The Fiancée He Never Knew

I had just hung up when Antonio burst in, his face a mask of impatience.

"Scarlett, what game are you playing now?"

"I've made myself clear. So why are you still jealous of Astrid? Why are you giving me the silent treatment?"

I kept my voice even. "Antonio, I'm not jealous. And I'm not giving you the silent treatment."

"See? I even kept the lock of hair she cut. I wouldn't dream of holding it against her."

He clearly hadn't expected that. For a moment, he just stared.

He was about to say more, but a call from Astrid pulled his attention away.

I locked the door behind him and squeezed my eyes shut.

Late that night, my burner phone buzzed.

Astrid had sent photos. Antonio, bare-chested, leaning against her by the penthouse pool. There were angry red scratches clawed across his shoulder.

Then came the taunt:

"So what if you're marrying him, Scarlett? Antonio comes running when I call. If you're smart, you'll give up your title as the future Mrs. Vanderwood."

This wasn't the first time Astrid had tried this. But it was the first time I'd replied.

"Got it. He's all yours."

I just wanted to find my father.

I wouldn't make the same mistake twice—clinging to Antonio’s love like a lifeline.

I blocked her number and tried to sleep.

But when I closed my eyes, memories of my past life flooded my mind.

Antonio had once saved me from a sleazy investor. I fell for him, hard and fast.

But with my unknown background, I was just another designer. He was the heir to an old-money New York real estate empire. We were worlds apart, and he was always surrounded by a flock of beautiful socialites.

So, the night before my birthday, I left him a letter saying I was leaving New York.

But Antonio—the man who was always so composed—sent a dozen private investigators and his best people after me.

When he found me, his eyes were bloodshot. I'd never seen him so vulnerable. He gripped my hand and whispered:

"I love you, Scarlett. Please, don't leave me."

That one sentence shattered all my defenses. I stood on my toes and kissed him.

From then on, we were inseparable.

He would buy white roses and wait for me before every date.

He remembered every little thing I liked and commissioned handmade jewelry just for me.

Even though I was just an "ordinary" designer, he defied his family and the world to make me his fiancée.

At our engagement party, he placed the ring on my finger in front of all of high society, a faint blush warming his cheeks.

That night, he held me tight and whispered it over and over:

"I swear to God—nothing is more important than you. If anything ever happened to you, I couldn't live. You are my one and only love."

But somewhere along the way, everything changed.

He got busier. Had less time. We went from seeing each other daily, to weekly, to monthly.

Even without Astrid, we were already falling apart.

But I couldn't let go. I couldn’t give up on those years of affection.

So I fought. Again and again. Until my life became a living nightmare.

A single tear escaped the corner of my eye.

When I opened my eyes again, it was dawn. The pillow was damp.

Antonio called.

"The Vanderwood annual charity gala is in seven days. Be ready."

Seven days. In my past life, that was when my father's private investigator had tried to reach me.

I died in a car crash the day before.

As a wandering soul, I watched my father clutch my cold body, roaring at the lawyers surrounding him:

"I will sue every single person who hurt my daughter until they are bankrupt! They will pay for what they did to her!"

Then he used the full might of his corporation to crush the Vanderwood Group and strip Antonio of everything.

A pang of pain shot through me. I kept my voice level.

"High society never wanted me as Mrs. Vanderwood. Astrid—a proper socialite—is a much better fit. Let her go in my place."

I was serious. But Antonio erupted.

"The charity gala is a serious affair, Scarlett. Can you stop making everything about you for once?"

A bitter ache bloomed in my chest. So this is what it feels like when love dies.

Before, if I’d said something like that, he would have pulled me into his arms and coaxed me out of my mood.

Now, he just thought I was being difficult.

From the other end of the line, Astrid's voice cooed, "Antonio, what's wrong? You sound upset."

His tone softened instantly. "It's nothing. Did I wake you?"

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh and ended the call.