Veronica Donovan had two loyal dogs. One was a purebred Alaskan Malamute. The other was me. But I was the one who had clawed his way into her bed. The day before our wedding, she crashed her car racing to the side of her old flame, Julian, and ended up in the hospital. I rushed over, my heart hammering against my ribs, but when I looked at her, lying pristine in the hospital gown, a cold dread washed over me. The scar—the thin, silvery line I expected to see tracing a path over her heart—wasn't there. My face went pale. "Where is it? The scar from her heart surgery?" Her mother, a woman who wore her condescension like expensive perfume, recoiled. "Don't you dare curse my daughter! What sort of sick thing is that to say? She's never had such a ghastly operation!" In that instant, the world tilted on its axis. Three years. For three years, I had been worshiping at the wrong altar. The day she was discharged, Veronica, with Julian hovering protectively by her side, broke off our engagement. Everyone in her circle smirked, waiting for the explosion, waiting for me to unravel. Instead, I looked at her and said, calmly, "Alright." They didn't understand. They couldn't possibly know that I had never loved her. The woman I loved died years ago. 1. The single word, "Alright," wiped the smugness from Veronica's face. Her expression darkened. "I know you're desperate to marry me, Caleb," she said, her voice dripping with condescending pity. "And it's not entirely off the table. Just sign over the lead on the gallery project to Julian's name, and I might still consider walking down the aisle." I just stared at her, the woman I had spent three years convincing myself was a vessel for a ghost. "That won't be necessary," I said, my voice steady. "Just answer one question, and I'll do it for you. No strings attached." The storm clouds on Veronica's face parted, replaced by a mocking smile. "What do you want to ask? If I ever loved you? Caleb, don't be so childish." Her love was irrelevant. It had always been irrelevant. I had only ever loved one person. Elara. She died saving me, thrown from the wreck of a car that should have taken us both. Her last act, a gift arranged by her parents, was to donate her heart. That selfless gift led me to Veronica. I went from Caleb Vance, heir to a fortune everyone envied, to Veronica Donovan's personal doormat, a man pitied and despised in equal measure. But for me, to hear Elara's heartbeat again... I would have walked through fire. I did. "That's not the question." This was the final confirmation, the closing of a painful chapter. I held her gaze. "Veronica, I need to know. Have you ever had a heart transplant?" She frowned. "A what?" "My heart is perfectly fine," she scoffed. "Why would I ever have a morbid surgery like that?" Of course. It was my mistake all along. The hope that had been a flickering candle inside me for three years was finally extinguished. Disappointment washed over me, so profound it was almost a relief. I lowered my eyes. "I agree to end the engagement. I'll also withdraw my bid for the gallery project. The contract is Julian's." I looked up, meeting her confused stare. "And I hope you'll both be very happy." A stunned silence fell over the room. Not just Veronica, but her sycophantic friends looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. Then, the dam of their disbelief broke, and a flood of ridicule washed over me. "Jesus, I can't believe it," one of them snickered. "The great Caleb Vance is so pathetic. He'll give up anything just for a chance to win Veronica back!" "Honestly, the man has no backbone," another added, laughing. "She tells him to call off the wedding, he obeys. She wants his biggest project, he hands it over on a platter. All that pathetic devotion, and for what? Her heart has always belonged to Julian." "That's enough," Veronica said, cutting them off for the first time I could remember. She never interrupted when I was the butt of the joke. She stared at me, her brow furrowed. "Caleb, have you no pride? No self-respect at all?" she demanded. "I say jump, you ask how high. I call off our wedding, and you don't even put up a fight?" I offered a small, bitter smile. "What's the point of fighting for the wrong person?" My desolate tone seemed to prickle her. Her eyes widened, a strange emotion flickering in their depths. She reached out, grabbing my arm. "Caleb, you—" "Veronica," Julian interjected smoothly, ever the calm observer. His voice was laced with false sympathy. "Perhaps we should step outside and give you and your... fiancé... a moment to talk." "He is not my fiancé!" she snapped, and in her haste to prove her point, she shoved me away. I stumbled backward, losing my balance. The small of my back slammed into a side table. A glass of water tipped, teetering for a second before crashing to the floor, shattering into a thousand tiny daggers. A shard skittered across the tile and sliced Julian’s ankle. He hissed in pain. Before he could even speak, Veronica's entire demeanor shifted. She dropped to her knees beside him, her voice frantic with concern. "Julian, are you okay? Let's get a doctor." She helped him up as if he were made of porcelain. Meanwhile, a sharp, throbbing pain radiated from my lower back, leaving me momentarily breathless. As Veronica fussed over Julian, one of her friends, eager to curry favor, picked up a basin of murky water used for cleaning paint brushes from a nearby stand. With a sneer, he flung its contents in my face. "Don't think that just because you're handing over a project, you can act high and mighty in front of Julian!" he spat. "In our eyes, in Veronica's heart, you're nothing but a dog!" "Look how she panics over a tiny scratch on Julian," another jeered. "Have you ever gotten that treatment after all these years of licking her boots? Do yourself a favor and crawl away before you humiliate yourself any further." The room erupted in laughter, a chorus of mockery aimed at me. I wiped the grimy water from my face, my voice utterly devoid of emotion. "I won't be bothering them. Because, as it turns out, I was never in love with Veronica." The single sentence hung in the air, instantly silencing the room. Before they could muster a response, the door swung open and Veronica walked back in. Her eyes took in the scene—the shattered glass, my soaked clothes—and her brow knitted in annoyance. "What are you all doing?" No one expected her to return, and they certainly didn't expect the flash of anger in her eyes to be, for once, on my behalf. A nervous silence followed, until someone finally mumbled, "We were just messing with him, Veronica..." "This is how you