My Fiancé’s Secret Love is My Cousin - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Dealing with traffic accidents overseas is never fun, but thankfully, Alastair—raised by his British grandmother—spoke flawless English, which smoothed things over. With his help, the insurance paperwork was a breeze. And as luck would have it, the office space I'd rented? Turns out it belonged to his family.
Inside, I carefully pressed a bandage over the small cut on his forehead.
"There, all set. Just try to keep it dry for a few days, and maybe go easy on the spices."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Easier said than done in Dubai. Everything's got a kick to it." Guilt twisted in my chest—this was my fault, after all—so the words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Well, I could cook for you. Just swing by at mealtimes, and I'll make sure you're fed."
He didn't miss a beat. "Deal. Thanks. By the way, I don't think I ever got your name?"
"Irene. Irene Osborne," I said with a smile. Angela—the name tied to my old life—was buried in the past.
After that, Alastair started dropping by regularly. What began as casual visits slowly became something I looked forward to, and before I knew it, we'd grown close.
One evening, after dinner, we lingered in the garden under a sky full of stars. The air was cool, the quiet between us thick with something unspoken. Then Alastair pointed to the brightest one.
"What if I could pluck that star down and give it to you?"
I laughed, tilting my head. "And how exactly would you manage that? It's light-years away."
He grinned, then covered my eyes with his hand. His breath warmed my ear as he whispered, "Like this."
When he pulled away, there it was—a diamond ring sparkling under the moonlight.
Alastair dropped to one knee, holding it out with a hopeful smile. "Irene, will you be with me?"
His bright green eyes were full of quiet desperation, like my answer held the weight of the world.
My chest ached, but I shook my head. "Alastair, I… can't."
He was a good man—too good. But I couldn't risk it. Not after being left behind twice before.
To his credit, he didn't push. Just slipped the ring back into his pocket with a soft, resigned laugh. "Guess I jumped the gun. I'll wait until you're ready."
I should've told him not to wait at all—to move on. But the hurt in his eyes stole the words from my throat. All I could do was nod.
After that night, things went back to normal—or at least, they seemed to. Alastair acted the same, but every time he got too close, guilt gnawed at me.
Today, I hadn't even told him my best friend was visiting, yet somehow he showed up anyway, eager to help. The sun was brutal, so I hurried my friend inside while Alastair kept unloading the car.
When I came back out, he was drenched in sweat, his forehead glistening under the scorching heat. I grabbed a towel and handed it to him. "Thanks for helping. Here—you're soaked."
"What's your friend packing in there, bricks?" He rubbed his forehead with a grin. "Arm's a little sore. Mind giving me a hand?"
The air between us crackled with his scent. My face burned as I stood on my toes, reaching up. Just as the towel was about to touch his skin, a voice cut through the moment.
"Angela, stop!"
I turned. Brian was sprinting toward us, unshaven, his amber eyes wild. He looked like a homeless guy who'd stumbled into a designer suit.
Alastair stepped in front of me, his voice sharp. "Who the hell are you?"
Brian ignored him, staring straight at me with desperation. "I'm her fiancé! The man she loves more than anyone!"
I froze, too stunned to even react. Then his gaze locked onto mine, pleading.
"Come on, Angela, tell him! Tell him I'm your fiancé!"
Without hesitation, I shook my head and grabbed Alastair's hand. "Let's go. He's clearly lost his mind," I muttered, dragging him inside without another glance.