Too Late To Chase The One He Betrayed

Screams erupted one after another. Theresa stood frozen, her eyes rimmed with red.

She murmured, "Weston..."

"I heard that the renowned overseas American multinational investor, Mr. Lennox, and his wife will also be attending your wedding..."

Behind a stone pillar outside the auction hall, Brittany stood motionless.

From that moment on, everything else faded into silence.

Her thoughts stalled at Weston’s words.

If he loved her, he would never have let her suffer through a one-sided crush.

He had erased her love. Denied the song he had once written.

Brittany curled her lips into a smirk, too drained to even cry.

During those endless days in the psychiatric hospital…

She had shed enough tears.

Supporting herself on her knees, she bent over, trying to steady her breath. Just as she pushed herself up, a bright, crisp voice suddenly rang above her head.

"So you're... Brittany?"

The face before her struck a chord of familiarity as if she had seen it somewhere before.

A high nose bridge, sharp brows, deep-set eyes, his features were undeniably striking. Yet, the dark circles beneath them hinted at excess, as if indulgence had long replaced rest.

At that moment, those piercing eyes narrowed slightly, scanning Brittany the way one might evaluate a new acquisition.

"I am Brittany. May I ask who you are?"

The man blinked, snapping out of his initial surprise. His expression turned oddly amused.

"You don’t recognize me?" He let out a low chuckle. "I'm Russell Quinn. Strange… Theresa said you were making a scene, insisting on marrying me."

Theresa. Russell.

Brittany let out a bitter laugh.

"You must be mistaken. I don’t even know you. Why would I insist on marrying you?"

Suppressing the discomfort coursing through her, she turned to leave.

But before she could step, a firm grip closed around her wrist. Without warning, she was yanked forcefully into a secluded corner.

A strange scent clung to the air, dulling her senses. Just as Brittany parted her lips to call for help, a firm hand gripped her chin, tilting her face upward.

Russell's gaze swept over her, slow and assessing, before his lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

"Drop the act. Your brother already made a deal with my mother. Once Theresa and your brother are married, you’ll be marrying me. At first, I figured any woman desperate enough to chase after me would be an unbearable nuisance. Still, looking at you now… you’re not half bad. Still, let’s get one thing straight: our marriage is nothing more than a business transaction. Don’t even think about meddling with the women I bring home."

His indifferent tone sent a tremor of rage through Brittany.

Even in the suffocating days at St. Darius Psychiatric Hospital, she had never endured such humiliation.

The family she came from valued intellect and refinement. Her parents had raised her on classical literature and etiquette, instilling grace in her every step. When she grew older, Weston shielded her from the world, crafting an isolated paradise where every person she met, from high school to university, was personally vetted by him.

Now, she stood before a man who treated her like a bargaining chip, his words dripping with contempt.

"Have some respect. Since we clearly despise each other, there’s no reason for us to speak any further."

Brittany gritted her teeth, forcing the words out as a wave of dizziness crashed over her. Something was wrong. The air felt thick and cloying, seeping into her lungs like a silent toxin.

She struggled, but her limbs felt weak, utterly powerless against his grip.

"Oh, don’t tell me you think you’re too good for me?" His lips twisted into a smirk. "Everyone knows you spent time in a psychiatric hospital. And let’s not forget, you’re not even Weston’s real sister. Just an orphan. Who else would take you? Be a good girl after we’re married, and I’ll ensure you don’t starve."

His breath, thick with the scent of alcohol and arrogance, fanned against her forehead, sending a shudder of revulsion through her.

"I know you like Weston. But let me give you some free advice: you have no idea who’s backing Theresa. Forget you. Even Weston wouldn’t dare cross them. Keep pushing, and you might just find yourself right back in that psychiatric hospital."