Martin was still standing at the window when his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
Victor Kane.
He answered imdiately.
"Tell you have sothing."
Victor’s voice ca through tight and careful, the tone of a man who hated delivering bad news.
"I tried every angle, boss. I pulled every favor. I even floated the idea of a health scare or a sudden business ergency to delay the party. Nothing sticks. Your father and Victor Thorne have locked this down tight. The board is already excited. The press has been tipped off. The venue, the caterers, the photographers—everything is in motion. If you pull out now, it won’t just be ssy. It’ll look like you’re sabotaging the biggest rger in Voss Éclat history."
Martin’s free hand clenched into a fist at his side.
"So what are you saying?"
Victor exhaled.
"I couldn’t co up with a plan to stop the engagent. You have to show up on Saturday. Pitch up. Smile. Stand beside her. Let them take it from there. At least for the night. Buy yourself ti after the party to handle the rest quietly."
Martin laughed—short, bitter, hollow.
"Buy myself ti? The whole company just applauded for getting engaged. "
"The whole family is looking up to you," Victor said quietly. "Your father made that very clear. Elena, the board, the employees who depend on the rger for their bonuses and jobs... they’re all watching. If you blow this up publicly on Saturday, it won’t just be you who pays. It’ll be everyone."
Martin closed his eyes.
The silence in the office felt suffocating.
Victor continued, voice lower.
"I’m not saying give up. I’m saying survive Saturday. Then we can start dismantling from the inside. Quietly. Legally. Without torching the entire empire in one night."
Martin didn’t answer.
He just ended the call.
The phone felt heavy in his hand.
He set it on the desk.
Leaned both palms on the cool surface.
Two days.
Forty-eight hours until he was expected to stand in front of hundreds of people and seal a future he didn’t want.
The phone rang again.
This ti the na on the screen made his stomach drop.
Katherine Thorne.
He let it ring twice before he answered.
"Martin?" Her voice was bright, almost giddy. "Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you."
He kept his tone neutral.
"Katherine."
"We have to et tomorrow for the fitting of the engagent clothes. The tailor is coming to the estate at 2 p.m. You have to be there. Mother has already chosen the most beautiful suits for you—classic black with subtle gold threading. It’s going to look perfect in the photos."
Martin’s jaw tightened.
"Katherine—"
"And I expect a diamond ring," she continued, her tone turning playful but firm. "Sothing elegant but noticeable. I’ve been looking at designs. I sent you a few links earlier. Did you see them? I want it to feel special. This is our mont."
She was all happy.
Her voice bubbled with excitent, the kind of excitent a woman should have when she’s marrying the man she loves—not the man who is being forced into it.
Martin felt sick.
He rubbed his forehead.
"I’ll be there tomorrow."
"Really?" She sounded relieved. "Thank you. I know things have been... tense lately. But this is going to be beautiful, Martin. Our families together. The company thriving. Us finally starting our life. I can’t wait."
He didn’t reply.
Katherine filled the silence.
"I’ll see you at 2 p.m. sharp. Don’t be late. I love you."
The line went dead before he could respond.
Martin stared at the phone.
*I love you.*
He dropped the phone on the desk.
Walked back to the window and just stared...
Marcus dropped Clara off at her apartnt.
She had been buzzing the entire ride—laughing about how perfectly easy it would be to make Fiona look incompetent over the next two days.
He couldn’t shake the feeling.
Even after dropping Clara off, after her laughter about how perfectly the engagent announcent had landed and how Fiona’s face had gone pale, the restlessness stayed lodged in his chest like a splinter he couldn’t pull out.
He needed to see her face.
He needed to know if she was broken.
If she was waiting for soone to pick up the pieces.
If there was still a chance.
He turned the car around and drove straight to her building.
The security code for the front door was still the sa — the one she had given him months ago when they were planning their future. She hadn’t changed it. He let himself in without hesitation.
The elevator ride up felt too long.
When he reached her door, he didn’t knock.
He used the spare key he had never returned.
The lock clicked open.
He stepped inside.
Fiona was in the living room, curled on the couch in an oversized sweater and leggings, a cup of ginger tea gone cold on the coffee table. The only light ca from a small lamp in the corner. She looked exhausted — pale, eyes red-rimd, one hand resting protectively over her stomach.
She jumped when the door opened.
Shock flashed across her face, quickly turning to anger.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, standing up quickly. "And who let you in?"
Marcus closed the door behind him softly.
He didn’t move closer at first.
He just looked at her — really looked.
The woman he had thrown away.
"Fiona..." His voice ca out low, almost pleading. "I really don’t care much about Clara. I want you back."
Fiona stared at him, disbelief mixing with fury.
Marcus took one careful step forward, hands raised like he was approaching a wounded animal.
"I thought you and Martin were a thing. Everyone at the office was whispering about it. The way he looked at you. The way he stepped in at the mall like he owned you. But with his engagent announced ... I figured out I was wrong."
He took another step, eyes earnest, voice softening.
"Please, Fiona. Take back. I will marry you. I made a mistake. I was stupid. I let Clara get in my head. I let her convince I needed sothing better. But seeing you today — seeing how strong you’re being, how you’re still showing up despite everything — I realized I never stopped loving you. I never stopped wanting you."
Fiona’s breath caught.
She took a step back, putting the couch between them.
Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach.
"Get out, Marcus."
He didn’t stop.
"I an it," he continued, voice cracking with emotion. "I’ll do it right this ti. No more lies. No more other won. We can get married quietly. Your mom will be so happy .I can fix this. I can give you the life you deserve. A real family. A real ho. I’ll be there for every mont. Every night. Every where Just... please. Choose , Fiona. Let take care of you my love"
Tears filled Fiona’s eyes — not from sadness, but from pure exhaustion and rage.
"You think you can just walk in here after everything?" Her voice trembled. "After breaking my heart? After Clara slapped ? After you pretended everything was fine with my mother? After I told you to leave alone?"
Marcus’s face twisted with sothing that looked like genuine pain.
He stepped around the couch, closer now.
"I know I hurt you. God, I know. But Martin is marrying soone else. He’s never going to choose you. Not publicly. Not the way you deserve. He’s going to stand there on Saturday with Katherine Thorne while the whole company claps. I will choose you. I’m here. Right now. I’m begging you. Take back. Marry .Let make it right."
Fiona’s hands shook.
"Get out."
Marcus dropped to one knee in front of her — dramatic, desperate, eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I love you, Fiona. I’ve always loved you. I was blind. I was selfish. But I’m not anymore. Please... give one more chance. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m worthy. I’ll marry you tomorrow if you want. I’ll tell your mom the truth myself. Just... don’t shut out. Don’t let Martin break you the way I did."
Fiona’s voice broke.
"Get. Out."
Marcus stayed on his knee for a long mont, looking up at her with raw desperation.
Then he slowly stood.
"I’ll give you ti to think about it," he said softly. "But don’t wait too long. Saturday is coming. And after that party... everything changes."
He turned.
Walked to the door.
Paused with his hand on the handle.
"I still love you, Fiona. More than he ever will."
Then he left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Fiona stood frozen in the middle of her living room.
Her legs gave out.
She sank back onto the couch
Pressed both hands to her face.
And let the tears co — quiet, exhausted, overwheld
Fiona was just tired of everything she could just give up...
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