Chapter 2My Father Picked Me a Fiancée

Aria started rubbing my shoulders, the way she always did to calm me down. She let out a small, placating laugh.

"Honey, you're not actually jealous of someone with the mind of a child, are you? Look, we can go get the marriage license in a couple of days. As for the ceremony, we'll have a proper one once his condition stabilizes."

I pulled away from her touch, my disappointment a lead weight in my stomach. "What does his condition have to do with us?"

Her face was a mask of guilt. "His psychological problems started after I forced him to leave the country. When he heard about our engagement, he got drunk and had an accident. It took him over a year to recover to... this state."

She finally looked at me, her eyes filled with a terrible certainty. "It's my fault. I owe him this. I have to take responsibility for him."

This wasn't a discussion. It was a declaration. I knew Aria. That unshakeable resolve, once a quality I admired, now felt like a dagger in my heart.

That night, she smoothed things over with her family and posted on social media, confirming the wedding was postponed.

My father's call came soon after. His voice was tight with barely suppressed rage. "Ethan. Is this wedding not happening?"

I gripped the phone, forcing my voice to remain steady. "No. Not for now."

The story Aria heard—that I'd cut ties with my family—was just an exaggeration of my father's anger when I'd refused to have our main wedding ceremony in our hometown of Northwood.

I didn't sleep that night, lost in memories.

I remembered the day Aria found out I loved her back. She was so ecstatic she wanted to shout it from the rooftops. My father had initially disapproved of our relationship; he already had the perfect daughter-in-law in mind. But Aria never complained. She just worked tirelessly to prove herself worthy. Even though she thought I came from a modest background, she never once treated me with anything but respect.

"It must be me," she'd say. "I'm just not good enough to make your father happy yet."

Everyone knew Aria was determined to marry me. The wild, rebellious girl I first met had slowly transformed into a poised and capable woman. It was only after she achieved incredible success at her company that my father finally gave her his blessing. On the day we got engaged, she cried with joy.

"I promise, sir," she told him, "I will never, ever let Ethan down."

And she hadn't. She was fiercely loyal, shutting down any hint of flirtation from others, always putting me first.

But the moment Caleb Chrest came back, she broke her promise.

...

The next morning, Aria emerged from Caleb's room, dark circles under her eyes. Seeing my stunned expression, she explained awkwardly, "He gets anxious. He needs someone to soothe him to sleep."

I walked past her, heading for the closet to put away the tuxedo I'd had meticulously prepared for our wedding.

But the display stand was empty.

A terrible premonition coiled in my stomach.

Laughter echoed from downstairs. I found Caleb there, wearing my tuxedo, gleefully painting on the walls with his hands. The jacket was covered in childish graffiti. The pant legs had been crudely hacked short. It was slathered in so many colors of paint it was unrecognizable.

A roaring sound filled my ears.

That suit was more than just fabric and thread. My mother, before she passed, had designed it for me, pouring over draft after draft. It wasn't just a memento; it was a mother's love and blessings for her son, woven into every stitch.

Now, it was ruined. Defiled.

He twirled in front of me, his eyes holding a clear, defiant challenge. For a split second, there was no trace of the simpleton, only sharp, calculating intelligence. I saw it all in that instant.

"Hey, bad guy," he chirped, his voice mocking. "What do you think of my new clothes? Aren't all the colors pretty?"

My fists clenched, rage, hot and blinding, shot through me.

"Take it off."

He ignored me, dipping his fingers back into the paint. "Why should I? I don't want to! Aria said this is my home now when we were sleeping last night. She said everything here can be mine."

I grabbed him by the collar and slapped him, hard, across the face. Twice.

"Aria! Help me!" he shrieked, bursting into tears.

"I said," I snarled, my voice low and dangerous, "take it off!"

He thrashed and clawed at my hands, but I didn't let go. I raised my hand to strike him again, but Aria caught my wrist. Caleb scrambled into her arms like a frightened animal, sobbing that I was trying to kill him.

Aria looked at me with a cold, guarded expression. "It's just a suit, Ethan! Why are you going crazy and hitting him?"

I was shaking with fury. "He's faking it!"

She didn't believe me. Her eyes followed my gaze to the ruined tuxedo on Caleb's body, and her breath hitched.