My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin.
She pouted, her lips quivering with fake innocence as she batted her lashes at Brian. He flashed me that infuriatingly doting smile, but his hand slid behind his back—subtly reassuring her. I watched in silence, a bitter laugh echoing in my mind. God, could he be any more obvious?
Brian reached for my hand, his voice dripping with that sickeningly sweet coaxing tone. "Come on, honey. It's just a seat. Let her have it. She's your cousin, after all. Switch with her, okay?"
His eyes were soft, his expression tender—like I was the only one who mattered. Yet every word out of his mouth defended her.
I forced a thin smile, lifting the hem of my gown as I strode toward the back of the car. "Fine," I said coolly. At least now I wouldn't have to watch him pretend.
The banquet hall hummed with chatter, guests swirling in glittering attire. Laurel was already sipping red wine, her eyes glinting with mischief as she sidled up to me.
"Oh, Angie," she drawled, voice laced with mock pity, "how embarrassing. Look at your dress—it's a wrinkled mess. Couldn't you bother to iron it?"
I ignored her, beelining for the dessert table. My stomach growled—skipping breakfast had been a mistake, and right now, a cupcake was infinitely more important than her theatrics.
But Laurel wasn't done. She trailed after me, smugness oozing from every syllable. "You think I'm just after your man?"
I took a slow bite, arching a brow. Her lips curled. "Stick around. This is only the beginning."
Moments later, the host announced the award for Outstanding Performance. Laurel's name rang out. She floated onto the stage, flashing Brian a knowing smirk.
Every eye in the room darted between us. I felt their pity like a physical weight.
The screen lit up with Laurel's so-called achievements—highlighting a client, Mr. Kumar, whose "miraculous" 20% returns had stunned the industry.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"She's incredible!"
"The last person to pull that off was Mr. Rocha's fiancée—the legendary Miss Duncan!"
"Please. Miss Duncan's best was 15%. Laurel's at 20%. That's legendary."
Steal my man? Fine. Any man who could be taken wasn't worth keeping. But steal my work? My legacy?
Oh, hell no.
Rage burned through me as I stormed the stage, snatching the mic from the startled host. "A 20% return rate?" My voice was ice. "Care to explain how, Laurel?"
She stiffened, panic flickering in her eyes. "I—uh—well—"
Brian cut in, smooth as ever. "That's confidential. We can't disclose details publicly."
I barked a laugh. "Confidential? Then answer this, Laurel: What industries are Mr. Kumar's assets in? What's his full name? How did he build his fortune?"
Her mouth flapped like a fish. "Y-you—are you accusing me?"
Before I could retort, she suddenly lurched forward with a dramatic gasp. We crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fabric. Laurel clutched her ankle, wailing, "Angie, why would you push me?!"
The mic at her feet amplified every syllable. The crowd erupted in whispers, their stares sharp with judgment. I held my ground, refusing to cower.
Brian rushed forward—but then the stage groaned.
Wood splintered. The platform collapsed.
Laurel shrieked, grappling for a steel beam as debris rained down. "Brian! Save me!"
I glanced at my wrist—blood gushed from a deep gash. My breath hitched. Blood. I'd been terrified of it since childhood. My legs locked; I couldn't move.
Brian shoved aside rubble, crawling toward us. Relief flooded me. "Brian! Help me!"
But he didn't even look at me. He scooped Laurel into his arms, his voice tight with panic. "I've got you. You're okay."
Then he turned to me, eyes blazing. "If you hadn't caused this, she wouldn't be hurt. And now you want my help? Pathetic."
No pretense left. Just pure contempt.
Trembling, I held up my bleeding hand. "Brian, I'm bleeding. If I don't get to a hospital—"
Laurel whimpered, clinging to him. "It hurts…"
His face softened instantly. "I know, baby. We're going."
And just like that, he walked away.
"Brian!" My voice cracked. "Please!"
He didn't look back.
Over his shoulder, Laurel met my gaze—and smirked. Her lips formed silent words: "Left again. Poor Angie."
Then they were gone.
I collapsed, shaking. Fine. If no one else would save me, I'd save myself.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved the steel beam off my legs. Pain seared through my hand, but I didn't stop.
By the time I staggered into the hospital, what should've been five stitches became eighteen—the wound torn wider from my struggle.
As the sterile lights glared down, fury hardened into resolve.
On the way to the airport, I hired a PI at a ridiculous price. "Make a fake corpse," I ordered. "Erase me completely."
