Refusing To Be His Perfect Replica I Choose The Arranged Marriage

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. "Castro," my voice came out steadier than I felt. "I fell for you because I thought you were honorable and exceptional. Instead, I found a skilled liar who wears masks like second skin."

"You used your best friend's sister as a placeholder, and felt no remorse. Why would I entrust my future to someone like that?"

The color drained from his face, but no defense came to his lips.

"I'm engaged," I continued, watching the words hit him like physical blows. "To someone who doesn't need seven years to decide if I'm worth acknowledging in public."

Chapter 8

His head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Though we've known each other briefly, I respect him deeply. He's not only handsome but genuinely kind, engaging, and most importantly- a man of integrity."

"Please don't contact me again."

"No." The roses hit the ground, petals scattering like snow as he lunged forward, fingers circling my wrists with desperate strength. His knees hit the gravel, designer pants be damned.

"Aveline, please..."

"Aveline," Castro's voice cracked, his perfectly maintained facade crumbling. "I was a fool. I thought Oriana was my unfinished story, but losing you..."

"These past days have been absolute hell," his voice trembled with desperation. "I couldn't eat or sleep. Christ, I was so desperate I found myself calling William at three in the morning just to find out if you were safe.

His eyes, usually sharp with calculated charm, were red-rimmed and wild. "Seven years together. All those mornings waking up to your smile, all those nights falling asleep to your heartbeat. How can you just erase that?"

I laughed bitterly. "Tell me honestly, Castro. During those seven years, who were you really seeing? When you held me at night, who were you imagining?"

I struggled against his grip, disgust rising like bile.

The revelation had hit me while packing - the Chanel suits, the Hermès scarves, the Cartier jewels-none. of them had been chosen for me.

Each piece was carefully selected to transform me into Oriana's mirror image.

So much for looking like her naturally. He'd just methodically molded me into her image, piece by piece. Breaking free with a final twist, I stumbled backward, only to be steadied by strong hands. Alexander's presence wrapped around me like a protective shield, his aristocratic features set in glacial disdain. "Been here long?" I whispered, catching a whiff of his signature cologne.

His features softened as he looked at me. "Long enough to witness this romantic comedy unfold." "So you saw...

Chapter 8

"Every Oscar-worthy moment."

Castro lurched to his feet, his pristine suit now a mess of grass stains and desperation. "Who the hell is this?"

With deliberate slowness, Alexander's hand slid to my waist, his touch both possessive and protective. "Her fiancé," he declared, his cultured accent cutting through the tension like a fine blade.

"What the hell? Take your hands off her!" Castro's voice cracked. "Aveline, he's full of shit, right? You just some elaborate revenge plot to get back at me? Tell me that's all this is!"

"Well, well... the narcissism is astronomical," William's voice rang out, making Castro visibly flinch.

My brother emerged from the morning shadows, idly swinging his vintage cricket bat.

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Chapter 9

Chapter 9