He Owned the World, But Not My Heart

Anastasia's POV

I was about to walk down the aisle—and the man I had been emotionally tied to for eight long years had no idea it was happening.

Recently, Leonardo had hardly been home. His attention had shifted almost entirely to his new executive secretary, Camila—an ambitious woman he’d personally hired only a few months ago. From the moment she entered the company, they clicked with unsettling ease. Their voices carried through the glass corridors of the penthouse office floor, laughter bouncing off marble walls like I wasn’t even there.

When her birthday came around, Leonardo spared no expense. He ordered a towering, multi-tiered moonflower-infused cake, fully aware that I was dangerously allergic to moonflower essence. He’d known that for years. Still, during the celebration, the two of them fed each other frosting, smearing cream on cheeks and fingers, caught up in their own world while I stood off to the side—unseen, unacknowledged.

The moment the scent reached me, my chest tightened violently. My breathing grew shallow, panic clawing its way up my throat. I tried to steady myself, but dizziness took over. The room spun, and the last thing I remembered was collapsing to the floor as the music kept playing.

I woke up hours later in a private medical suite, an IV in my arm and a familiar ache spreading through my chest—this time not physical. It was there, staring at the ceiling, that I finally gave my answer to the marriage arrangement my family had proposed years ago.

Yes.

My mother moved fast, as she always did. The moment I returned to my apartment and unlocked the door, my phone began vibrating nonstop. Message after message poured in—venues, designers, guest lists, timelines. A wedding, fully set in motion.

I scrolled until I reached her last text.

I always suspected Leonardo was never truly meant for you. If he had wanted to marry you, he wouldn’t have dragged his feet for eight years. You still have time, Anastasia. Everything is already prepared.

Another message followed almost immediately.

The ceremony will be held in three days. Pack lightly—there’s no reason to overthink it.

The clarity was almost cruel in its simplicity. While I had been holding onto Leonardo’s vague reassurances and half-spoken promises, everyone else had already accepted what I refused to face: he was never going to choose me.

I exhaled slowly and sent her a voice note.

“Mom, choose whatever you think is appropriate. I trust you. I don’t want anything extravagant—simple is fine.”

I didn’t realize Leonardo had come in until his voice cut through the room, sharp and disbelieving.

“A ceremony?” he asked. “What ceremony are you talking about?”

My body went rigid. I turned off my phone too quickly, but he was already reaching for it. Before he could take it from my hand, his own phone rang—loud, urgent, slicing through the tension.

Camila’s voice burst through the speaker, trembling and frantic.

“Leonardo, I think someone’s following me. I tried changing routes, but I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

His expression changed instantly, concern hardening his features.

“Stay where it’s crowded,” he said firmly. “I’m on my way. Don’t move.”

Without another glance in my direction, he grabbed his jacket and rushed out, leaving the door swinging shut behind him.

I stood there, perfectly still, my face calm despite the storm inside me.

Once the apartment was silent again, I called my aunt Lyra. After my parents relocated overseas a decade ago to expand the family business, she had been the one to raise me.

Leonardo and I had grown up side by side—neighbors, friends, something almost-but-not-quite more. When Lyra married and moved abroad herself, I stayed behind. What was supposed to be temporary had quietly stretched into eight years of shared space and undefined commitment.

When Lyra answered, she sounded surprised—and pleased.

“You’re finally getting married? To Leonardo? It’s about time, Anastasia. Eight years is more than enough.”

I paused before correcting her.

“No, Aunt Lyra. It’s an arranged marriage. I haven’t even met the groom.”

The silence on the other end was heavy.

“Are you sure?” she asked carefully. “Leonardo cares about you. Maybe he just needs a push. I could speak to him.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped me.

“If he truly cared, he wouldn’t have needed eight years to decide. I spent my youth waiting while he kept me in limbo. Whatever we had—it wasn’t love. Just comfort. And I refuse to waste another year hoping he’ll suddenly choose me.”

She sighed, clearly struggling to reconcile our long history with my decision. Still, she didn’t argue. She promised to support me, no matter what.

That night, before going to sleep, I set a countdown timer on my phone.

Three days until I walked away from the life I’d been holding onto.

The following morning, I asked my mother to prepare a few farewell gifts for Aunt Lyra, as a thank-you for all the years she’d taken care of me.

That evening, while waiting for the delivery truck, I found Leonardo standing outside the building, watching me give instructions to the driver.

“What’s all this?” he asked, his gaze sharp.

“Just a few gifts,” I replied calmly. “They’re for my aunt.”

“Gifts?” His tone dropped. “Why?”

“Because I’m leaving soon.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t ask where or why. Perhaps he assumed I was bluffing.

Then Camila appeared, heels clicking against the pavement. She slipped effortlessly into Leonardo’s side, her hand looping through his arm as if it belonged there.

“Thank you for last night,” she said softly, looking up at him. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

I stepped back, unwilling to witness any more.

As I turned away, I heard her laugh lightly.

“She’s always so quiet, isn’t she? Sometimes I forget she’s even there.”

Whatever Leonardo replied didn’t matter anymore.

He had already chosen—again and again. And this time, I was finally choosing myself.