The Jilted Genius: Out Of Your League

FAYE BEAUMONT'S POV:

"To the happy couple!"

The toast echoed through the Waldorf Astoria ballroom, followed by a wave of polite applause. I stood beside my fiancé, Julian Sterling, the bubbles from my champagne flute rising like silent screams.

I was a doll, perfectly dressed and smiling on cue.

In fact, the entire banquet hall was filled with an unspoken, peculiar atmosphere. The New York socialites raising their glasses maintained a veneer of decorum, yet their eyes gleamed with sardonic anticipation for the spectacle to unfold.

Though Julian and I stood close together, his stiff shoulders and deliberate avoidance of my gaze created an invisible chasm between us. This was not an engagement party anyone had looked forward to—it was merely a reluctant charade.

Julian stepped onto the stage, his handsome face a mask of perfect joy. But his blue eyes, they didn't find me. They scanned the crowd, landing on one person.

My adopted sister, Annabel Beaumont.

I saw the flicker of tenderness in his gaze, a warmth I had never been granted.

The guests below followed his gaze and exchanged knowing glances.

The moment of judgment had arrived.

Whispers slithered through the air like snakes. "How does she deserve a Sterling?" "I heard the Beaumonts gave up on her, if it weren't for the old marriage contract..."

I took a sip of champagne.

Julian cleared his throat, his voice amplified by the microphone. "Tonight, I want to thank the Beaumont family, but more importantly, I must follow my heart."

He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on Annabel. "The person I love is Annabel Beaumont! Faye, I'm sorry. Our engagement is over!"

The room erupted.

Every camera, every gaze, swiveled to me. Hundreds of needles trying to pierce my composure, waiting for the breakdown, the tears, the hysteria.

Annabel burst into tears, a perfect damsel in distress. She ran to the stage, falling into Julian's arms. She looked back at me, her voice choked with fake sorrow. "Sister, I'm so sorry, we're truly in love..."

My mother, Cynthia, didn't even glance my way. She rushed to embrace Annabel, patting her back. "My dear child, it's not your fault. It's fate."

I laughed.

A single, clear laugh that carried through the microphone pinned to my dress. The entire hall fell silent.

I picked up a microphone from a nearby stand and walked slowly onto the stage, stopping before the "star-crossed lovers." I met Julian's shocked eyes.

"First, congratulations," I said, my voice even. "Second, a correction. You're not ending the engagement. I, Faye Beaumont, am officially informing you that you're dumped."

I pulled the massive diamond ring from my finger. Its brilliance seemed to sting Annabel's eyes.

"And," my gaze shifted to her, "don't call me sister. My mother couldn't have given birth to such a talented actress."

Annabel's face went white.

I tossed the ring. It sailed through the air in a glittering arc, landing with a soft clink in the top glass of the three-tiered champagne tower.

Dead silence.

I turned, gathered the hem of my gown, and descended the stage like a queen from her throne.

My heels clicked against the marble floor, a steady rhythm against the face of the Beaumont family's reputation.

I could feel the fury of my father, Wallace Beaumont, burning into my back. I could hear my mother's sharp intake of breath, could sense the utter humiliation of Julian and Annabel.

I didn't look back. I walked straight towards the exit.

The ballroom doors opened for me, and I shut all the noise and drama behind me.

In the hallway, my personal bodyguard, Drake Ryder, stood like a silent, unmovable statue. He asked no questions. He simply held out a black coat.

I slipped it on, covering the expensive, ironic gown. My phone vibrated in the coat pocket.

I pulled it out. A coded message from a sender labeled "Eagle's Nest."

The text was simple: "'Package' is ready. Ready for departure. Route A or Route B?"

My lips moved, forming silent words. I typed my reply.

"Route C. I'm planning it myself."

Drake Ryder held the car door open. A plain black sedan, fully armored on the inside.

I slid into the back seat, watching the Waldorf Astoria recede in the window. My past, my shame, and everything I had just buried were in there.

Drake sat beside me, his presence a comforting weight. He started the car, merging smoothly into the river of New York's nighttime traffic.

I closed my eyes. Complex molecular structures bloomed in my mind, not the farce I had just left. That was my real world.

The phone vibrated again. Another encrypted message. "Captain Grant is at the designated location."

I replied, "Tell him to wait five more minutes. I need a hot chocolate."

Drake offered me a bottle of water from the car's mini-fridge. I shook my head, my eyes catching a 24-hour convenience store on the corner.

"Pull over," I told Drake. "I'll be right back."

He didn't argue, his gaze just swept the surroundings vigilantly.

I walked into the store and bought the cheapest instant hot chocolate they had. The warmth of the paper cup chased the chill from my fingertips.

Back in the car, I sipped it slowly, the overly sweet taste a temporary antidote to the evening's hypocrisy.

Drake started the engine again. "Home, ma'am?" he asked in his low voice.

I shook my head, watching the neon lights blur past. "No. To my new life."

My phone screen was still lit, displaying the map for Route C. The destination was a private research institute in the suburbs, a place I had never mentioned to a single soul.