"Where the hell is he," Miranda said, turning her head sharply from one direction to the other.
Her voice was edged with growing frustration, her eyes scanning the crowd with increasing irritation.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her polished nails tapping impatiently against her elbow.
Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she shifted her weight restlessly, trying to maintain her poise.
But the tension in her jaw and the forced upturn of her lips betrayed her rising anger.
"Hmm I’m tired just because he is handso and wealthy what does he take himself for to stand waiting for so long,"
she muttered under her breath, pretending to smile at the passing guests while her thoughts fud.
It had already been thirty minutes since her arrival, yet Roman didn’t show up.
Miranda was forcing her smile with all her might, trying to appear composed in front of the elegantly dressed crowd.
But inside, she was boiling. Her clenched fists and the occasional twitch in her cheek revealed how pissed off she truly was.
On the other hand, Grandma had started getting nervous over what was happening.
Her fingers trembled as she clutched her silk shawl, her eyes darting toward the entrance every few seconds.
She could feel the stares, the whispers — the rising hum of speculation circling her like a storm.
People had already started whispering among themselves.
The words "Where is the groom?" floated in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating.
Guests exchanged curious, concerned, and even amused glances.
A few were already pulling out their phones, undoubtedly ready to gossip.
Grandma couldn’t take it anymore.
Her heart raced, and she quickly excused herself with a polite but anxious smile before leaving the room in search of her grandson.
Her steps were brisk, her face tight with worry.
She wasn’t sure what she feared more — that sothing bad had happened or that Roman had simply chosen to disappear.
"Knock, knock," Lisa called out as she rapped on Roman’s door, her voice laced with urgency.
But there was no answer. The silence behind the door only heightened her panic.
That was all she needed to feel like she was standing on a hot pan.
Her nerves ignited, and without hesitation, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, her eyes darting around the room.
"Oh my!!" Lisa gasped, her voice filled with disbelief.
There, sitting calmly on the couch, was Roman — legs crossed, laptop open, and an earphone in, speaking fluently into a business call as if today wasn’t his engagent day.
His expression was cool, detached, entirely focused on the numbers and reports on his screen.
"Roman," she called loudly, her voice echoing in the quiet room.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him — already dressed impeccably in his suit, hair styled perfectly, looking every bit the groom except for the utter lack of urgency in his deanor.
Roman turned his head slowly toward her, removing his earphone with a calmness that only irritated her more.
His expression barely shifted, but there was a faint shadow of annoyance in his gaze.
"Grandma I’m on a call," Roman said, looking at her with a perceived expression, clearly unbothered by the chaos unfolding outside the door.
Roman sat calm and collected, the soft glow from his laptop illuminating his chiseled face.
His posture was relaxed, almost too relaxed for soone with an entire ballroom waiting downstairs.
He tapped sothing on his screen with the efficiency of a man completely imrsed in work.
Lisa stood frozen in the doorway, her heart hamring in her chest.
She blinked several tis, trying to register what she was seeing.
"What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be downstairs by now?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
Her voice was a mix of urgency and sheer confusion.
Roman didn’t even flinch. He looked at her, unfazed. "For what?"
Lisa’s eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. For a mont, she couldn’t speak.
"..."
Hehehe!!
He had completely forgotten about the engagent. The guests, the ceremony, the bride — all erased from his mind in the face of a business call.
"What do you an you’ve forgotten about your engagent? This your engagent day — oh my!!"
Lisa finally burst out, her voice pitching in shock as her arms flailed slightly.
Roman paused, as though the words had finally registered.
He grimaced subtly and closed his eyes, not out of guilt or remorse — but with the cool detachnt of soone who rembered sothing he wished he hadn’t.
’The so-called engagent,’ he thought coldly, a bitter trace behind his closed eyelids.
With zero urgency, he slid the earbud back into his ear and said into the mic, "Mr. Ran, please let’s talk later. Sothing urgent ca up."
He disconnected the call and closed the laptop without missing a beat.
