Cancelled Wedding: Pursued By The Secret Tycoon

"Miss Harding, the Stardust gown was made for you. Mr. Parrish will be speechless when he sees it."

Genevieve Harding stood before the three-way mirror in the private fitting room at Vera Wang's bridal gown, the layers of white silk and delicate lace falling perfectly over her figure. She ran her fingers lightly over the embroidery on the skirt, unable to hide the smile at the corner of her lips.

She glanced at her phone, where a photo of her and Charle Parrish still lit the screen. They had grown up together, from school days to engagement, and she had once believed this wedding dress would mark the beginning of their forever.

"He's almost here," she said softly, checking the time again.

Her phone rang before the smile could fade. The caller ID showed Charle. She answered immediately, her voice carrying a trace of excitement. "Honey, are you here? I'm wearing the dress."

"Sorry, Gen." Charle's voice came through with a hint of apology, mixed with the noise of traffic in the background. "Something came up. I don't think I can make it today."

The smile on Genevieve's face slowly disappeared. She walked to the corner of the fitting room, lowering her voice. "What happened? Is something wrong?"

"It's Keshia." His answer came quickly. "She's stuck downtown. It's raining heavily, and she doesn't have an umbrella. I need to go get her."

Genevieve's fingers tightened around the phone. After waiting all morning for him to see her in the wedding gown, she had never expected the reason he gave her would be another woman. "Because she doesn't have an umbrella?"

"She's not feeling well. She can't get soaked in the rain." Charle sounded impatient, as if explaining something obvious. "Just choose whichever dress you like. You look good in anything."

The call ended.

Genevieve stood still, the phone pressed against her ear as the busy tone echoed. In the mirror, the woman wearing the wedding dress looked like someone she barely recognized. This was the gown she had designed herself, the one she had spent countless nights perfecting, yet Charle, her fiancé of ten years, had never even seen the sketches. He always told her to choose whatever she liked, as if the most important day of their lives had nothing to do with him.

The bridal consultant noticed her pale expression and approached carefully. "Miss Harding, are you alright?"

Genevieve lowered her phone and forced herself to smile. "I'm fine. He just had something urgent come up." She looked back at the mirror for a moment before turning away. "Could you help me take it off?"

By the time she walked out of Kleinfeld, rain had covered the entire street. Heavy drops struck the glass storefront and splashed against the pavement.

Genevieve stood beneath the awning without an umbrella, watching cars pass through the rain. She had imagined leaving this place with Charle beside her, discussing flowers, venues, and their future.

Instead, she was standing there alone beneath the awning, watching the rain fall around her as the last trace of expectation slowly faded.

She returned to the empty penthouse soaked through. The moment she stepped inside, exhaustion hit her. A sharp ache spread through her head, and when she touched her forehead, her fingers met burning skin. She grabbed a thermometer from the drawer with unsteady hands.

103.1 degrees Fahrenheit.

Her vision blurred. She barely made it to the sofa before collapsing down. Her body burned with fever, but her hands felt cold.

Lying there, she looked at her phone again. She knew she should not call him. She had heard the disappointment in his voice too many times. But after ten years together, some part of her still believed he would come if she truly needed him.

After hesitating for a long moment, she pressed Charle's number.

The call rang several times before he answered.

"What is it now, Genevieve?" His voice was tired and impatient. "I'm busy."

She swallowed, forcing herself to speak. "Charle... I have a high fever. 103.1. Can you come home and take me to the hospital?"

There was a brief silence.

Then his voice came through, cold and distant. "You're an adult. If you're sick, call an Uber or take some medicine. Don't make everything such a big deal."

Before Genevieve could respond, another voice came from the other end of the call.

"Charle, who is it? Come help me dry my hair..."

It was Keshia White again.

Her fingers froze around the phone.

"I'm busy right now," Charle said quickly. "I'll call you later."

The call ended.

Genevieve stared at the dark screen for several seconds before slowly lowering her hand. She had waited for him at the bridal shop. She had waited for him in their empty apartment. Even now, with a fever and unbearable pain, she had still called him first.

But this time, there was nothing left to wait for.

After an unknown amount of time, she pushed herself upright. Her body trembled, but her movements became steady. She walked to the bedroom, opened the drawer, and took out her ID and bank cards.

She didn't call an ambulance. She didn't call anyone else.

She opened the ride app on her phone and booked a car to Lenox Hill Hospital's emergency room.

While waiting, she stood by the window and watched the storm outside. The city lights that once represented the future she imagined with Charle now looked distant and unfamiliar.

When the car arrived, the driver immediately noticed her pale face and trembling hands. "Ma'am, do you need help?"

Genevieve shook her head and opened the door. "Thank you. Just take me to the hospital."

The car disappeared into the rain.

Genevieve leaned against the cold window, watching the blurred lights outside. She had spent ten years walking toward a future with Charle.

Tonight, she finally realized that the future she had imagined might never come.