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.

I thought you were honorable and exceptional. Instead, I

and felt no remorse. Why would

like that?”

from his face, but no defense came to his lips.

hit him like physical blows. “To someone who doesn’t need seven years to decide if I’m worth

Chapter 8

up, eyes wide with

only

don’t contact me

ground, petals scattering like snow as he lunged forward, fingers circling my wrists with desperate strength. His knees hit the gravel, designer pants

“Aveline, please…”

was a fool. I thought

couldn’t eat or sleep. Christ, I was so desperate I found

together. All those mornings waking up to your smile,

honestly, Castro. During those seven years, who were you really

his grip, disgust rising like

– the Chanel suits, the Hermès

piece was carefully selected to transform me into Oriana’s mirror

naturally. He’d just methodically molded me into her image,

I stumbled backward, only to be steadied by strong hands. Alexander’s presence wrapped around me like a protective shield, his aristocratic

long?” I whispered, catching a

at me. “Long enough to witness this