Two Rings, one heart
950 Words
The wind howled across the cliffside, sharp and cold like it wanted to cut straight through my skin. I pulled my coat tighter around me, feeling the chill not just in the air, but deep inside my chest. The ocean stretched out before me, endless and roaring—like my thoughts.
I came here to breathe. But even that was hard now.
Damian had left again. Another sudden business trip. Another dinner canceled. Another excuse. And I was drowning in bridal appointments, smiling for photos, pretending like this was the life I wanted.
But I hadn’t felt like a bride in a long time.
Everyone around me was celebrating—my mother, Damian’s parents, the press. The engagement had gone viral. My face plastered across tabloids with captions like “Power Couple Goals.” But inside, I was suffocating. This wasn't love. This wasn't even safety. It was a gilded cage dressed in designer lace.
I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Forsaken’s face.
The day of the surprise proposal, my mother had lured me home under the pretense of a family meeting. But the moment I stepped into the room—flashbulbs. Laughter. Champagne. And there, in the middle of it all, Damian, down on one knee.
He held out the ring like it was a trophy, like I was something to win.
"Let me do this right. For the world to see," he said with a dazzling smile.
And then I saw him.
Forsaken.
He stood in the corner of the room, arms folded, watching. But his eyes weren’t cold. They were on fire. He didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. He just stared.
Serena, his fiancée, clung to his arm, unaware of the war happening in his chest. She leaned on him like he belonged to her. But even she felt the tension in his frame, the distance in his gaze.
I said yes.
The applause felt like gunshots.
That night, I didn’t sleep. Damian had left—again. Another meeting. Another city. Another lie.
So I ran. I drove to the cliffs, the place where I used to go as a girl when I needed to scream.
But someone else was already there.
He stood with his back to me, hoodie flapping in the wind, hands jammed into his pockets like he was trying to hold himself together.
"Didn’t think you’d come," he said without turning.
"I didn’t think you’d be here."
"I had to breathe."
We stood in silence, the sea crashing below us, our hearts louder than the waves.
Then he turned.
"You remember that day in the rain? Outside school?"
I blinked. My voice caught. "You mean... the day that guy—"
"Pushed you. Split your lip. Left you crying in the mud."
I nodded slowly, the memory rising like fog.
"I was the one who carried you home," he said softly. "You asked for my name. I told you I was no one."
My throat closed. "Why?"
He lifted his hoodie, revealing a scar across his ribcage. Raw. Jagged.
"Because I took a hit meant for you. And I thought if I told you who I was, I’d ruin whatever tiny bit of peace you had left."
My knees buckled. He caught me.
His hands were strong—rough from years of work, but gentle with me, like I was made of breath and breakable promises.
He leaned in, his forehead pressed to mine.
"I loved you before I even knew what love was. Before your eyes started drifting to him. I loved you when I didn’t have a name, when I didn’t even have a future."
"Stop," I whispered. "Don’t do this."
But I was already crying.
He cupped my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears.
"He’s never going to love you like I do. He’s never going to see you the way I see you."
And then he kissed me.
Not like Damian. Not cold and practiced. Not for show.
This kiss was hungry, reckless, desperate. A storm. A war. A plea.
His body crashed into mine like a wave shattering against rock. My back hit the door of his car, the cold metal biting through my coat. His hands gripped my waist, my thighs, my hair. Like he was trying to memorize me with every touch.
"This isn’t lust," he breathed against my neck. "This is home."
I didn’t answer. I kissed him harder.
The backseat became our secret sanctuary. The windows fogged. Our bodies tangled. Every moan was a confession. Every breath a surrender.
He was slow at first. Reverent. Worshipful. Then faster, needier. Our rhythm was chaos and poetry all at once.
And then, at the edge of c****x, he whispered the words that would burn into my soul:
"Run away with me. Tonight."
I froze.
My heart screamed yes. But my lips trembled: "I can’t. Not yet. I have to end this madness first."
He looked at me like I’d stabbed him.
But he nodded.
The next morning, the world pretended everything was perfect.
Until the brunch.
I felt dizzy. My stomach churned. I barely touched my plate.
Then I stood up too fast—and everything spun.
I clutched the table. Damian reached for me, but I pushed his hand away.
His mother hissed: "She’s pale. Get her upstairs."
Minutes later, the pregnancy test lay on the bathroom counter.
Positive.
Damian cheered downstairs.
I stared in silence.
Because I already knew.
The child inside me wasn’t his.
It was Forsaken’s.
And in less than a week, I was supposed to walk down the aisle.
Wearing a ring from a man I didn’t love.
Carrying a baby from the only man who ever truly did.
- Writer
