Choosing The Forgotten, Finding My King

Kallie POV

The limousine ride home with Dennie was a suffocating silence, thick with unspoken accusations and simmering resentment. The luxurious leather seats felt like a velvet trap.

Dennie punctuated the quiet with exaggerated coughs, her hand fluttering to her chest. Through the car window's reflection, I saw her eyes, sharp and calculating, watching me. The mask of fragile victim slowly began to slip, revealing the true predator beneath.

Feigned concern oozed from her voice. "Kallie, are you truly going through with this? Marrying Kolton? He's so... broken. How could you choose him over Austen?"

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Austen is worried, you know. He thinks you're just doing this to get back at him. That you'll take everything from him."

I didn't turn to look at her. Instead, my mind drifted to Kolton. In my past life, I had barely noticed him, a phantom presence in the background, a silent reminder of tragedy. Now, I saw his quiet dignity, his sharp mind, his unwavering kindness. He was the only one who had ever truly looked at me, not as Austen's shadow, not as a means to an end, but simply as Kallie.

My voice remained flat, devoid of emotion. "Austen has more than enough to worry about himself, Dennie. Perhaps you should remind him of that."

Dennie gasped, genuinely shocked. She had expected a furious defense of Austen, a tearful confession of my undying love. My cold indifference, my refusal to engage in her usual games, threw her off balance. She thrived on my emotional reactions, using my anger as leverage to play the victim. Without it, she was lost.

She tried again, her voice taking on a sharper, more desperate edge. "Austen never loved you, Kallie! He only wanted the shares! He promised me he would take care of me, get rid of you once he had control! You'll be alone, Kallie, even in your marriage."

I finally turned to her, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips. It wasn't the sweet, innocent smile of my past. This was a smile born of fire, of rebirth.

"Why, Dennie," I said, my voice soft but laced with steel, "why aren't you happy for me? A lonely life? Why, that's precisely what I've always dreamed of."

Dennie's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened, horrified, unable to comprehend. She had expected pleas, tears, self-pity. My declaration of freedom, my utter disinterest in Austen's manufactured drama, utterly disarmed her. She couldn't refute what she couldn't understand. She had always relied on my predictable despair.

As the car pulled up to the mansion, Austen was already waiting on the porch, a smug, triumphant look on his face. He quickly opened Dennie's door, completely ignoring me.

"Dennie, my love," he cooed, overtly helping her out, his hand lingering on her waist for a moment too long. "You must be exhausted. Go straight to bed. I'll come check on you later." He shot a pointed glance at me. "Some people, it seems, have no regard for family."

I stepped out of the car, calmly smoothing the elegant fabric of my dress. Without a word, I walked past them, my head held high, disappearing into the house.

Behind me, I heard Austen's teeth grind. He wanted a fight, a confrontation, a chance to reject me and my emotions again. But I wouldn't give it to him. My need for his validation, for his attention, had died a long time ago.

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparations for the formal engagement. Whispers and snickers followed me everywhere. The family gossiped, convinced I was still hopelessly in love with Austen, desperate to cling to his power. They mocked Austen' s absurd "independent life" clause, believing I had foolishly accepted it.

"She'll never tolerate Dennie," one cousin whispered, barely concealing her amusement.

"How will she handle Austen being with other women?" another tittered.

"Oh, she'll probably just beat them away like she used to!" a third laughed, recalling my past, desperate attempts to scare off Austen's flings.