Page 24 of Broken Destiny

No one was perfect.Right?

My family seemed relieved that I was finally settling down. The added advantage of her wealth and her social status matching ours strengthened their approval, especially in my mother’s eyes.

But none of it truly mattered to me, because beneath the surface, one emotion continued to dominate my thoughts.

Revenge.

A persistent desire to make her feel the same pain she had inflicted on me… on my family… on the life we had once shared.

There were still nights when I dreamed of the one person I believed would never hurt me. The one person I defended against my own family. The one person I trusted completely. The one person I was willing to die for. The one person I was shot for.

Nyah.

“You’re still not over her,”Greg said, leaning back in his chair as we met for drinks in the city later that week. His tone was calm but firm, the way it always became when he decided to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. “You need to let her go.”

He was my best friend and the one person who knew everything about me. We had grown up together, shared secrets, fights, victories, and heartbreaks since high school. He had seen every version of me—the reckless one, the angry one, the broken one—and he never faltered to call me out when I lost my way.

“I am over her,” I replied, gripping my glass a little tighter. “I just want to find her and?—”

“And what?” Greg cut in, his eyes narrowing. “It’s been more than three years, man. If you haven’t found her yet, you won’t find her now.”

“But I need to,” I said. “I…”

Greg placed his hand on my shoulder. “She’s good at running, and she’s good at hiding. There’s a reason for that.” He let out a slow breath before continuing. “Leave her be and move on with your life.”

I stared down at my drink, watching the condensation slide slowly along the glass. Letting go felt impossible, like trying to release a piece of myself that had fused into my bones. Even so, I knew he was right. I was about to start a new life, step into a role that demanded commitment and clarity.

A husband.

The word still felt foreign.

“Your wedding is in July,” Greg continued, his voice softening slightly. “Four months from now. Focus on that. Give it your time and energy.”

I nodded slowly, pushing myself to accept the truth in his words. “You’re right.”

Tatiana wanted to get married on her birthday in July, the same day I had proposed to her the year before. I had not put any effort or thought into it. That should have been a sign.

I remembered that day vividly, though the memory carried an emptiness, like watching someone else’s life unfold from a distance.

We had travelled to the Bahamas, taking time off from work to enjoy the sun, the ocean, and the illusion of romance. That evening, during dessert, she sliced into the cake with her fork. Her jaw dropped when she saw the ring hidden inside, her eyes widening.

“Are you serious?” she shrieked. “Is this a proposal?”

“Yes, it is,” I replied, lowering myself onto one knee as the restaurant staff and nearby guests turned to watch. “Will you marry me?”

“YES! YES!” she shouted, jumping up and down.

She grabbed the ring from the cake and slid it onto her finger before I even had the chance to place it there myself.

“I was going to do that,” I said with a small laugh. “But sure.”

I leaned forward and kissed her while she stared at the five-carat diamond ring, admiring the way it sparkled beneath the restaurantlights. Moments later, she pulled out her phone and began snapping pictures—first of the ring, then of us together, documenting the moment as if it needed proof to exist.

What struck me most about that night was not the celebration or the applause from strangers.

It was the silence inside me.

There was no rush of joy, no surge of excitement, nor an overwhelming sense of happiness.