The Billionaire's Fated Love

"FIND HER! RIGHT NOW!" Tristan De Clarion’s voice tore through the executive office, loud enough to ring in the hallway. His face was flushed deep red, his pulse thumping against his collar. He couldn't wrap his head around the hit his ego had just taken. He was a De Clarion; he didn't get stood up. Jacob Brown stood by the desk, barely moving. As Tristan’s childhood friend and assistant, he knew when to stay quiet. He could see his boss was absolutely fuming, and any wrong move would put him in the line of fire. The wedding was supposed to be the event of the year. Instead, Tristan had stood at the venue for two hours like a fool. Even the bride’s parents hadn't bothered to show their faces. Jacob checked his phone, clearing his throat. "Boss, I just got the report. Vernice ditched Bree City two hours before the ceremony started." Tristan didn't say anything at first; he just pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Where did she go?" "According to the pings, she headed for Dale. She got there about three hours ago." Tristan’s fist slammed onto the desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘How dare she? I actually agreed to marry her, even though she looks like she's had plastic surgery. And she has the nerve to shame me?’ The wedding hadn't been public—only a few business associates were invited—but the embarrassment still stung. Luckily, the media in Bree knew better than to report on a De Clarion failure. They knew exactly what would happen to their companies if they dared to print a single word about the wedding that never happened. "Make sure her life isn't easy there," Tristan ordered. Jacob nodded and gave a quick bow. He had work to do, and at the top of the list was dealing with Vernice—the only woman who had ever had the guts to walk away from his boss. Tristan grabbed another cigarette and lit it. He sat there playing with the smoke. He still couldn't figure it out. It was a perfect deal for her. Even before the engagement, she was handed fifty million dollars for whatever she wanted. A few days later, he'd sent a ten-carat diamond ring and the deed to a villa in her name. ‘What else could she possibly want?’ The sudden ringing of his phone broke his train of thought. He snatched it up. "What is it?" “Tristan! The doctor is on his way. Your grandfather just fainted!" It was John, the family’s loyal butler and Jacob’s father. "I’m on my way!" Minutes later, the Maybach pulled up to the De Clarion estate. Tristan headed straight for his grandfather’s room. "What are you doing here?" Instead of hanging around me, you should be out finding your bride." John moved quickly, handing Frederick a cup of tea. "She already left for Dale. I probably scared her off!” "Scared her? What did you do?" "I called her the other day. I told her not to expect a dream wedding. I told her the whole thing was for show and that I’m not exactly a nice guy." Frederick looked at his grandson with a mix of disappointment and worry. His mind went back eighteen years to the hospital where Tristan had been confined for two years with aplastic anemia. He remembered the desperation, and then the miracle: Philip Williams, the man who had volunteered to be a donor and saved Tristan’s life. Then there was the fire. Tristan’s parents hadn't made it out of that hospital, leaving Frederick to raise his only heir with the help of John. Now, Frederick watched the man Tristan had become—a CEO who treated women like accessories, swapping them out every two weeks. "I doubt she'd be scared by just that. Philip told me she wasn't a pushover. And when her father, Lawrence, came to see me two months ago to honor the old deal, I met her. She seemed like a good girl. Someone who could actually handle you. I guess I was wrong." Meanwhile, at the Williams Villa in Dale… “Ouch!” The sound of the slap was loud enough to echo in the living room. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Lawrence’s eyes were bloodshot as he glared at his daughter. Vernice trembled, her hand pressed against her burning cheek. She looked at her father with a steely gaze. "You really wanted me to go through with that? I don’t even know the guy! I’ve only seen the pictures you sent. Are you out of your mind, Dad?" Lawrence grabbed her wrist, his grip tightening. "The De Clarions gave you money, a ring, a house—what more do you want? Why do you need to 'know' the guy? Tristan told you himself that this was just a setup. You wouldn't even have to act like a real wife. Why did you run? You could have gotten so much more out of this! You could have saved our company!" "Honey, calm down!” Esme stepped in, lightly pushing Lawrence away from their daughter. “There’s no point in being mad now. After this, I doubt Tristan will want her anyway. Let’s just use what he’s already given her." Lawrence sank onto the couch. "How did I end up with such a stupid daughter?" "I’ll give you half the money!" And you can have the villa. I can’t live there anyway since it’s in Bree. Sell it for all I care. But I’m keeping the ring!" She turned and ran up the stairs. Lawrence just shook his head, while Esme let out a long sigh. They both knew Vernice never listened; she’d hated the idea from the start. “If only Yssabelle were still here, I wouldn’t have to deal with this!” Esme’s face went sour at the name. ‘Why can't he just forget her?’ She thought, but even she remembered everything—being the mistress, the k********g of Lawrence's first daughter, the botched police raid at the port, and seven-year-old Yssabelle falling into the sea. That tragedy had taken everyone: the girl, Lawrence’s father, Philip, and eventually Lawrence’s first wife, Rose, who took her own life. Seeing Lawrence start to tear up, Esme began to sob loudly. “You still can’t let them go..." Esme hurried upstairs to follow Vernice. She found her daughter crying on the bed. "You did the right thing! That Tristan doesn't love you. All that money wouldn't stop you from being miserable." Vernice looked up and squeezed her mother’s hand. She knew they were both the "unwanted" ones in this house. She knew her mother understood the feeling of being second best. "I’m leaving for Lys with Hans, Mom. He's waiting for me." "Then go! Don't even tell your father. Just get out of here." Vernice was surprised by how supportive her mother was being, but she didn't stop to ask why. She just finished packing her things and handed Esme a thick envelope. "The bank card with twenty million is in there, and the house papers. Give them to Dad or keep them. I don't care. I’m out of here!"