Page 103 of Broken Destiny

“Great,” I said, hoping she understood me well enough to keep the affair small and intimate.

Arriving at the house, the second we entered the backyard, my hope disappeared.

“Happy Birthday!” everyone screamed.

My stomach recoiled.

Walking through the crowd of at least two hundred people, I recognized a few familiar faces and far too many strangers.

Celebrities, business tycoons, distant relatives from Tatiana’s side of the family… introductions blurred together until I stopped retaining names seconds after hearing them.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Tatiana, kissing her cheek.

“Yeah, sure,” she replied distractedly, barely looking at me.

I escaped into the house, headed upstairs, and shut myself inside my room.

Sitting on the bed, I let out a slow breath and appreciated the silence that filled the space.

Closing my eyes, I leaned back.

I would have preferred one of my mother’s business parties to this. At least they had fewer people than Tatiana had planned.

A knock on the door made me open my eyes.

“Come in!”

Sophia, Simon, and Cat walked in together.

“We came to check up on you,” Sophia said. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s not what I expected,” I admitted, sighing before forcing a small smile.

Sophia sat beside me on the bed.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked quietly.

“We’re concerned about you,”Simon added, studying me carefully.

As I looked at him, I noticed a few white hairs on the side of my eldest brother’s brown head—small signs of time passing. He was a brother I had always looked up to, and now he was also my groomsman.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you don’t look happy,” Cat said bluntly. “You pretend to, but you’re not.”

“The last couple of weeks,” Sophia continued after a brief pause, “you seem happier at work than with your fiancée. Is everything okay?”

They knew me too well… at least parts of me.

I knew exactly where my heart and mind were, but I couldn’t tell them.

Not yet.

I couldn’t tell them about Jiya.

The more time I spent with her, the less that letter made sense to me. The woman I saw now—the way she cared for her children, the fear and guilt in her eyes earlier that day, the thoughtful gifts she gave me—felt nothing like the person who had written those cruel words years ago.

I had reread that letter countless times, searching for answers, but lately all it did was leave me questioning everything I thought I knew.