Isolde's POV
On our wedding day, Nicholas Whitlock made a grand declaration of love in front of a live audience streaming across the internet.
“Happy wedding day, my lovely wife,” he said affectionately.
But the next second, he yanked off my veil and sneered, “Happy divorce, Isolde.”
The joyful tears on my face froze mid-smile, then laughter erupted from the crowd.
Before I could even process what had just happened, he wrapped his arm around his secretary, who was dressed elegantly in a white wedding dress, and said with a mocking grin, “If you hadn’t fought her over that necklace a week ago, I wouldn’t have done this. But if you apologize and she forgives you, maybe then I’ll actually marry you.”
He completely forgot that necklace was my mother’s heirloom.
That night, I became the biggest joke on the internet. But the world couldn’t get enough of the “perfect couple,” Nicholas and his beautiful secretary.
Three months later, after the two of them had traveled the world together, he casually asked one of his men, “Has she apologized yet?”
The man hesitated before cautiously answering, “Mr. Whitlock, she already got married.”
——
“It wasn’t me who didn’t want to marry him,” I said quietly.
The study was dimly lit. Nicholas’s father sat behind his desk, deep lines creasing his tired face.
He sighed heavily. “I thought, since our families were so close, our children would naturally end up together.”
He shook his head, murmuring almost to himself. “But I guess, love can’t be forced.”
He handed me the engagement contract and a blank check. Both had the word "Void" scrawled across them.
“Go,” he said. “Fill in whatever number you want.”
But despite his offer, I left without taking a cent.
Our engagement had been arranged years ago, partly out of family alliance and business interest. But in truth, aside from Nicholas himself, the Whitlocks had never wronged me. So, I wouldn't take a penny with me.
Outside the villa, the sun blazed overhead just like the day I first met him.
He had been like a flower blooming high on a distant peak—cold, untouchable, and impossibly beautiful, so I fell for him instantly.
But he only looked me up and down and scoffed, “You’re pretty enough, but don’t covet what doesn’t belong to you.”
I thought he was talking about the Whitlocks’ wealth. He thought I was a shallow gold digger.
For three years, I tried to prove to him that I wasn’t with him for money.
But then, his first love, Alicia Duvall, suddenly returned from abroad, and he immediately hired her as his personal secretary.
That was when I finally understood. What he said didn’t belong to me was his love.
Unwilling to give up those three wasted years, I clung to our engagement contract.
But now, as I tore the contract into pieces and dropped it into the trash, I felt free.
Just then, my phone buzzed with a new message.
[I’m leaving. If you still don’t give me an answer, we’ll never see each other again.]
I typed back with trembling fingers: [Fine, I accept your offer.]
Not long after, my phone rang.
“You’re not just saying that to make him jealous, are you?”
“I swear,” I said solemnly. “As Agnes Graves’s daughter, I’m not lying.”
There was a long silence, then I heard him take a few deep breaths before finally replying, “I’ll treat you right.”
I smiled faintly, since for him, that was the most romantic thing he could say.
Soon after, a plane ticket arrived in my inbox. The flight was tonight.
Quickly, I went back to the villa to pack my things.
But when I opened the door, I froze. Nicholas, who was rarely home, was there waiting for me.
“Have you thought it through?” His voice came from the shadows, cold and sharp. “Are you giving her the necklace or not?”
My hand instinctively went to the pendant resting on my neck.
“Alicia didn’t grow up wealthy,” he said, stepping closer. “She’s only started to enjoy the finer things in life these past two years. She doesn’t resent you for taking what was hers. She just liked your necklace. Why can’t you be satisfied?”
He descended the stairs, leaning in until his face was inches from mine.