mess with someone?" Her voice was cold. "He may be a dog, but he's my dog. No one else gets to kick him." She glared at the group. "Whoever threw that water, slap yourselves. Now. Don't make me do it." This time, it was my turn to be surprised. Veronica, showing a shred of humanity? Defending me? Amid the surreal sound of reluctant, popping slaps, she strode over, wrapped her own cashmere scarf around my damp shoulders, and led me out of the room. I followed, completely bewildered. Once in the hallway, her phone rang. It was Julian. "Veronica, where did you go?" His voice, low and intimate even through the speaker, made my stomach clench. "I feel a little anxious here all by myself... Can you come back and stay with me?" She hesitated, her gaze flicking to me. "Caleb," she said, her tone softening, "can you get to the infirmary on your own?" I looked down at my drenched shirt, at the raw scrape on my palm from breaking my fall. Then I looked at her, at the conflict in her eyes. I almost laughed. "Of course." The two words were like a pardon. Relief washed over her face. "Good. Then you can just head home after." I nodded. "Alright." I didn't go to the infirmary. I went home. The first thing I did was call the private investigator I’d hired three years ago. "Mr. Vance, I am so terribly sorry," he said, his voice thick with apology. "We made a mistake in the initial report. On the day of the accident, it wasn't just Veronica Donovan who was brought in. Her best friend, Claire Sterling, was in a separate accident on the same day..." He continued, "The Sterling family moved to New York right after her heart surgery. They haven't been back in years." I stood there, phone pressed to my ear, a long silence stretching between us. Finally, I found my voice. "I see. Find her exact location for me." "And once you do," I added, a spark of life igniting within me for the first time in years, "book me the next flight out. I need to see her." 2. I'd always had a fragile constitution. The day's turmoil—the emotional whiplash, the fall, the dousing—sent my body into rebellion. I collapsed into bed and fell into a feverish state. I don't know how long I was unconscious, but through the hazy fog of sickness, I felt a cool, gentle hand on my forehead. It felt just like Elara's. Whenever I was sick, she would stay by my side all night, her presence a comforting balm, coaxing me to take my medicine, her voice a soft lullaby. The memory was so vivid, so painful, that a tear escaped my eye and traced a path down my temple. I reached out, my fingers closing around that hand, and whispered her name, a desperate prayer. "Elara..." A sharp pain shot up my arm as my wrist was squeezed, hard. My eyes flew open. I was staring into the furious face of Veronica Donovan. "Who," she hissed, "is Elara?" The disappointment was a bitter pill. I let my gaze fall away. "An old friend," I lied. "I was dreaming about when we were kids." Suspicion still clouded her eyes, but she chose to accept it. She knew nothing of my past, nothing of the real reason I had pursued her. All she saw were the years of my unwavering devotion, and in her mind, a man as pathetically loyal as me couldn't possibly have room in his heart for anyone else. "How did you get in?" I asked, my voice raspy. Her expression flickered. "You gave me the passcode to your place a while ago... I called you a dozen times, and when you didn't answer, I let myself in." She shifted her weight. "Tonight is the joint dinner with our families. I need you to..." "Don't worry," I cut her off. "I know what to do." I understood perfectly. This sudden, uncharacteristic display of concern was just a prelude. She needed me to play the part of the devoted fiancé for one more night, to put on a show for our parents. After years of chasing a ghost in her, I figured I owed her this one last performance. A final act of penance for my mistake. I forced my aching body out of bed and into a tailored suit. The crisp fabric and knotted tie did little to hide my pallor, but I looked presentable. Veronica had already gone downstairs to wait in her car. When I opened the passenger door, a cloying mix of her perfume and an unfamiliar, masculine cologne assaulted my senses. It was sickening. Julian was sitting in the front seat. He turned and gave me a triumphant smile. "Veronica felt that on such an important occasion, she should bring along someone she truly cares about," he said, his words dripping with insinuation. "You don't mind, do you, Mr. Vance?" "I thought this was a dinner for our two families," I said, my voice flat. Veronica glanced at me in the rearview mirror, a hint of guilt in her eyes. "There will be a lot of people there," she said defensively. "Julian just returned to the country. It’s a good chance for him to network. Besides..." she hesitated. "My parents adore you. Maybe you could put in a good word for him." I looked at the two of them in the front, so cozy, so obviously a pair. The absurdity of it all was almost comical. Her fiancé, tasked with singing the praises of her lover at their own family gathering. Only Veronica could be so brazen. And it was just one more piece of proof that she could never have been the one. "Fine," I said. When we arrived, it was clear this wasn't an intimate family dinner. The Donovans had used my family's name to throw a lavish business soiree. For years, they had leveraged their connection to Vance Industries, raking in profits and climbing the social ladder. My role tonight was simple: to be the mascot, the living guarantee that no matter what deals the Donovans made, the Vance fortune would be there to back them up. Amid the drone of conversation, Julian approached me, a smug look in his eyes. "You look bored sitting over here all by yourself, Caleb. Why don't you join us for a round of Truth or Dare?" Before I could refuse, his circle of friends had surrounded me, trapping me in their game. A beer bottle was spun. It pointed directly at me. Julian held out a deck of cards. "Pick one." I flipped it over. The question was simple. "Is the person you love most in this room?" A ripple of laughter went through the group. "Seriously? Do we even need to ask?" someone shouted, their eyes flicking toward Veronica, who stood nearby, watching. "Yeah, everyone in this city knows Caleb Vance is Veronica's biggest fanboy! Of course he loves her most!" They all thought the answer was obvious. A foregone conclusion. I slowly shook my head. "No," I said, my voice clear and steady in the sudden silence. "She's not here."
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "394219", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel