Anastasia Montreal had it all. As the youngest daughter of two influential families, she lived a life of luxury and privilege. But one fateful night changed everything, leaving her known as the fallen pianist prodigy. Despite the setback, she found hope in her life after marrying the man of her dreams—the renowned billionaire Regan Del Valle. The man she thought would love and support her unconditionally. She was a devoted and faithful wife, but few knew she was an unwanted wife. … She loved him. He loved another. She gave everything. He gave nothing. She begged to stay. He begged to be free. She wanted him. He never wanted her.
View MoreI wiped my tears away with trembling hands and looked at him. Regan’s jaw was clenched, his face grim and unreadable. Yet, there was something in his eyes—an unspoken emotion that made my heart ache even more. He walked over to me, each step heavy with hesitation, and reached out a hand. His fingers brushed against the red mark on my cheek with a gentleness that belied the chaos around us.My eyes met his, brimming with tears and pain.“Anastasia,” he began, his voice raw and full of regret. “I’m so—”But he couldn’t finish. A voice cut through us like a knife, sharp and demanding.“Regan!”We both turned, startled, to see Zarina standing in the hallway, her arms crossed and her expression cold. Her voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation.“I need to talk to you. Now.”Regan hesitated, his gaze flickering back to me. His hand dropped to his side, leaving the warmth of his touch lingering on my skin.“Zarina, not now,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an edge of irritation.“
A flicker of movement on the edge of the stage caught my eye. The band members exchanged confused glances. Then, a familiar face emerged from the shadows – the old man from my music school, his kind eyes crinkled in a smile that held a lifetime of understanding. It was a small gesture, but it was enough.Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. Taking a deep breath, I raised my trembling hands and hovered them over the cool ivory keys. The music book in front of me lay open, displaying the familiar score of "Moonlight Sonata."In that moment, guided by the raw ache in my heart, I began to play. The first notes were hesitant. But as I poured my emotions into the music, the pain of loving Regan, the bitter sting of betrayal, a transformation began to take place. The gasps of surprise from the audience, the almost imperceptible click of hundreds of cameras capturing the moment – all faded into the background.Tears streamed down my cheeks; each note a raw expression of the pain I
My gaze darted towards the doorway, a desperate hope that Regan might somehow show up and intervene. And then, as if on cue, the doors swung open, revealing both Regan and Zarina stepping through the threshold. They entered side-by-side, their expressions unreadable. Regan's eyes met mine, surprise replaced by worry crossing his features.The world seemed to tilt on its axis. My breath hitched in my throat, a strangled gasp that escaped my lips before I could stifle it. Pain, raw and searing, ripped through my chest. My mind was a chaotic mess. Hurt mingled with anger.Before I could even contemplate a response, the emcee called my name again, his voice booming through the silent hall. "Miss Anastasia?"A hand, cool and firm, materialized on my arm. I looked down to see my stepmother, her face plastered with a wide, predatory smile. The smile didn't reach her eyes, though, and the grip on my arm was like a vice, her perfectly manicured nails digging into my flesh. I knew ex
I looked away, trying to focus on another guest who had come to speak with us. The woman, a socialite named Mrs. Harrison, was animatedly discussing their latest charity event."Anastasia, you simply must join us next month. It’s for a wonderful cause. We’re raising funds for children’s hospitals.""That sounds lovely. I’ll see if I can make it."Meanwhile, Regan seemed distracted, his eyes constantly darting around the room. He barely acknowledged Mrs. Harrison’s husband, who was talking about his new business venture."...and that’s why we’re investing heavily in renewable energy," Mr. Harrison was saying. "It’s the future, don’t you agree, Regan?"Regan snapped back to attention. "Yes, absolutely," He glanced at me, then back at the door.Mrs. Harrison looked at Regan with concern. "You seem a bit preoccupied, Mr. Del Valle. Is everything all right?"Regan cleared his throat, his face flushing slightly. "I apologize, Mrs. Harrison. Just a lot on my mind at the moment. Excuse me fo
Our family scattered like well-rehearsed performers, each drawn into conversations with different groups of guests. Regan and I found ourselves in the center of the room, surrounded by a cluster of people who seemed more interested in gushing praise than having a genuine conversation. I forced smiles, answering their questions with as much grace as I could muster."You look absolutely stunning tonight, Anastasia," a woman with elaborately styled copper hair and a dress dripping with diamonds fawned over me. "And so radiant together! A Montreal and a Del Valle, a match made in business heaven, some might say.""Thank you," I replied, my smile strained but practiced. The woman, whose name I couldn't recall, continued to chatter, but my attention had drifted. Dread dropped on my stomach as I spotted a familiar blonde head making its way through the crowd.Zarina, her blonde hair cascading down her back like a waterfall, approached our group, a smug smile plastered on her face. Beside h
Anastasia's POVThe grand estate loomed before me; a vision of opulence bathed in the warm glow of a thousand twinkling lights. Lush gardens, meticulously manicured, flanked the sprawling mansion, and I could see guests and prominent conglomerate families making their way inside, their laughter and chatter filling the air.The driver, sent by my grandfather, pulled the car around to a discreet entrance at the back. As I stepped out, a woman in a crisp uniform materialized at my side. Her smile was polite, her hair was pulled back in a tight bun."Miss Anastasia," she greeted, her voice smooth as silk, "please follow me."I was a vision in red – a long, flowing halterneck gown that hugged my curves perfectly, red stilettos that clicked softly against the polished marble floor, and even my lips and nails matched the fiery shade. But despite the glamorous facade, I felt anything but. Nausea churned in my stomach, and a cold sweat slicked my palms. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to
Regan’s POVI woke up slumped over my desk, the dull throb of a headache pounding against my skull. The empty bottles scattered across the table painted a picture I didn’t need to see. The bitter taste of last night’s whiskey lingered in my mouth as I rubbed my temples, trying to clear the fog clouding my thoughts. It was no use. The memory of that night clawed its way to the surface. Her face came rushing back, vivid and haunting. Anastasia—her head turned slightly to the side, crimson streaking down from her temple. Her eyes, wide with pain and disbelief, bore into me like accusations.And me—like a goddamned fool—standing there frozen, saying nothing.A groan escaped my lips as I pushed myself upright. Every muscle in my body protested the movement, stiff from a night of brooding and drowning in liquor. My head spun as I glanced at the clock on the wall. Three days. It had been three days since Anastasia walked out of that party. Three days since I last saw her.I never reached h
I sat on the balcony, staring out into the blank space. My head throbbed where the doctor had treated me. Sheila had left a while ago, saying she'd be back soon. There was food on the table, but I wasn't hungry at all. All I could see in my mind was Regan's face, twisted with worry, as he looked at that other woman, Zarina. It was like a broken record, replaying over and over.Suddenly, I heard the door open. I thought it was Sheila, but then my stepmother's voice echoed instead. She stood in the doorway. She wore a tailored navy-blue dress that hugged her figure perfectly, with a matching jacket draped over her shoulders. Her hair was styled in a chignon, not a strand out of place. Her makeup was flawless, highlighting her sharp features, and her eyes were cold, and calculating.I turned to face her, my voice flat. "What are you doing here?"She walked closer, her high heels clicking on the floor. "I called Ella, you know after your old maid Susan told me you went to a party. But Ell
“ANASTASIA!” I heard Sheila’s voice, but it was as if everything around me had slowed down.I felt my body slip, and then there was a sharp, terrifying impact. The side of the pool slammed into my head, sending a pulse of searing pain through my skull. Everything around me spun—twisting, distorting, until I could no longer make sense of the world.Someone grabbed me, pulling me out of the water. The dizziness started to subside, but the ache in my head remained, throbbing relentlessly. As my vision cleared, I saw Alan beside me, his face tight with concern. Sheila was already in the pool, frantically swimming toward me.Everyone else stood frozen, eyes fixed on the scene, their expressions a mixture of shock and confusion."Fuck," Alan muttered under his breath. His voice was tense, and I could hear the faintest edge of panic in it. “You okay?”I wanted to tell him I was fine, but all I could focus on was the sharpness of the pain in my head. I couldn’t think straight. I glanced up, a
A mountain of presents, wrapped in shiny paper and tied with extravagant bows, threatened to topple over on the far side of the room. On the mahogany table, a sea of cards gleamed under the soft light. I picked one up, its edges embossed with a delicate silver pattern. The familiar, pointed handwriting of Vivienne, one of Regan's business associates' wives made me almost sigh in dismay."Dearest Anastasia," the card gushed, the words shimmering with fake sincerity. "Happy Birthday! Wishing you all the joy and fortune you deserve. Perhaps we can schedule that charity luncheon we discussed? Regan mentioned such a wonderful idea..." The card fluttered from my grasp, landing face down on the floor. Charity. Luncheon. Always something they wanted. “As expected,” I muttered.The silence swallows the room, the only sound is the relentless ticking of the clock. My fingertips painted a crimson danced a nervous rhythm around the stem of my wine glass. The heavy damask drapes, a deep sha...
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