My Fiancé Discarded Me For A Teenager — But His Billionaire Cousin Was Waiting Outside

Part 1

The tea in my cup had gone entirely cold.

A thin iridescent film of oils pulled on the surface, reflecting the dull afternoon light filtering through the heavy drapes.

Brian was speaking, saying sensible, measured words like incompatibility and allowance.

But all I could focus on was the horrific rhythmic scraping of his signet ring against the mahogany desk.

I didn’t weep.

I didn’t hurl the porcelain saucer.

I simply stood, my knees popping loudly in the silent study, and walked out.

The brass clock on the mantelpiece ticked with an infuriating, uneven cadence.

It was a heavy, ugly thing, a gift from his mother that I had spent three years pretending to admire.

Right now, it was the loudest sound in the room.

Brian sat behind his massive oak desk, a fortress of inherited wealth, looking everywhere but at me.

He looked at the inkwell.

He looked at the neat stack of legal documents resting beneath the manicured hands of his solicitor.

The settlement was quite generous, the solicitor wheezed through the gap in his front teeth.

Brian wished to ensure I was not left destitute given the sudden change in circumstances.

I stared at the heavy vellum papers looking slightly yellow in the dim light.

I felt nothing, or rather I felt everything compacted so densely into my chest that it manifested as a leaden numbness.

My corset, which had felt perfectly tailored at breakfast, was suddenly digging a sharp, unforgiving line of whalebone into my lower ribs.

I took a shallow breath that tasted like old paper and cowardice.

Generous, I repeated, my voice sounding flat and slightly raspy.

Brian finally glanced up, his pale blue eyes looking merely anxious rather than guilty.

Suddenly, I realized his chin was astonishingly weak.

Having looked at his face for three years, only now did I notice his jawline vanishing entirely into his cravat.

Stammering about his father’s debts and the pressure of the estate, he explained how the new bride’s alliance saved the hall.

Despite his claims of fighting the arrangement, the truth was far less heroic.

Fighting, for Brian, consisted of offering minimal resistance to the strongest force in the room.

Surrendering to the heaviest pressure applied to him at any given moment was his true nature.

Currently, his mother’s demands and the crushing weight of the estate ledgers heavily outweighed my entirely inadequate dowry.

I looked down at my left hand.

The sapphire ring sat on my third finger, a heavy square-cut stone surrounded by too many diamonds.

I had hated it since the day he slid it onto my hand.

Slowly, deliberately, I reached over and pinched the cold metal.

He whispered a plea for me to keep it as a safety net.

I didn’t answer.

The ring stuck at my knuckle as it always did.

The heavy thud of the door sealed us in, instantly cutting off the noise of the rain.

The silence inside the carriage was sudden and absolute.

He reached up and knocked twice on the roof.

Instantly the conveyance lurched forward, navigating the deeply rutted paving of the lower districts.

We were heading toward the rotting edges of the city, toward the life waiting for me.

The carriage came to a jarring halt outside number fourteen.

I stared at the peeling green paint of my aunt’s front door, feeling suffocated by the reality of my return.

Thank you for the conveyance, I whispered, reaching for the door handle.

Before my fingers could brush the brass, his arm shot across me, his large hand clamping over the handle.

I will escort you to the door, he declared.

I pushed against his arm, arguing that the neighbors would gossip if they saw a carriage like his.

Let them gossip, he replied, pushing the door open into the cold, wet air.

We walked up the three narrow steps together.

He didn’t use the tarnished knocker; he raised his fist and struck the wood with three heavy, resounding blows.

The door opened to reveal aunt Brenda.

Her pale, bulging eyes darted from my ruined dress to the towering, drenched figure of Craig.

Was there an accident, she gasped, already calculating the social leverage.

An accident of character, madam, Craig said smoothly, stepping forward into the cramped hallway.

Brian has broken the engagement.

The silence in the hallway was absolute as my aunt’s polite confusion curdled into vicious, panicked rage.

She hissed at me, calling me a stupid, arrogant fool for letting him slip away.

She declared I was ruined and would be out of her house by tomorrow.

I felt the bile rising in my throat, opening my mouth to beg for a few days to find lodgings.

She will be out of this house in ten minutes, Craig’s voice cut through her hysteria like a broadsword.

Both of us snapped our heads toward him.

He looked down at aunt Brenda with an expression of such absolute, freezing disgust that she physically recoiled.

Get your things, he commanded, his eyes still locked on my aunt.

Pack whatever you require for the immediate future.

I stared at him, the air leaving my lungs, entirely unable to comprehend what he was demanding.

I require an archivist for the library, he stated with brutal precision.

You have managed his disastrous ledgers for three years, so you will now manage mine.

An archivist for a man of his standing was entirely improper, a scandalous arrangement that would ignite polite society.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous, silken register.

You can stay here, apologize to this harpy, and beg for your bed.

Or you can pack your bags and leave with me right now.