepped closer, his breath hot on my face, reeking faintly of whiskey and self-importance. "Don't you dare ruin this, Kallie. Sign the agreement. No joint accounts. No shared bed. No questions. You get the title, I get my freedom. It's a win-win." I glanced around the room. His cronies watched, expectant, eager to see me fold. Dennie stood nearby, her eyes glittering with triumphant anticipation. She thought she had won, that she had secured Austen, while I was left with an empty shell of a marriage. The entire assembly was convinced of my foolish desperation. "And what if," I said, my voice dangerously calm, "what if Frederick didn't choose you tonight, Austen? Would your 'freedom' still be worth the cost?" He scoffed, adjusting an invisible cufflink. "There's no other choice, Kallie. Who else? Kolton, the cripple? Or any of those other talentless, grasping relatives? I am the superior Griffin. The only one that matters." "You chose me years ago, Kallie. Your devotion cleared my path." A wave of nausea washed over me. The sheer audacity, the self-serving delusion of this man. How had I wasted so much of my past life on such a mediocre human being? My gaze drifted towards the wide, ornate doors at the end of the ballroom. My heart began to quicken, a thrill of anticipation shooting through me. The moment was almost here. Frederick's stern-faced assistant appeared first, clutching a leather-bound folio. Then, the patriarch himself, Frederick Griffin, emerged, his eyes sweeping across the assembled faces. His gaze settled on mine for a brief, meaningful moment, and he gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. Austen, oblivious to the silent exchange, puffed out his chest and strode forward, extending his hand as if to graciously accept a kingdom. He beamed, a peacock displaying his plumage, and over his shoulder, he winked at me, a final, mocking gesture of victory. Then, the entire ballroom erupted in gasps and frantic whispers.