I Let Him Watch Me Marry Someone Else

Astra’s POV

It didn’t feel like my heart broke. It felt like it turned to ash in my chest.

I looked Nolan in the eyes. “And I thought you knew me. I’ll apologize—if I’ve done something wrong. But Anna?” I glanced toward her, still curled in Riven’s arms, looking all startled and frightened. “I won’t apologize to someone who fell on her own. Not even if it means losing you.”

After I said those words, I saw something flicker in Nolan’s eyes—uncertainty, maybe even regret.

But it vanished quickly. All that remained was anger and disgust.

“Then you should leave,” Nolan said coldly. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

I lifted my chin. “That makes two of us.”

“Astra, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—” Anna rushed toward me, grabbing my wrist with both hands, eyes wide, desperate.

Nolan peeled her off me gently. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize, Anna.”

“Exactly. Why is Astra always so condescending?”

The crowd stirred, whispers turned into accusations. Just like that, the tide turned against me—just like it always did with Anna.

A glass of champagne hit my face. Cold and sudden.

I didn’t even see who threw it.

I heard the sharp inhale from Nolan. Saw the way Riven tensed. For a second, they looked like they might come over.

But then Anna let out a small, delicate cough. “Oof—my ankle…”

And just like that, their attention shifted.

“She deserved it,” someone muttered. “Didn’t she shove the birthday girl? A glass for a glass.”

Nolan stayed by Anna’s side. So did Riven. Their brows were drawn, but neither of them moved.

“Nolan…” Anna’s voice was soft, selfless. “I’m okay. Please… go check on Astra…”

Nolan shook his head. “No, come on. Let’s get you into something dry. You’re the birthday girl—you shouldn’t be in a soaked dress.”

He turned to me for half a second, eyes unreadable. Then he took Anna’s hand and walked the other way.

I gave them one last glance—just one—then turned away.

Nolan’s voice followed me. “I’m disappointed in you, Astra. We’ll talk soon. I want an explanation.”

I didn’t stop until I reached my car.

The driver blinked, startled. “Miss Quinn, what happened?”

My dress clung to me, soaked and heavy. I didn’t need a mirror to know my mascara had smeared down my cheeks.

“The party’s over,” I said quietly. “Drive me back to the Manor. I’m tired.”

I leaned back, letting the silence swallow me, my mind still replaying everything.

I’d been too nice and too forgiving. Nolan and Riven didn’t deserve all the chances I’d already given them.

When I stepped inside the Quinn Manor, I didn’t hesitate.

I picked up the phone and called my father. “Papa,” I said. “About that arranged marriage... I’m ready. Go ahead.”

He sounded relieved on the other end. “You’ve finally thought it through? Nolan was a good kid, but he was never right for you.”

Papa was right, Nolan wasn’t. Every time I needed him to stand beside me—every time it mattered—he chose someone else.

A man like that didn’t deserve me. Not now. Not ever.

So I guess this is goodbye, Nolan.

I’m marrying someone else. And this time, you don’t get to be sorry. You might not even get an invitation.

…

In the two days that followed, I moved quickly.

I released every maid, every driver—made sure they found good homes, families that would treat them well. Then I started sorting through my own things.

The Manor had been mine alone for years. My parents had moved to Italy not long after I started college.

So now, with plans to leave, I was selling the Manor—and everything in it. I wouldn’t need any of it once I joined my parents in Italy, where the wedding would be held.

My fiancé—a man I’d never met—was called Silas Monroe, the heir to a powerful mafia family in Italy. My father spoke of him like he was a prize.

I always thought I’d marry for love. But now, I’d become the kind of girl I used to hate—marrying for family interests. Still, that felt better than wasting another second on Nolan and his endless excuses.

While packing, I realized the necklace my mother gave me was missing. I remembered then—I must’ve left it at my office, the one inside Nolan’s casino.

I hadn’t planned on stepping foot in that place again. But I needed that necklace.

I took a deep breath and hoped—really hoped—I wouldn’t run into Nolan or Riven. I didn’t have the energy for another round of judgment and blame.

The moment I stepped through the casino doors, I felt it—curious glances, hushed whispers.

“Miss Quinn,” one of the front desk girls said gently. “Mr. Cross said you can’t go inside without his permission. We’re calling him now to let him know you’re here.”

A few minutes later, Nolan appeared, “What are you doing here?”

I brushed past him. “Just picking up some things from my office. Don’t worry, I won’t linger.”

He followed me into the elevator. “Astra, about that day—”

The doors slid open two seconds later, and I stepped out without a word.

I didn’t need to hear the rest. I already knew. Nolan was going to ask me to apologize to Anna again.

Nolan had followed me to my office but didn’t say another word.

I found my mother’s necklace in the drawer, right where I thought it would be. Then I looked up and saw them—photos pinned to the vision board. Me and Nolan. Me, Nolan, and Riven. We were all smiling so brightly back then. Now, it just felt like a cruel joke.

One by one, I tore them down. And then I tore them apart.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nolan snapped, rushing toward me. He tried to grab the pictures from my hands, but it was too late. They were already in shreds.

He stared at me, shock and fury flickering across his face. “Astra Quinn, I want an explanation. Right now. Why are you acting like a child?”

I met his eyes—calm, steady and unshaken. “Nothing. Just felt like redecorating. Those were trash. I don’t want them in my office again.”

Then I shook off his hand, tossed the torn photos into the trash, and cracked open a can of Coke. Without hesitation, I poured it over the pile until the paper turned soggy and blackened.

“Trash?” Nolan’s voice spiked. “Those were our memories. You took every one of them. Framed them. Guarded them like they were sacred. And now you’re saying they’re garbage? What the hell is wrong with you?”