Part 1My Arranged Fiancée Fell in Love with a Hooligan

The heiress who was supposed to marry me fell for a bad boy.

She raced cars, got into fights, and defied her parents for him. She even got pregnant.

She said it was love, the most beautiful memory of her life.

I was innocently caught up in it all, and her delinquent boyfriend broke my arm.

I went abroad for treatment for six years.

When I returned, she knelt before me begging for forgiveness.

I sneered, "Then go break his arm too."

After six years, I saw Isabellaagain at a family gala. She held a wine glass, the red liquid swirling gently. Her perfect profile, cold and alluring, stood out among the crowd of handsome men and beautiful women.

She had become even more beautiful, her eyes like deep pools, rippling with indifference.

To the guests who came to toast her, she only nodded and uttered a curt "Good" or "Okay."

Perhaps only in front of Jake could she let down this facade.

I sat in the corner, wearing an out-of-place down jacket, still not used to the temperature here after just returning from France.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" my best friend asked.

I shook my head with a smile, "No need, we're not that close anymore."

My friend put his arm around my neck, "If that incident hadn't happened back then, you'd probably be the one by Olivia's side now."

"There are no 'ifs' in this world."

Looking at her stunning figure in the crowd, my friend clicked his tongue, "I heard her family recently got a new daughter, so Olivia's been pushed aside, not as favored anymore."

I've never been one for gossip, especially about someone I'd cut ties with long ago.

I put my glass back on the tray indifferently and stood up, "I'm leaving. Call me if anything comes up."

As I was about to open the door, I felt an intense gaze on my back.

Turning around, I saw Isabellastaring at me in disbelief, a wine glass shattered at her feet on the luxurious carpet.

Her gaze was so intense it felt like it could burn holes through me.

"Adrian..." she called out, her voice tinged with disbelief.

I didn't answer, opening the door and walking out.

In my peripheral vision, I saw her pushing through the crowd, her steps quickening as she ran towards me.

As the door closed tight, I heard her call my name again.

I must have misheard, because I thought I detected a pleading tremor in her voice.

I got into the car my family had prepared, watching Isabellaanxiously searching outside the main entrance, occasionally calling out my name.

"Home, please," I told the driver.

As the car slowly pulled away, memories of Isabellaflooded my mind.