Page 70 of Falling for the Wrong Billionaire
I’ve been drowning in this for days, and yet the deeper I go, the more I’m suffocating. The party. The dress. The vows. It’s all supposed to be this beautiful thing — the culmination of everything my father has worked for, everything I’m supposed to want. But I don’t.
I don’t want any of it.
I can’t even remember when the last time was I felt like I had a say in any of this. The planning, the pressure, it’s all part of a life I never asked for.
The letter I wrote to Liam sits in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of what I’m losing. Every word in that letter feels like a betrayal, every sentence a reflection of everything I’m too scared to say.
I glance out the window of the meeting room, watching the sun begin to dip below the skyline, the sky a beautiful shade of pink and orange. I try to remember the last time I felt like I could breathe, but it’s hard. It feels like everything I’ve ever known has been turned upside down in the span of a few weeks.
The event planner pauses, looking at me expectantly, waiting for my input. I glance back at her, blinking a few times before forcing myself to respond. “Yes, that sounds good,” I say, my voice flat, too tired to even muster a smile.
She doesn’t seem to notice. She continues talking, too caught up in the details to realize I’m not really there.
A moment later, I excuse myself. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve had enough for today,” I say quickly, my voice too quiet for comfort.
She protests immediately, asking if I’m sure, if there’s anything she can do to make the process easier.
But I don’t need anything else. I need to be away from this — from everything that reminds me of the life I’m supposed to lead.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her, my voice a little more firm this time.
She nods reluctantly, and I stand, grabbing my purse from the table. The heavy thud of my shoes against the hardwood floor echoes in the silence as I leave the room.
As I step into the hallway, I feel a wave of relief wash over me, like I can finally take a breath. It’s fleeting, though, because the weight of the situation is always there, pressing down on me.
I walk through the halls, past my father’s office. I can hear him on the phone, his voice low and commanding as he talks about the upcoming event. The sound of his voice is familiar, but it doesn’t comfort me anymore.
I step outside into the cool evening air, the silence a welcome contrast to the chaos inside. The sun has dipped below the horizon now, leaving a dark, starry sky in its wake.
I pull out my phone, staring at the message I haven’t sent. It’s a draft of a letter to Liam, a letter I’ve been writing for days now. Every word is a reflection of what’s been eating me alive — the guilt, the love, the confusion. I can’t bring myself to send it, though.
I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the send button, my heart racing in my chest. The words feel like a lifeline, but they’re also a trap. They’re the words that will end everything, the words that will confirm to him that I’m not the person he thought I was.
I want to tell him I love him.
I want to tell him that everything that’s been happening feels wrong, that I want to be with him. I want to tell him that I hate this life — this arranged marriage, this fake engagement that’s been set up for me.
But I can’t.
I can’t because I know what will happen if I do.
My father will disown me. The family business will crumble. The people I’ve known my whole life will turn their backs on me.
And I’ll never forgive myself for that.
So here I sit, staring at the screen for what feels like hours, unable to make a decision. My heart is torn, my mind a storm of conflicting thoughts.
I close my eyes, letting out a long breath.
I don’t know what to do anymore.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending.
I wish I could tell him the truth. I wish I could tell him I’m not who I’ve been pretending to be.
But what does that change? I’m still trapped, and he’s still hurt.
The sound of my phone buzzing in my hand pulls me from my thoughts. It’s another message from my father, asking about the arrangements. My stomach tightens. I have to go back.
