The car pulled away. Through the rearview mirror, I saw Clark standing frozen, his expression a tangled mess of emotions I couldn't begin to decipher.

After a short drive, the Uber driver spoke up excitedly, "Excuse me, miss. Was that man at the estate gate Mr. Clark Davenport, the CEO of the Davenport Group?"

"His love story is famous all over Newport. I heard his first fiancée cruelly dumped him at their engagement party six years ago and ran off with the trust fund money. He was a complete wreck. Thankfully, Miss Ashley was always by his side."

The driver sounded thrilled. "I bet that selfish rich girl would regret it if she saw how happy they are now."

"She wouldn't," I said calmly, watching the coastline fly by outside the window.

"Don't be so sure. You're not her."

I looked down. My fingertips brushed over the faint mark on my ring finger where a ring once sat. A strange calm settled over my heart.

And he was wrong. Because I was that fiancée. And I felt no regret at all.

Gazing out at the sea, memories flooded back like the tide.

In the old-money circles of Newport, everyone thought Clark was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

They didn't know that on a stormy night when he was ten, I found him curled up, covered in bruises, outside the stark gatehouse of my family's estate.

I stood on the porch, my feet seemingly nailed to the floor.

The next second, I rushed into the rain, grabbed his icy wrist without a word, and dragged him into the warmth of our home.

That night, I gave him all the hot cocoa and pastries from my plate.

He kept his head down the whole time. As I watched him devour everything, I finally saw the desperation hidden beneath his polished exterior.

After that, I learned that his family had gone bankrupt in the latest Wall Street crash, his father had committed suicide by jumping from a building, and his remarried mother wanted nothing to do with him. He was passed around the foster care system, neglected and abused.

From that day on, I always made a point of passing by that fateful driveway.

The quiet Clark would always trail silently behind me. Every day, he rode his bicycle, like a loyal knight, escorting me home.

From then on, we were inseparable. He was the only boy in my teenage world.

In his senior year of high school, he took a yacht out for a joyride and had a serious accident. He not only nearly drowned but also faced massive compensation and jail time.

I cried and begged my father, Harrison, to save him.

In the end, my father pulled all his strings, even giving up a hundred-million-dollar coastal development contract, to pressure the police into dropping the charges and get Clark into a top private hospital for emergency treatment.

After this, Harrison continued to help Clark secretly, introducing him to connections, funding his education at an Ivy League school, and grooming him to be the heir to the Monroe Group.

Clark was, without a doubt, the most remarkable and ambitious person I had ever known.

Whatever he wanted, he got. No matter what, he was always the most dazzling presence in any room.

Whenever I looked at Clark, I felt nothing but admiration and love.

"You're incredible," I once murmured, leaning against his chest. "A man like you... you're destined to be my husband."

Of course, Harrison's actions were not entirely altruistic.

I was passionate about architectural design and had no interest in business, so my father needed someone to take over the family enterprise.

When Clark was about to be promoted to Chief Operating Officer of the group, Harrison asked him if he would be willing to marry me.

Clark accepted without hesitation.

He knelt before me on one knee, holding up an antique watch left by his grandfather.

"This isn't for business, Cassie," he had said. "And it's not because Harrison asked. I want to marry you. You're the only one for me. Always."

That watch carried the last vestiges of a fallen family's dignity and promise. The sweetness of the gesture was intoxicating; I felt utterly cherished.

I thought that was my happy ending.

But fate had a crueler plan in store.

In college, I met the talented but "impoverished" Ashley at an art exhibition. Feeling sorry for her circumstances, I decided to sponsor her in the Monroe family's name and brought her into Newport's top social circles.

One day, Clark came to see me and happened to run into Ashley at the gallery entrance.

He froze on the spot. I saw a light in his eyes that I had never seen before, something akin to obsession.

I would later learn that during the yacht accident, it was Ashley who had been passing by the cliffs. She risked her life, diving into the sea and holding onto him desperately, injuring her lungs in the process.

From that day on, I treated Ashley as Clark's lifesaver. I sponsored her art exhibitions and let her become part of our lives.

I even believed I was helping Clark repay a debt of gratitude.

I never imagined that in doing so, I had welcomed a viper into my own home.

The Uber driver dropped me off at a nondescript short-term rental apartment on the outskirts of Newport. I paid and got out.

Before I left, the driver glanced at the shabby apartment I was renting, a trace of pity in his eyes.

"Don't stay too long in a sketchy neighborhood like this, miss. Go home soon. Your parents must be worried sick."

That sentence was an unexpected knife, striking me right where it hurt most.

I stood there in a daze, the cold wind stinging my eyes.

Home? I no longer had a home.

Tears welled in my eyes, and my thoughts were pulled back to that hellish weekend six years ago.

Back then, I had the warmest, most loving home.

I was my parents' most cherished daughter. They had set my engagement party for my twenty-second birthday, hoping I would have double the happiness that day.

Before the big day, they personally flew to Geneva to finalize a business merger that would completely solidify Clark's position.

Before they left, my mother, Eleanor, caressed my face and gazed at me with her bright, loving eyes. "We've commissioned your favorite designer to custom-make your gown. My baby, you will be the happiest bride in the world."

Lost in a fog of love, I didn't know that would be our last conversation.

On their return flight, their private jet suffered a freak accident, and both my parents perished when it crashed into the sea.

They left me alone in this cruel world without even a final goodbye.

When I heard the news, I was torn apart by guilt and pain.

It was all my fault. If not for them securing that deal for my fiancé, they would have never taken that flight.

During that time, Clark never left my side. He helped me with my parents' funeral arrangements and held me tight when I broke down in tears.

"You have to pull yourself together, Cassie," he'd urged. "Harrison and Eleanor's greatest wish was to see you happy. You can't let them down. The company needs stability, and our engagement must go on."

I believed him. I signed the legal documents giving Clark full proxy over my voting rights, a move meant to stabilize the company during the turmoil.

To fulfill my parents' wish, I suppressed my grief and went ahead with the engagement party.

That day, I put on the gown my parents had custom-made for me and walked into the event like an exquisite puppet.

However, as I passed by the estate's private garden, I saw a scene I would never forget.

Deep within the layers of white roses, a man and a woman were kissing passionately, their bodies entangled.