Chapter 3
My hand instinctively went to my belly. Even in this second chance at life, thinking about those unborn kids still broke me—the pain a dense, unending ache that spread without mercy. My eyes gradually filled with tears.
I knew he'd been genuine once, but true feelings are fickle, always shifting.
I hadn't been able to forgive him in my previous life, and even now—thrown back to the time when he loved me most fiercely—I still couldn't.
Right then, a Lamborghini pulled up sharply beside me.
I instantly recognized the driver—and Shelby riding shotgun.
"Stay in the car for a bit," Joshua said, his tone deep and frosty.
Shelby gave me a bitter glare, then cooed playfully, "Hurry back, Mr. Ortega."
He got out and strode over to me.
Snowflakes whirled through the air, dusting our hair. His gaze locked on me, murky and conflicted. "Does your fiancé treat you better than I do? Does he love you more?"
I held his reddened stare, noting the composure he was struggling to maintain.
"None of your business."
I hailed a cab and went to open the door, but he suddenly seized my arm, pulling me hard against his chest and holding me tight.
"I can't pretend anymore—I'm over it. I came here tonight to piss you off on purpose, but you're the one infuriating me."
His eyes were bloodshot, his voice laced with grievance. "Why, Margie? Why dump me out of the blue? You swore you'd love me forever. Where did I go wrong?"
I squirmed, but couldn't break free. "I've made it crystal clear. Why are you still hounding me?"
He seemed heartbroken beyond words. "I won't accept this breakup. There's no way you've just fallen out of love overnight. If you're marrying for connections and resources, why not me? I'd give you everything."
"How much money? Just name it—I'll hand it over..."
I swung my hand up, and the slap echoed sharply through the night.
Shelby's gasp rang out from afar.
"Joshua!" She burst out of the car and hurried over. "Margie, are you insane? Joshua adores you—you cheat on him and then hit him? That's crossing the line!"
After tearing into me, she quickly checked on him. "Joshua, you okay? Does it sting?"
I left them with one icy remark.
"We're done—nothing left between us. So kindly back off, Mr. Ortega, and stop harassing me."
That very night, I issued my statement announcing my retirement from music.
Just as I was logging out of the platform, a DM popped up from Shelby's alt account, photo included.
[Joshua asked me to stay the night. Long evening ahead—what do you think two lonely people like us will do?]
[He's a man with a real sense of responsibility. Now that you're gone, it's inevitable he'll break free from those old chains.]
[Margie, your boyfriend's mine now.]
She was clearly trying to get under my skin, but after the wilder stuff I'd witnessed in my previous life, it didn't faze me one bit.
I blocked her and deleted the message.
Once back in Domont, Dad arranged a meet-and-greet with Brooks Griffith.
These business unions happened at warp speed—the rendezvous was set right in a upscale music studio.
Brooks was the country's youngest composer, the kind of guy who frequently landed on the covers of finance mags. He was drop-dead gorgeous—even I, who'd seen my share of hunks, couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of awe.
He couldn't have been more different from Joshua. Joshua was the pampered baby of his family, handed everything on a silver platter.
Brooks, on the other hand, was the Griffith family's firstborn, shouldering the family business and always on the grind.
When Brooks laid eyes on me, a playful glint danced in his gaze.
He presented a collection of beautifully crafted original compositions.
"These are pieces I wrote myself. I hope they're to your taste—they could even serve as our signature tunes someday."
I smiled warmly. "That sounds wonderful."
As I listened to them for the first time, they somehow felt custom-fitted to me—the tunes, vibes, and words all synced up flawlessly with my style.
Brooks's voice softened as he said, "The wedding's coming up quick, but I'll make sure you have nothing but the finest."
I hadn't expected much from an arranged match. "Something straightforward and low-key would be fine."
His response came cool and resolute. "You deserve only the best."
The merger of the Griffith and Massey empires hit the headlines the second it went public.
Eagle-eyed online sleuths quickly connected the dots: Massey Group's heiress, Margie, was none other than the chart-topping singer who'd bowed out recently.
Just like that, those gold-digger whispers about me vanished into thin air.
In the lead-up to the big day, Joshua flooded me with WhatsApp texts and calls. Block one number, and another would pop up. Eventually, sick of the nonstop pestering, I answered.
His voice rasped over the line. "Margie, I'm giving you one final shot. Come back, and I'll let it slide. If not..."
I kept my cool. "Joshua, act your age. It's finished between us. Leave me alone, or I'm involving the police."
At last, he went quiet.
Wedding day arrived.
One of Joshua's pals rang me up, sounding downright aggressive.