ENGAGED TO THE MAN WHO RUINED ME

CHAPTER 02. THE THINGS HE TOOK FROM ME.

The collapse did not come with noise.

No announcement.

No warning.

Just silence.

Three weeks after that night, my father's company stopped breathing.

At first it was small things. Delays that did not make sense. Payments that took longer to clear. Contracts that were postponed "until further notice". No panic yet. Just irritation.

The kind businessmen brushed off with forced smiles and tighter handshakes.

Then came the frozen accounts.

No explanation. No courtesy call.

Just numbers that refused to move.

Partners who once called daily stopped calling altogether.

When my father reached out, their assistants answered instead.

Always polite. Always apologetic. Always in meetings.

I watched it happen from the sidelines, helpless and furious.

I sat across from my father sit at the dining table with documents spread out like a battle field before us. He read the same lines over and over again, like they might change if he stared hard enough.

His shoulders were slumped in a way I had never seen before.

This was a man who had built something from nothing. A man who used to come home late, smelling of ink and coffee, talking about growth and expansion like they were living things. I had grown up believing he was untouchable.

Now he looked small.

Men who once praised his integrity now pretended not to know his name.

Invitations stopped arriving. Meetings were cancelled. Doors that had always been open closed quietly, without explanation.

I did not ask who was behind it.

I already know.

Power does not move quietly.

It leaves fingerprints.

And his where everywhere.

I went to see him again.

Not because I hoped for mercy.

Not because I believed he would suddenly care.

But because I needed to hear it from his mouth once again.

Be it the truth or another lie.

He received me like a stranger.

Cold. Professional. Untouchable.

The office was just as polished as before.

Glass. Steel. Money embedded on every surface.

But the warmth was gone.

"What do you want?",he asked.

Just that tone. No emotion.

No hesitation.

Like I was an interruption he had not scheduled.

"Why?", I said. My voice was steady even though my heart burned.

"Why did you do this?".

He did not even blink.

"I told you",he said. "I do not know you".

The words did not shock me this time.

They settled.

Heavy.

Familiar.

What hurt was how easily they came.

Security appeared behind me.

Silent. Alert.

The message was brutally clear.

I was not welcome.

I never had been.

I walked out before they could touch me.

I refused to give him that satisfaction of being escorted out like a problem to be removed.

That night,my mother cried until her voice broke. She tried to hide it behind closed doors, but grief is loud when it is real.

It seeps through walls.

It finds you even when you pretend to be asleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to her sobs fracture into silence and start again.

My father did not cry.

He sat in the living room long after midnight, staring at nothing.

At a future that no longer belonged to him.

The house felt hollow. Like it had already accepted the loss before we had.

At a future that no longer belonged to him.

I locked myself in the bathroom and leaned against the door. My legs felt weak.

My heart would not slow down. My reflection looked unfamiliar, eyes too bright, skin too pale, mouth pressed tight like I was holding something in. My heart would not slow down.

The test strip shook in my hand.

I told myself not to expect anything.

I told myself that it was stress. Fear. Too much pain at once.

One line appeared.

Then another.

The room spun.

I slid down to the floor,my back against cold tiles,my breath coming in shallow gasps.

My hands pressed instinctively against my stomach as if I could protect something I was not sure existed.

Broke.

Alone.

Terrified.

I stayed there for a long time staring at the result, imagining a future I was not ready for. A future that felt like punishments layered on top of one another.

But at last,it turned out to be a scare.

Just a scare.

But fear does not easily leave when relief comes.

It stays. It settles in your bones and teaches you lessons you must never forget.

By the time I realized that nothing could be saved, not the company, not the family we used to be or the girl I used to be,it was too late.

I packed my bags quietly.

Folded clothes with great care. And left behind anything that felt too heavy to carry.

I did not say goodbye.

I could not. And I did not want to.

Leaving hurt less than staying.

And loving him had already deprived me of everything.