At the gate, the final boarding call for Dubai echoed overhead. I glanced back at the city I'd once loved.
"Goodbye, Brian."
Brian reached for my hand, his voice dripping with that sickeningly sweet coaxing tone. "Come on, honey. It's just a seat. Let her have it. She's your cousin, after all. Switch with her, okay?"
His eyes were soft, his expression tender—like I was the only one who mattered. Yet every word out of his mouth defended her.
I forced a thin smile, lifting the hem of my gown as I strode toward the back of the car. "Fine," I said coolly. At least now I wouldn't have to watch him pretend.
The banquet hall hummed with chatter, guests swirling in glittering attire. Laurel was already sipping red wine, her eyes glinting with mischief as she sidled up to me.
"Oh, Angie," she drawled, voice laced with mock pity, "how embarrassing. Look at your dress—it's a wrinkled mess. Couldn't you bother to iron it?"
I ignored her, beelining for the dessert table. My stomach growled—skipping breakfast had been a mistake, and right now, a cupcake was infinitely more important than her theatrics.
But Laurel wasn't done. She trailed after me, smugness oozing from every syllable. "You think I'm just after your man?"
I took a slow bite, arching a brow. Her lips curled. "Stick around. This is only the beginning."
Moments later, the host announced the award for Outstanding Performance. Laurel's name rang out. She floated onto the stage, flashing Brian a knowing smirk.
Every eye in the room darted between us. I felt their pity like a physical weight.
The screen lit up with Laurel's so-called achievements—highlighting a client, Mr. Kumar, whose "miraculous" 20% returns had stunned the industry.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"She's incredible!"
"The last person to pull that off was Mr. Rocha's fiancée—the legendary Miss Duncan!"
"Please. Miss Duncan's best was 15%. Laurel's at 20%. That's legendary."
Steal my man? Fine. Any man who could be taken wasn't worth keeping. But steal my work? My legacy?
Oh, hell no.
Rage burned through me as I stormed the stage, snatching the mic from the startled host. "A 20% return rate?" My voice was ice. "Care to explain how, Laurel?"
She stiffened, panic flickering in her eyes. "I—uh—well—"
Brian cut in, smooth as ever. "That's confidential. We can't disclose details publicly."
I barked a laugh. "Confidential? Then answer this, Laurel: What industries are Mr. Kumar's assets in? What's his full name? How did he build his fortune?"
Her mouth flapped like a fish. "Y-you—are you accusing me?"
Before I could retort, she suddenly lurched forward with a dramatic gasp. We crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fabric. Laurel clutched her ankle, wailing, "Angie, why would you push me?!"
The mic at her feet amplified every syllable. The crowd erupted in whispers, their stares sharp with judgment. I held my ground, refusing to cower.
Brian rushed forward—but then the stage groaned.
Wood splintered. The platform collapsed.
Laurel shrieked, grappling for a steel beam as debris rained down. "Brian! Save me!"
I glanced at my wrist—blood gushed from a deep gash. My breath hitched. Blood. I'd been terrified of it since childhood. My legs locked; I couldn't move.
Brian shoved aside rubble, crawling toward us. Relief flooded me. "Brian! Help me!"
But he didn't even look at me. He scooped Laurel into his arms, his voice tight with panic. "I've got you. You're okay."
Then he turned to me, eyes blazing. "If you hadn't caused this, she wouldn't be hurt. And now you want my help? Pathetic."
No pretense left. Just pure contempt.
Trembling, I held up my bleeding hand. "Brian, I'm bleeding. If I don't get to a hospital—"
Laurel whimpered, clinging to him. "It hurts…"
His face softened instantly. "I know, baby. We're going."
And just like that, he walked away.
"Brian!" My voice cracked. "Please!"
He didn't look back.
Over his shoulder, Laurel met my gaze—and smirked. Her lips formed silent words: "Left again. Poor Angie."
Then they were gone.
I collapsed, shaking. Fine. If no one else would save me, I'd save myself.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved the steel beam off my legs. Pain seared through my hand, but I didn't stop.
By the time I staggered into the hospital, what should've been five stitches became eighteen—the wound torn wider from my struggle.
As the sterile lights glared down, fury hardened into resolve.
On the way to the airport, I hired a PI at a ridiculous price. "Make a fake corpse," I ordered. "Erase me completely."
At the gate, the final boarding call for Dubai echoed overhead. I glanced back at the city I'd once loved.
"Goodbye, Brian."
End of My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin book page.