The Woman He Was Never Meant To Love

THE NEXT DAY... The clinking of cutlery and low murmurs filled the breakfast table. I stood by the side, pitcher in hand, quietly refilling everyone's glasses. Like always. Just another morning where I was part of the furniture. Present, invisible. Clarssie was laughing softly at something Seraphina had said-probably mocking someone again. Seraphina was glowing in her designer nightrobe, with perfectly done hair, barely acknowledging my presence as I poured her orange juice. And then... Victor cleared his throat. The air shifted. A stillness. "I've made a decision," he said flatly, eyes locked on his plate. "There will be no engagement ceremony." My fingers tightened around the glass pitcher, confused. Clarssie looked up. "Darling?" Victor raised his gaze. Cold. Final. "The wedding will happen directly. Within the week." I froze. The juice sloshed too quickly-my hand jerked. A splash. Clarssie gasped, jerking back as a stream of cold orange juice spilled down her silk robe. Silence. The kind that wraps around your throat like a noose. "Oh, you clumsy little bitch!" Clarssie hissed, dabbing furiously at her chest with a napkin. "Are you insane?! This is silk, you idiot!" My mouth opened, but no words came out. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even feel like I was here anymore. Victor slammed his palm on the table. "One more mistake, Elena. One more-and you'll regret it," he snapped, his voice like a lash across my skin. Seraphina chuckled. "She's just excited, Father. Her first and only spotlight moment. Let the maid have her slip-up." They all laughed. And I stood there-wet, humiliated, heart pounding like a drum inside a ribcage made of glass. Inside, I screamed. Outside, I bowed my head. "Yes, Father," I whispered. "I'm sorry." But all I could think about... No engagement. No time to breathe. No time to run. Just a wedding... with a stranger who already feels like a nightmare. The laughter at the table died down, but the echo of it still rang in my ears like a cruel lullaby. Clarssie was still dabbing at her silk robe dramatically, shooting me glares like I'd dumped acid on her. I wanted to shrink into the floor. Disappear. But instead... I swallowed the stone in my throat, took a shaky breath, and stepped forward. "Father..." My voice came out softer than I meant it to. "I-I had a question." His fork paused midway to his mouth. Seraphina raised a perfectly shaped brow. "Oh? The maid speaks." Victor didn't look at me. "Speak." I clenched my fingers behind my back, nails digging into my palm. "I just wanted to ask... after the wedding, will I be allowed to continue university?" Silence. Heavy. Pressing. Victor finally looked up-his eyes sharp, like knives honed over years of disappointment. "You won't need a university where you're going." I blinked. "But-" "Enough." His tone was final. "Your husband's family will decide what you need. And trust me, they won't want a wife gallivanting around classrooms pretending to have dreams." Clarssie smirked behind her teacup. "You're marrying into legacy, not chasing fairy tales." Seraphina leaned forward, her smile dripping with sugar-coated poison. "Besides, darling... wives don't need degrees to make babies and pour tea." A tightness bloomed in my chest, painful and bitter. I lowered my gaze. So that was it. Even that piece of me... was being taken. I nodded slowly. "Yes, Father." But deep inside? A storm had started. Quiet now. But storms don't stay quiet forever. ... I clutched my bag tightly, the campus gates looming ahead of me like a memory I wasn't ready to let go of. It felt surreal. The buildings I used to rush through. The laughter echoes down the halls. The late-night cramming sessions. It all felt... distant. Like another life. A better one. I kept my head down as I walked. Not many people noticed me here either. I'd always been the quiet one, the girl with too much in her eyes and too little in her voice. But today, I wasn't here for lectures or coffee. I was here to say goodbye. My dorm room was mostly packed already. I only had a few books and my sketchpad, the things I'd once dreamed of building a future with. Things that felt useless now. I was just zipping my bag when I heard the voice I'd been hoping for and dreading all at once. "Elena?" I turned. There he was-Ezrael. Tall, broad-shouldered, that familiar crooked grin softening the sharp edges of his face. His black hair was a little messy, like always, and his brown eyes searched mine with worry. "You didn't tell me you were leaving." I tried to smile. "I found out yesterday." He frowned. "You're not coming back?" I shook my head. He stepped closer. "What happened?" I didn't answer. I couldn't. How could I explain that I was being sold in lace and silk? "I just... have to go," I whispered. Ezrael's jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to scream or punch something. But instead, he said, "Come with me. Just for a bit." I hesitated. "Please," he added. "I won't get another chance to see you." That... got me. We walked silently across