Refusing To Be His Perfect Replica, I Choose The Arranged Marriag by BlueMoone

Chapter 8

Stepping into the crisp morning air, I found Castro waiting – a portrait of calculated perfection in his bespoke Tom Ford suit, the one that had always made my heart skip.

A cascade of ivory roses trembled slightly in his grip, betraying the tension beneath his polished facade.

“Aveline, look,” his voice cracked with practiced remorse, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. That day… I was completely out of line. Raising my hand to you…”

presence makes you

“Oriana is just…” he swallowed hard, “history. A closed chapter. If her presence uncomfortable, I’ll cut all ties. Just say the word.”

I studied him, wondering what game he was playing. His devotion to Oriana had been obvious to anyone with eyes.

Now that she was back, why chase me across an ocean instead of embracing his happy ending?

Interpreting my silence as hesitation, he pulled out a Cartier red leather box and dropped to one knee.

“Let me spend forever making it up to you,” he breathed, his voice taking on that honeyed tone that had once convinced me of anything.

“Marry me. From now on, there will only be room for you in my life.”

The rare pink diamond in the box sparkled – a scene I’d dreamed of countless times. Thank God he’d never given it before.

I reached out slowly, watching hope bloom in his eyes before I snapped the box shut with a decisive click.

felt. “I fell for you because I thought you were honorable and exceptional. Instead, I found a skilled liar who

and felt no remorse. Why would I entrust

someone like that?”

his face, but no defense came

I continued, watching the words hit him like physical blows. “To someone who doesn’t need

Chapter 8

up, eyes wide with disbelief.

him deeply. He’s not only handsome but genuinely kind, engaging, and most importantly- a man

contact

he lunged forward, fingers circling my wrists with desperate strength. His knees hit the gravel,

“Aveline, please…”

“I was a fool. I thought Oriana was my unfinished story, but losing you…”

have been absolute hell,” his voice trembled with desperation. “I couldn’t eat or sleep. Christ, I was so desperate I

eyes, usually sharp with calculated charm, were red–rimmed and wild. “Seven years together. All those mornings waking up to your smile,

seven years, who were you really seeing? When you held me at night,

his grip, disgust rising

suits, the Hermès scarves, the Cartier jewels–none. of

transform

looking like her naturally. He’d just methodically molded me

be steadied by strong hands. Alexander’s

catching a whiff of his signature cologne.

softened as he looked at me. “Long enough to witness