Grandma, who had silently entered and stood by the wall, stared at him in horror. Her mouth fell open.
Was he seriously going to finish that call first? But before she could say anything, Roman had already stood up.
He rose with slow, deliberate elegance.
His tall fra moved with fluid confidence, and his tailored suit hugged him perfectly, every thread exuding class and power.
There was no rush in his steps — only purpose.
He descended the staircase with commanding grace.
His shoulders straight, jaw set, stride firm.
The murmuring crowd below began to quiet. All eyes turned to him — a storm entering a silent room.
Won turned their heads, breath catching at the sight of him.
n stood straighter, smiling stiffly, masking their envy.
Roman moved like a king — untouchable, enigmatic.
An aura of mystery surrounded him, pulling attention like gravity.
When he reached the emcee, he didn’t speak — he simply held out a hand.
Without a word, the mic was given.
Everyone expected an apology. Maybe a charming excuse to smooth things over.
But instead, they heard two sentences that shattered the air like glass.
"Thank you for coming and attending the engagent party, but I’m sorry — you are going to finish the party alone ’cause I will pass," he said simply.
Then — click.
He turned off the mic and let it drop.
The thud echoed like a slap.
Gasps rippled through the hall. Guests stood frozen, mouths agape.
So blinked as if trying to wake from a dream. Others stared at him in awe or confusion.
Miranda, still standing on the stage, turned crimson — not from blush but sha.
Her body stiffened, and her hands curled into tight fists.
Roman didn’t look back.
He walked out with that sa unshaken pride, his long legs swiftly carrying him through the marble hallway and out of the mansion.
The sound of the engine starting and fading into the night was the final punctuation to his exit.
But in the midst of shocked faces, one glowed with quiet delight.
A young woman near the back, her smile barely restrained, whispered under her breath, "That’s what she deserved."
It was Emma, daughter of Anita — the very woman who had introduced Miranda into their lives.
Emma’s eyes sparkled with suppressed excitent, her heart racing in her chest.
She had been in love with Roman for years — ever since her teenage days.
But when she confessed to her mother, she was told she was too young, and her feelings were brushed aside.
She never brought it up again... until the day her mother asked her to accompany her sowhere.
That "sowhere" was the mont she t Miranda — introduced as the woman Anita planned to matchmake with Roman.
Emma had said nothing then.
But now?
Now, watching Miranda publicly humiliated and Roman walking away untouched?
It was poetic justice.
"Hmm, that good, Mom. You see what happened now," she whispered to Anita with a mischievous grin.
"Shut up," Anita snapped, her eyes flashing as she glared at her daughter like daggers. Her face burned with embarrassnt and anger.
Emma took a step back quietly, but her smile didn’t fade. In fact, it grew a shade wider. A warm, dangerous smile.
"Let’s see how it will unfold."
Back at the stage, Miranda stood trembling. Her face a deep crimson, her breath shaky.
She watched Roman’s back retreat into the distance until he disappeared entirely.
Then — panic.
Her parents rushed to her side, their expressions filled with fury and disbelief.
"My daughter!" her mother cried, rushing to hold her, while her father stood stiffly behind, fuming.
Her mother’s voice grew sharp. "Can you explain what happened right now?" she demanded, turning to face Lisa, who stood nearby, still frozen in shock.
Lisa blinked rapidly, her mouth slightly open. "Excuse ?"
"I said," Miranda’s mother repeated louder, the pitch of her voice cutting across the hall, "Can you explain what your child said earlier?! This is clearly a humiliation to our daughter!" Her voice bood, loud enough that half the hall turned to look at her.
Before Lisa could even respond, a young man stepped forward.
Azazel. Roman’s younger cousin.
He walked with quiet strength, placing himself firmly beside his grandmother.
His expression was unreadable, but his stance said everything.
"Why not demand an explanation from the person who did the talking?" he said coolly, defending Lisa without hesitation.
The crowd murmured again, eyes flicking between Lisa, Miranda’s fuming mother, and Azazel’s poised fra.
This story wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
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