campus, down the path behind the art department, where trees lined the quiet garden. He always brought me here when I was sad. When I failed my first test. When Clarssie tore up my painting. When I needed to breathe. We sat on the stone bench. I placed my bag on the side. He didn't look at me at first. Just played with the ring on his finger. Then- "I didn't want to say this, Elena," he said, voice low, "but I can't let you go without knowing." My heart skipped. "I like you. No-scratch that. I love you. I've loved you for a long time." I stared at him. "I never said it because I thought you needed a friend more than anything. But now? You're leaving. I don't even know where you're going or what's happening, but... I can't stay quiet anymore." My chest ached. He looked at me, finally, those eyes full of pain and hope all tangled together. "Run away with me," he whispered. "We'll figure it out. Just say the word." I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I just reached out and held his hand gently. "Ezrael..." He looked at me like he was waiting for a miracle. "It's too late," I said softly. "I wish I could... but my life isn't mine anymore." He shook his head, eyes glassy. "That's not fair. You deserve better than whatever this is. You deserve someone who sees you." "I know," I whispered, voice cracking. "But want and reality... they're not the same in my world." A tear slipped down my cheek. He caught it with his thumb. "I'm sorry," I said, voice barely audible. He looked down, then gave a hollow laugh. "Then let me say goodbye before I lose you forever." He didn't let go of my hand. Not yet. "Just tell me why," Ezrael murmured, voice barely holding itself together. "Why can't you fight this? Why can't you choose you for once?" I looked away. The tears were stinging now, but I refused to let them fall. Because if I cried, I'd shatter. And if I shattered... I wouldn't make it out of this goodbye. "I'm engaged," I said. His breath caught. He blinked, as if the word had slapped him. "Engaged...?" I nodded, slowly. "It's arranged. Final. I didn't have a choice." A cold silence fell between us, thick with everything we didn't say. "To whom?" he finally managed. "It doesn't matter," I whispered. "It's done." He stood, running a hand through his hair. Angry. Confused. Crushed. "You could've told me. I deserved to know, Elena." I stood too. "I know. But if I told you... You'd try to stop me." He laughed bitterly. "Damn right I would. I still want to. I still will." I smiled, broken. "Then I did the right thing by not telling you sooner." He looked at me like he hated the world for turning me into this-into someone who had to apologize for being caged. "I wish I could hate you for this," he said quietly. I stepped back, heart tearing with every word. "I wish you could, too." Then I walked away. And this time, I didn't look back.    SEBASTIAN'S POV The room was too warm. Mahogany walls, dim lights, the long conference table filled with suits and fake grins-my boardroom, my table, yet all I could hear was the ticking of the gold watch around my wrist and the scraping of a pen that someone should've stopped dragging five minutes ago. I sat at the head. Always. Where I belonged. My Glock rested heavy beneath my blazer, comforting. Familiar. I didn't come here for games. My time was war, not wasted air. One of the new executives cleared his throat and leaned forward, adjusting his overpriced tie with trembling fingers. "With all due respect, Mr. Blake, we believe your recent decisions may be... emotionally compromised. Perhaps due to the upcoming engagement." I froze. Emotionally... compromised? My jaw ticked. Slowly, deliberately, I uncrossed my legs and leaned forward, elbows on the table, steepling my fingers. "What did you say?" The room went silent. All eyes flicked to the man who didn't know how to shut his damn mouth. He gulped. "I-I just meant, maybe the pressure is-" "I heard you the first time," I interrupted, my voice calm. I stood up. Dead quiet. My chair scraped back with a soft leather hiss as I reached inside my coat, slow and steady. He paled. The glint of the gun hit the light as I placed it on the table in front of me, right beside the reports he'd so kindly critiqued. Then I leaned closer. "Do you know what I hate more than incompetence?" I asked softly. No one dared breathe. "Disrespect," I answered myself. "Especially when it hides behind concern." The man opened his mouth. I tilted my head. "Go on. Say it again. Tell me I'm emotional. Tell me I've lost my edge." He shook his head, sweat dripping. "No?" I smiled coldly. "Then let me make something very clear." I raised the gun. Cocked it. The sound echoed like thunder in that silent, suffocating room. "If you ever question me again in my company, in my presence, in this life, I will not hesitate to show you how ruthless I can be. Do I make myself clear?" "Y-yes, sir," he stammered, nearly choking on the words. I nodded once. Then, they turned to the rest. "Does anyone else want to play Brave today?" Silence. "Good," I murmured, sliding the gun back into place.