Abandoned Engagement for His Leading Lady

On the day of our engagement, my boyfriend—who had always shunned the trappings of fame—abandoned me to attend the Best Director Award ceremony. When I finally rushed to the event, my heart raced with excitement and fear. But all hope shattered the moment I saw him on stage, passionately kissing Cynthia Pope beneath the unforgiving spotlight.

Backstage, I overheard their conversation, and my breath caught in my throat. He buried his face in her neck, his voice dripping with tenderness as he murmured, "She’s just your stand-in. If you ask, I’ll cancel the engagement immediately."

In that instant, the memories of our eight years together flooded my mind—the laughter, the tears, the countless ups and downs. My heart shattered, yet an unexpected laugh escaped my lips, mingling with my tears. If this was truly what he wanted, who was I to stand in his way?

When the day of our supposed wedding arrived, I chose a different path. I left with a plane ticket in hand, heading home for a blind date instead.

But Jimmy Russell wasn’t ready to let go. His eyes burned with desperation as he reached out to every connection he had, pleading, "Please, don’t leave me…"

——

On stage, he and Cynthia shared a kiss, an image broadcast nationwide as the perfect love story. I shut my eyes, trying to block out the pain, knowing he had chosen to leave me on our engagement day.

After Jimmy answered the phone, he left without even glancing back. The voice on the other end was a woman’s, playfully saying, "Jimmy, I heard you won the Best Director Award! I came all the way here just to present it to you!"

In all the eight years we’d been together, I had never seen Jimmy so rattled. He was in such a rush that he didn’t bother to offer a single explanation, leaving our engagement party as if it meant nothing. I was left alone, standing there to face the questioning looks and probing comments of our relatives.

Over the years, many women had set their sights on Jimmy, yet he never wavered. He had always stayed firm, never tempted by their advances. So, I never thought he would fall for someone else. Before coming here, I foolishly assumed this new woman would be turned away like all the others.

But the moment I laid eyes on Cynthia, I knew I had lost. She wasn’t just anyone. She was the Cynthia Pope, the heroine of Jimmy’s debut film. A rule-following director paired with a rebellious leading lady—at their age, this kind of romance was bound to burn brightly, destined to be intense.

On stage, the two clung to each other as if they wished they could merge into one, releasing years of suppressed longing. The intensity of their embrace was palpable, and it made my eyes burn with emotion. I had always known Jimmy as a man who avoided public displays of affection. He was conservative, old-fashioned, and never one to show intimacy in front of others.

I remember the time when fans at the airport shouted, "Kiss me!" I was mortified, my face burning with embarrassment. Unable to stand the awkward silence, I made the first move, trying to reach out to him, but he coldly pushed me away, a look of disgust in his eyes. Now, here he was kissing Cynthia on live television, for the entire nation to see. The painful truth sank in—he just didn’t love me enough.

My stomach churned with nausea, and I hurried backstage, needing a moment to compose myself. After spending half an hour in the restroom, I stepped out and overheard Jimmy and Cynthia’s conversation around the corner.

The sharp smell of cigarette smoke filled the air. Cynthia, with a teasing smirk, raised an eyebrow and taunted him:

“Look at you, old-fashioned as ever, smoking now! Weren’t you the one who made me quit in the first place?”

As she spoke, she stepped closer and lifted the hem of Jimmy’s shirt, revealing his sculpted abs. The sight, coupled with their easy familiarity, twisted the knife deeper into my heart.

Cynthia bent down and pressed a lingering kiss on Jimmy’s abs, then glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Eight years have passed, and I’ve kept my figure pretty well, don’t you think?"

Jimmy froze, a soft hiss escaping his lips, but he still wore a fond smile.

"Don’t make trouble," he warned playfully, "what if someone sees us?"

My heart sank. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. The man I had known for years—so rigid, so strict about boundaries—was allowing this to unfold, and in public, no less. My mind raced, hoping he would push her away. Just like he had pushed me away, without hesitation, without care.

But Cynthia held on tight, not letting go. Her voice, sweet and laced with concern, pierced through the smoke-filled air.

"Why did you start smoking? Is work stressing you out that much?" Cynthia asked, her voice a mix of concern and teasing.

Jimmy lowered his gaze, a shadow passing over his features, as if lost in a memory. "Work doesn’t matter to me that much anymore," he replied, his voice soft and distant. "I only smoke late at night when I really miss you. It helps ease the longing."

Cynthia’s face brightened with a triumphant smile, as if she had won a secret victory. "Oh right, I forgot—you’re the rich, young master! Always with your little vices to cope."

Jimmy chuckled softly, but the laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the unspoken truth lurking just beneath the surface.

I clenched my fists tightly, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions. Unwillingness, betrayal, and grievance surged through me all at once. How could this be happening? The man who always prided himself on being honest, on never bending to whims, now stood here, allowing himself to change for her. For years, Jimmy insisted on truth in everything, as a director, and as a man. Yet here he was, breaking all his own rules.

During a tough period, Jimmy was blacklisted by powerful figures in the industry. His parents, hoping he’d give up his dream and inherit the family business, offered no help. Despite the mounting pressure, he remained stubborn and refused to yield.

For his sake, I—once sheltered and pampered—had to adapt quickly to a world I barely understood. I learned how to flatter and appease those who held power over his career, navigating the treacherous waters of influence and ambition. Nights blurred together as I drank with influential figures, uttering every charm I could muster to smooth ruffled feathers and ease their tempers.

The worst day came when I found myself juggling seven or eight different groups, each demanding my attention. The toll was unbearable. I pushed myself so hard that I collapsed, suffering from stomach bleeding, and was rushed to the hospital.

When I woke up, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and there he was—Jimmy—standing by my bed, his expression a tumultuous mix of concern and guilt.

"Why are you pushing yourself so hard?" he asked, his voice low and troubled.

I mustered a weak smile, though it felt fragile against the weight of my exhaustion. "Directing is your dream, and I want to help you realize it."

I fainted again soon after. When I woke up, I saw him by the window, surrounded by cigarette butts. At first, I thought he was stressed about his career. But then it hit me—he wasn’t thinking about work. He missed Cynthia.

While I fought for his dream, he stood there, consumed by thoughts of her. My love had become a joke.