Rejected, then desired by the tycoon

Not good enough

He smashed me with a sentence. I left with a stillness.

The courthouse doors slam behind me, latching in the last fragments of my hope. The autumn wind morsels at my skin, but I slightly feel it. My body stirs, but my sanity is frozen—stuck in that chamber, replaying his phrases over and over again.

“You’re not good enough for me.”

Not good enough. Not wife material. Not decent of a man like Ethan Blackwood.

That sentence kept replaying in my head like a broken record. Cold. Calculated. Delivered with no hint of guilt. It wasn’t just a rejection—it was dismissal. A verdict.

It wasn’t just rejection. It was execution—with a tailored suit and a voice like ice.

He married me only because it served his purpose. He said the vows like they were lines in a contract. I was a temporary solution. Not a partner. Not a wife. Just a mistake.

I blink up at the sky, gray and heavy like my heart. My fingers constrict around the bouquet—those miserable daisies are now a brutal joke. I want to cry out. I want to cry. But I do neither. Because even in heartbreak, I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me rupture.

Across the street, his sleek black car waits. The driver watches me politely, but Ethan doesn’t appear. He won’t. He made that clear.

I turn, walking fast, blindly. He probably has a dinner meeting tonight. Or a press announcement prepared in case anyone dares ask why the Blackwood heir married a nobody. And divorced her minutes later.

He told me I was temporary. I just didn’t want to believe him.

I round a corner and duck into a quiet alley between office buildings. That’s when it hits me. The pain. The humiliation. The truth.

My knees buckle. I slide to the ground, my marriage dress pooling around me like a lie I can’t escape. The veil slips from my hair. I let it.

Tears burn hot as they roll down my cheeks.

Was I that easy to discard? Was I nothing more than a shield for his name, his company, and his cold, curated life?

I gave him my heart. He gave me an autograph.

A cab rolls past. I stand and wave it down with a shivering hand.

“Where to, miss?” the driver asks gently as I slip inside.

I glance out the window, the courthouse now just a silhouette in the distance.

“Anywhere but here,” I whisper.

The car pulls away.

I lean against the door, staring out at the blur of city lights. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know what I’m leaving behind: a man who used me, a name I no longer want, and a fairy tale that was never real to begin with.

I married Ethan Blackwood today.

And he made sure I’d never forget what that cost me.

But one day—

He’ll remember what he threw away.

And I’ll be strong enough to watch him regret it.