My Fiancé Took Her on Vacation Instead of Marrying Me? I Married WAY Better Chapter 17

My Fiancé Took Her on Vacation Instead of Marrying Me? I Married WAY Better Chapter 17

Four months later.

I sat in the garden of Wright Manor, having afternoon tea with Grandpa. Mr. Clark walked over with a plate of shortbread cookies.

“Ms. Wright, have you seen the news today?”

I took the tablet he handed me. A financial headline stared back:

[Hale Group Under Investigation for Financial Fraud-Founder Ethan Hale Formally Arrested,]

In the photo, Ethan was being led out of the office building by federal marshals, his hands cuffed,

his hair a mess. He looked like he’d aged a decade overnight.

His company’s cash flow had collapsed, and to save himself, he’d falsified financial reports to

defraud three banks. The amount was massive. The case had been formally handed over to the

prosecutors.

The comment section was even more heated.

Employees came forward about the company’s chaotic management and rampant nepotism. Old interviews with Ethan were dug up, each one debunked in the comments. Former employees went on record saying he’d favored connections over hard work and pushed out the people who’d built

the company with him.

I scrolled down calmly, until I hit a video filmed on someone’s phone.

In it, Mira stood outside the old Hale Group office, wailing and begging security to let her in,

insisting she’d been used and knew nothing.

But then another video surfaced, from two months earlier. Mira, laughing in a bar with friends.

“Serena Wright can be as capable as she wants-I still pushed her out with a few photos.”

“Men fall for this every time. Especially those self-made guys-they can’t resist a young, pretty girl who worships them.”

“Once I’m settled in as the CEO’s wife, I’ll crush her for good.”

The video went viral.

She was blacklisted from the industry. Even her last shred of dignity was gone.

I watched for a few seconds, then placed the tablet face down on the table.

Grandpa sipped his tea slowly. “Finished? What do you feel? Satisfied? Or sorry for them?”

I thought about it, then smiled. “Nothing, really.”

It was true.

Four months ago, these people and their stories would have made my chest ache. Now, they felt like something behind thick glass-visible, but unable to reach me.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Adrian.

[Meeting’s over.]

Then another: [Dinner tonight? I told the cook to make that chicken noodle soup you mentioned last

time.]

A third followed: [Or I could pick you up from the manor? And bring Grandpa that antique marble chess set he’s been asking about for two weeks.]

I smiled at the screen.

[Okay. I’ll head back after tea.]

His reply came almost instantly: [Yes, Mrs. Ashford.]

Grandpa caught a glimpse of my smile and let out a loud huff, though his eyes were pleased.

“All that fuss over a text message.”

I pushed the shortbread cookies further away from him.

“Grandpa, you’ve already had four of these.”

“Nonsense. That was three and a half.”

Just then, a commotion came from the front gate.

Mr. Clark walked in quickly, looking uneasy.

“Ms. Wright, there’s something else… Mira Bennett is here again. She’s kneeling at the gate, begging for your mercy. She says she’ll do anything if you just see her.”

Grandpa’s face darkened. “What trash. She doesn’t belong anywhere near this house.”

I set down my teacup. “Have security move her further away. If she comes again, turn her away

mediately. No need to inform me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soon, the crying outside stopped completely.

The wind blew through the garden, scattering tiny flower petals across the ground. The air was

sweet with their fragrance.

I felt light.

All those people and things that once made me miserable, ashamed, doubtful-they were now nothing more than a simple “turn away.”

When you really move on, even revenge feels like overkill.

That evening, Adrian came to pick me up himself.

The black Maybach pulled up at the gate. He stepped out with the chess set in one hand and a cup of

hot milk tea in the other.

Grandpa cleared his throat, pretending to be aloof. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

Adrian played along smoothly. “I wanted to, Grandpa.”

The word “Grandpa” nearly made Old Mr. Wright’s lips twitch into a smile, but he held his composure. “Hmph. Come in, then.”

I stood under the porch, watching them, and couldn’t help but laugh.

Adrian walked over and pressed the warm milk tea into my hands, his fingers brushing mine. “It’s

chilly today. Warm up.”

I looked up at him.

The setting sun fell on his shoulders, and into his eyes. In them, I saw no arrogance, no schemes- just open devotion and steady warmth.

I finally understood-being truly loved meant never having to fight, to compete, to prove you were

good enough.

It just meant someone stood by your side, had your back, and held you in their heart.

I smiled and gently squeezed his hand.

This eight-year-long gamble-I had lost, yes.

But it was only because I’d lost so badly that I finally learned to take my love back and give it to someone truly worthy.

This time, I wasn’t looking back.