The rain poured like the sky itself was grieving.
Outside the cathedral, flashes of lightning painted the marble white, then swallowed it in shadow again.
Aria Lyn stood before the altar, her wedding dress soaked and heavy, lace clinging to her trembling hands. Around her, whispers filled the silence, cruel, cutting, unrelenting.
"Did he run away?"
"Damian Cross, the great CEO… left his bride?"
"Poor thing. She looks pathetic."
Her fingers tightened around the bouquet until the white roses shattered in her grip. The petals scattered across the floor, just like her heart.
He wasn't coming.
Five years ago, she thought love could fix anything. Tonight, it had destroyed everything.
Her phone buzzed in her trembling hand. She stared at the name on the screen: Damian.
For a moment, her breath caught, maybe he'd explain, maybe there was still hope.
She answered.
And his voice, cold, flat, and merciless, carved through her like glass.
"I'm sorry, Aria. The wedding's off."
The world tilted.
Her knees buckled, but she forced herself to stand. "What… what do you mean off? Damian, people are here. The press, our families"
"I can't marry you," he said simply. "Not anymore."
The church fell silent. Even her heartbeat seemed to stop.
"Why?" The word tore from her throat. "After everything, after us, why now?"
There was a pause. Then came the knife.
"Because I'm marrying someone else."
Her vision blurred. "What?"
"Sienna," he said. "My brother's fiancée. She's… she's dying. It's her last wish."
For a second, she thought it was a cruel joke. Then she heard his breath, calm, resigned, and knew it was real.
Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "So I'm just… what? The replacement when she's gone?"
"You'll understand one day," he said quietly. "I'll make it up to you. When this is over, I'll come back."
When this is over.
As if her love were a contract he could pause and resume.
Her voice broke. "Don't come back."
She ended the call before he could reply.
Outside, thunder roared, loud enough to drown the sound of her heart breaking.
---
Hours later, Aria sat alone in her apartment, makeup smeared, veil discarded. Her phone wouldn't stop ringing, reporters, family, friends. She ignored them all.
Then came one message.
From him.
Damian: "You deserve better. I'll fix this."
She stared at those words until her tears dried into silence.
"Better?" she whispered. "You already broke me."
Her hand slid to her abdomen, a subconscious, trembling touch. She didn't know yet, but deep down, her body already carried the secret that would change everything.
Her phone buzzed again, this time from her best friend, Mira.
"Aria, open the door. I'm outside!"
Aria wiped her face and stumbled toward the door. Mira rushed in, her eyes wide with anger.
"Where is he? I'll kill that arrogant bastard"
Aria shook her head, laughing bitterly. "He's already gone."
Mira froze. "Gone? You mean?"
"Left me for his brother's dying fiancée."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then Mira pulled her into a hug.
"You can't stay here," she whispered. "They'll eat you alive."
Aria looked around her apartment, every piece of furniture, every photo, was tied to him.
His world. His money. His rules.
She stepped back from Mira, her eyes hollow but fierce. "Then I'll disappear."
"Aria"
"No one will find me."
She tore off her engagement ring, dropped it into a glass of champagne left from the ceremony, and watched it sink to the bottom.
The symbol of everything she had lost.
That night, as rain beat against the windows, Aria packed one suitcase, bought a one-way ticket, and vanished.
---
The taxi's engine hummed quietly beneath the rain. Aria pressed her forehead against the window, watching the city lights smear into a blur of gold and gray.
Jakarta, no, the city of their dreams, she corrected bitterly, was fading behind her. The skyscrapers where they once walked hand in hand now felt like tombstones of promises buried too soon.
The driver glanced at her through the mirror. "Ma'am, the airport?"
She nodded, voice hoarse. "Yes. The farthest flight available tonight."
He hesitated but said nothing more. The road stretched endlessly before them, the wipers beating in rhythm with her pulse.
Her hands clutched the small suitcase on her lap, everything she owned now.
A few clothes, her sketchbook, and the necklace her mother gave her before she died.
Everything else, the mansion, the studio, the brand name "Aria Lyn" belonged to him.
---
When she reached the airport, the fluorescent lights stabbed her tired eyes. She didn't care where she'd go. Tokyo, Seoul, Paris, anywhere but here.
At the counter, the attendant asked, "Destination?"
Aria looked up, voice calm and detached. "Anywhere the next plane goes."
The woman blinked. "There's a flight to Florence in an hour."
"Then Florence."
Her credit card, the one linked to Damian's accounts, had already been frozen. She pulled out a small envelope of cash Mira had forced into her hands. "This will do."
The attendant hesitated at the sight of the damp bills but nodded. "Seat 27A."
Aria thanked her softly, clutching the ticket like it was her last lifeline.
---
Hours later, she sat by the airplane window as dawn broke across the clouds.
Her reflection stared back at her, pale, empty-eyed, ghostlike.
She didn't cry anymore. She couldn't. The tears had run out.
Instead, she opened her sketchbook.
The first page showed Damian's face, sharp jawline, dark eyes, the smile that once made her heart race. She stared at it for a long moment, then tore it out.
The paper fluttered to the floor like ash.
From this day on, he no longer exists.
---
Three weeks later – Florence, Italy
The air smelled of coffee and rain. The streets were narrow, cobblestoned, filled with voices she couldn't understand, and yet, for the first time in weeks, she felt something close to peace.
She worked quietly in a small boutique, stitching designs for tourists. Her hands were steady again, though her heart still trembled in quiet moments.
Then, one morning, nausea hit her like a wave.
She barely made it to the sink before her breakfast came back up.
Her boss, an elderly seamstress named Gianna, frowned and handed her a tissue. "You okay, ragazza?"
Aria smiled faintly. "Just tired, maybe."
But deep down, something in her knew.
That evening, she stood alone in a dim pharmacy, clutching a pregnancy test in her shaking hands. The rain outside mirrored the storm inside her.
Minutes later, she stared at the tiny blue lines.
Two of them.
Her breath hitched. She sank onto the cold tile floor, tears spilling freely now, not of sorrow, but disbelief.
"Damian…" she whispered, voice breaking. "You left me… but you left us."
---
Days turned into nights.
Fear mixed with tenderness as she learned the truth of what grew inside her. Twins.
Gianna, who had become the closest thing to family, helped her find a small apartment.
"You're young, but you're strong," she said. "Florence makes survivors, not victims."
Aria smiled through tears. "Then I'll survive."
She began sketching again, not for fashion houses, but for herself.
Her designs grew bolder, darker, infused with pain and defiance.
The world had taken everything from her. She would take it back, one stitch, one breath, one heartbeat at a time.
---
Six months later
Aria sat by the window, watching the city lights shimmer over the Arno River. Her belly was round now, her fingers tracing slow circles over the curve of life inside her.
"Don't worry, my loves," she whispered. "You'll never need him. You'll have me."
The twins kicked gently in reply, as if answering.
And that night, for the first time since that ruined wedding, she smiled.
A real smile.
The kind that came not from hope in others, but strength in herself.
---
Five years later, the world would know her name again.
Not as Damian Cross's broken fiancée, but as Aria Valen, the mysterious designer who built an empire from nothing.
Cold, elegant, untouchable.
But tonight, under the soft hum of Florence rain, she was just a woman who had lost everything and found something greater, her will to rise.
---