Contracted by fate

Emily's POV "Congratulations, Miss. Hart. You've been awarded the contract to plan the minister's daughter's wedding." The email message replayed in my mind for what seemed like the hundredth time. A surge of joy bubbled up in my chest, and a victorious smile stretched across my lips as I hugged my phone close. After months of relentless hard work and rejection, this was the breakthrough I had been waiting for. The breakthrough I needed, to set everything right. Sliding into the backseat of a car, I rattled off Charles' address, barely able to sit still. My fingers tapped nervously on my lap as I imagined how thrilled he'd be. With our wedding only three weeks away. The contract's profit would be a blessing, especially with Charles out of work. Upon arrival, I paid quickly and dashed inside, taking the stairs two at a time. My excitement bubbled over as I called his name, my voice echoing through the hallway. "Charles!" "Charles!!" "Charles!!!" There was no answer, my feet barely touching the ground as I raced towards the study as Charles spends most of his time there. I flung the door open. Empty. Frowning, I turned towards the bedroom. That’s when I heard it—a soft moan, faint but unmistakable. My heart slammed against my ribs, and my hands started trembling. "No, this can't be. I must be hearing things," I murmured to myself, shaking my head vigorously in disagreement, trying so hard to deny the reality happening before me. I swallowed hard, my feet moving on their own as the moans came again, this time louder, more pronounced. My stomach twisted in knots. With tears welling up in my eyes, I lifted my trembling hands, reaching for the doorknob. For a fleeting moment, I considered running faraway to erase the reality of the terrible sight of my fiancé making out with his mistress—denial was safer, less painful. But the pull of the truth was stronger than my fears. The door swung open. My breath hitched. My knees gave out as I staggered backward. Charles was there, but not alone—with Isabella. My step sister. The scene before me shattered whatever remained of my composure. Isabella was squatted on the bed while Charles—my fiancé—was thrusting into her from behind, one hand holding onto her waist while the other one fondling her breast as she kept moaning and holding tightly to the bedsheets, like her life depended on it. I instantly felt sick. "Charles," my voice cracked throughout the room. Charles turned his head, his gaze meeting mine. For a moment, he paused, but there was no remorse in his eyes, no shame. Just irritation that he had been interrupted from his sweet adventure. Isabella smirked, her expression dripping with satisfaction. The lack of guilt sent me reeling. My mind screamed at me to say something, to demand answers. No words came. Instead, I turned and ran out , my vision blurred by tears. My feet stumbled down the stairs, but I barely noticed the pain. I was too overwhelmed with pain and emotional torture to give care. my mind was spinning—a storm of betrayal and disbelief. For two years, I had poured out my heart loving him, standing by him through every setback, supported every failed business deal. I had believed in him when no one else did, sacrificing my own needs to support his dreams. But, now, him and my sister? My breath catching in sobs as I flagged down a taxi. "To the Hart's mansion," I choked out, the address barely making it past the lump in my throat. The mansion loomed before me, familiar and cold. I burst through the door, tears streaking my face, seeking for solace, or at the very least, understanding. "Dad," I called, finding him in the living room, nursing a drink. "Can you believe it? Isabella and Charles are having an affair. I just saw them now." He barely glanced at me, his expression indifferent. "She's your sister. Forgive her," he said flatly, taking a sip of the drink. My jaw dropped. "Father.....are you really serious right now?" Angelina, my stepmother, sauntered inside, her gaze burning into mine as she took a seat beside my father. "You are making too much fuss over a man, darling," she spat. "Charles and Isabella are in. Love. Let them be," she said, her voice sharp. My vision darkened with fury. "In love? Three weeks before our wedding, and you're defending her." I turned to my father, desperate for any kind of support. "What kind of mother are you?" Before I could say more, father's seat scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly. His hand connected to my cheeks, the slap reverberated across the room. "You i***t," he cursed. "Don't you dare talk to your mother like that," he spat. "She's not my mother," I shot back, clutching my stinging cheeks. His eyes narrowed. "Finish up any pending work. I'm handing the company over to Isabella." The word hit me like a freight train. "What?" "You heard me," he said, brushing past me. "But it's mine," I pleaded, running after him. "It was mom's, and she left it for me. Please, dad, give me a chance. I can still turn things around. I have just secured a major wedding contract-" "Enough," he snapped, kicking me aside as he ascended the stairs. I sank to the floor, my chest heaving with sobs. Angelina's laugh echoed as she disappeared down the hall. I sat there, frozen. The weight of everything crashed down on me. When I finally stood up, my resolve hardened. Betrayed. Abandoned. But not broken. I wiped away my tears, lifting my chin. If they thought they could take everything from me, they were wrong. I would fight. I would protect my mother's legacy. I left the mansion and found myself at a nearby bar. Sliding into a seat, I waved the bartender over. "Your strongest drink," I said to the bartender. He nodded and filled a glass. I threw it down in one gulp. "Another one." By the fifth glass, the room swayed around me. "Life is so unfair," I muttered, staring into the amber liquid. The bartender offered a polite smile. "I hear that a lot," she chipped in. Before I could respond, a man stepped inside. Sharp jawline. Tousled hair. Piercing gray eyes. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Our eyes met, and something flickered in his gaze—curiosity, maybe even understanding. Stop it. I scolded myself. "Shame on you," I thought bitterly. "You just got cheated on, and you're already staring at another man." I quickly looked away, ashamed of myself. I threw some bills on the counter, standing up to leave, and the world titled beneath me.. My legs buckled, and I stumbled forward—right into his arms. His grip was firm yet gentle , and I looked up, my breath catching at the intensity of his gaze. Before I could stop myself, the word tumbled out. "Can you please make me forget my misery?"