Reborn To Choose His Brother

Just as Preston's vicious words hung in the air, the grand ballroom doors swung open.

A lone figure entered. He wore an understated black suit, and his face was pale, each step seeming to require a monumental effort, as if it sapped his very strength.

When he glanced up, his face was gaunt and drawn.

Sterling.

His arrival sent a fresh wave of whispers through the hall.

"Look, it's the useless second son."

"I heard it's an ordeal for him just to attend these things..."

"Such a disgrace to the Hawthorne name."

Sterling seemed to hear none of it, his expression unreadable. His deep-set eyes scanned the room, finally coming to rest on me.

In that moment, I remembered Conrad’s advice: Child, timing is everything. Don’t reveal your hand until the moment is right.

I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to lash out.

"You're right, Preston," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "Honestly, what other choice could I possibly have but you?"

The words stunned everyone, Preston included.

But in Sterling's eyes, I saw a flicker of unmistakable disappointment. He turned, preparing to leave.

"Wait," I called out. "Sterling. Since you're here, you should stay for a while."

He turned back, his gaze holding an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

"I was just passing," he said, his voice quiet. "I apologize for the interruption."

With that, he turned and was gone, his silhouette disappearing through the doorway.

I watched him go, an indescribable ache settling in my chest.

"Well, now that the sideshow is over," Preston's voice cut through my thoughts, smug and victorious. "Shall we continue our dance?"

He extended a hand to Sloane, who accepted it with a shy, triumphant blush.

I watched them for a heartbeat, then turned and walked out of the ballroom.

In the car on the way home, Sloane sat opposite me, her fingers obsessively stroking the platinum cufflink.

"Avalon, you really don't mind?" she asked, her voice dripping with ill-concealed glee. "This cufflink is just so perfect. Preston said it's a Hawthorne family tradition..."

"It suits you," I replied flatly.

"You're not angry?" she pressed, surprised.

"Why should I be?" I asked, my gaze fixed on the blur of city lights. "You and Preston are a match made in heaven."

"We... we're only friends..." she murmured, feigning modesty.

"Are you?" I turned to look at her directly. "Then I hope your 'friendship' lasts an eternity."

Sloane flinched. That was definitely not the reaction she'd been hoping for.

The rest of the drive passed in silence.

Three days later was the annual shareholders' meeting.

It was one of the most critical dates on the Hawthorne Group's calendar. It was the day the chairman would announce major corporate decisions—including the formalization of my marriage.

I stood outside the grand conference hall, clad in a sharp white suit. As the fiancée of the presumed heir to the Hawthorne Group, my attendance was expected.

Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, skyscrapers clawed at the sky.

Conrad Hawthorne stood at the head of the conference table. He tapped the polished wood. "I have gathered all of you here today..."

The meeting unfolded smoothly, right up until Sloane made her entrance.

She was also in a white suit, the platinum cufflink on her sleeve flashing under the recessed lighting.

She walked directly to my side, a saccharine smile plastered on her face.

"Avalon, this is all so serious," she whispered.

"It is a shareholders' meeting," I replied, keeping my focus on Conrad.

"Look, the cufflink is even more brilliant in here," Sloane murmured, ostentatiously admiring her sleeve. "Preston has the most incredible taste."

I didn't respond.

"Actually..." she leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Preston told me he's always preferred me. If it weren't for this family arrangement..."

"Sloane," I finally turned to her, my voice low but firm. "The meeting is in progress. Be quiet."

"I know, I just wanted you to know..." she leaned in even closer, her voice a venomous hiss. "...you don't have to go through with this. If you really don't want Preston, I can..."

"You can what?"

"I can take your place," she whispered, triumph flaring in her eyes. "After all, we both know who he truly loves."

The moment the words left her mouth, she gave a sudden, theatrical lurch backward, stumbling as if she’d lost her balance and tumbling toward the marble staircase.

"Ah!"

Her shriek shattered the room's quiet focus. Every head snapped in our direction.

"Avalon pushed me!" Sloane cried from the bottom of the short flight of stairs, her face a mask of practiced terror. "She tried to push me down the stairs!"

I hadn't moved a muscle.

"I didn't touch her," I stated calmly.

But Sloane was already dissolving into sobs. "I just wanted to talk to her, and she... she shoved me! If I hadn't caught myself..."

"You're lying," I said, my voice like ice.

"Avalon!"

Preston's roar echoed from across the room. He rushed forward, and the sight of Sloane crumpled on the floor ignited a firestorm in his eyes.

"How dare you!"

"I didn't—" I began.

A powerful shove sent me flying backward. I slammed hard against the wall, a sharp, cracking pain exploding in my wrist as an involuntary gasp was torn from my throat.

"I won't let you hurt her again!" Preston roared, shielding Sloane with his body and glaring at me, his eyes burning with righteous fury. "Ever!"

The conference hall was utterly silent.

The shareholders sat frozen, watching the corporate meeting devolve into a soap opera.

I pushed myself off the cold wall, my body throbbing with pain. The scene was a nightmare echo from my past—the same accusation, the same blind rage, the same disbelief.

But this time, I refused to cry.