Back to the Engagement Feast, I Chose His Uncle

Ciel Miller's eyes snapped open.

The crystal chandelier above her blazed with a harsh white light, stabbing straight into her pupils. For a second, the world around her was nothing but spinning color, noise, and glitter.

Her right hand trembled. The champagne flute tilted, and ice-cold liquid spilled over the rim, soaking into the silk of her custom gown. The freezing sensation against her thigh dragged her fully back to the present.

The buzzing in her ears slowly sharpened into the elegant notes of a live string quartet.

Ciel gasped. Her chest rose and fell hard, as if she had just been pulled from deep water. Her eyes swept across the room in terror.

Designer gowns. Tailored tuxedos. Waiters with silver trays.

The penthouse ballroom in Manhattan.

This was the night her life ended in her previous life.

Her gaze stopped at the center of the room.

Harry Chavez stood there, surrounded by politicians and businessmen. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo. When he caught her looking, a slow, arrogant smile spread across his face.

It was the smile of a man who believed he owned her.

Ciel's stomach turned. Acid burned in her throat.

Memories slammed into her. The public humiliation. The psychological torture. The suffocating marriage that had drained her until there was nothing left.

She took one step back. Her heel sank into the thick wool rug. The dull sound landed in her ears like a gunshot.

A waiter noticed her pale face and leaned closer.

"Miss Miller? Would you care for iced water? Or should I show you to the balcony for some air?"

Ciel forced herself to breathe. Her fingernails dug into her palms until pain cleared her panic.

She shook her head and placed the half-empty champagne flute onto his tray.

At the front of the ballroom, a sharp tapping sound echoed through the speakers.

Peregrine Chavez, patriarch of the Chavez family, stood on the temporary stage. He tapped his cane against the microphone stand.

The feedback cut through the room. Within seconds, the ballroom went silent.

Peregrine smiled with heavy authority. "Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for joining us tonight. I have a very important family announcement to make."

Harry adjusted his silk tie and lifted his chin. He took two slow steps toward Ciel, already waiting for his moment.

Beside Peregrine stood Eleonora Chavez, Harry's mother. Her eyes swept over Ciel like she was inspecting property.

Peregrine leaned toward the microphone.

"The Miller family has a long and honorable history with us. We have always looked after Ciel. Tonight, we solidify that bond."

Ciel's breathing slowed.

The terror in her eyes disappeared, replaced by cold clarity.

"To honor our families' deep connection," Peregrine announced, "I have decided to give Ciel's hand in marriage to our finest heir, my grandson, Harry."

Applause filled the ballroom.

Dozens of eyes turned toward Ciel. Some were jealous. Some were pitying.

Harry extended his right hand, palm up, waiting for her to walk into his grasp like she always had.

The applause died.

Ciel stood still.

Harry's eyebrows twitched. He flicked his fingers impatiently, silently ordering her to move.

Ciel reached down and gathered the fabric of her skirt.

But she did not walk toward him.

She turned and walked straight to the empty space before the stage.

The guests shifted uneasily. The air tightened.

Eleonora's smile froze. She leaned forward, her eyes warning Ciel to behave.

Ciel ignored her.

She straightened her spine and looked directly at Peregrine.

"I am incredibly grateful for the Chavez family's care over the years," Ciel said clearly. "But I will absolutely not accept this engagement to Harry."

The ballroom went dead silent.

Harry's arrogant smile vanished. His outstretched hand froze in midair, making him look ridiculous.

A low gasp spread through the guests. Whispers broke out at once. Hundreds of eyes moved between Ciel's rigid back and Harry's stunned face.

Harry yanked his hand back. The blood drained from his face. His jaw clenched so tightly the muscles jumped under his skin. He was still trying to look calm, still trying to maintain the image of a polished future politician.

Eleonora gripped the stage railing until her knuckles turned white.

"Ciel Miller!" she snapped. "Have you had too much champagne? Stop speaking nonsense this instant!"

Ciel raised her chin and met Eleonora's glare.

"I have never been more sober in my entire life, Mrs. Chavez."

A sharp laugh cut through the tension.

Karina Chavez, Harry's younger sister, pushed to the front of the crowd. She crossed her arms, her designer heels clicking against the floor.

"Oh, please," Karina sneered. "You follow Harry around like a stray dog every day. Now you're playing hard to get? This is a cheap trick to get his attention. It's sickening."

Several socialites covered their mouths and laughed softly.

They all believed Ciel was only throwing a desperate tantrum.

Harry heard Karina's words, and the tension in his shoulders eased. His smirk returned. He convinced himself that Ciel was only trying to make him jealous.

On the stage, Peregrine lifted his cane and struck it against the floor.

The room fell silent again.

He stared down at Ciel. His gaze was heavy and suffocating.

"Do you understand what rejecting this arrangement means for the Miller family name, Ciel?"

Ciel's hands curled into fists. Her nails pressed into her palms.

"The honor of the Miller family does not require me to sacrifice my marriage to maintain it, sir."

Harry finally stepped forward. He moved behind her, close enough for her to smell his expensive cologne.

"I can forgive your little outburst tonight, Ciel," he said loudly, making sure everyone heard. "As long as you apologize right now."

Ciel's stomach turned again.

She slowly turned her head and looked him in the eye.

"Your arrogance makes me physically sick, Harry. I have absolutely zero feelings for you."

The words struck him like a slap.

Harry's eyes darkened with rage. His chest rose and fell heavily.

Peregrine's face hardened. Ciel had humiliated the Chavez family in front of New York's elite.

"If my grandson is not good enough for you," Peregrine said coldly, "then what exactly do you want from the Chavez family?"

Ciel took one slow breath.

This was her only chance to rewrite her fate.

She looked around at the curious, mocking faces, then fixed her gaze on Peregrine.

"If the family insists on fulfilling its promise to take care of me," she said, "then I am willing to marry into the Chavez family."

The crowd murmured in confusion.

Eleonora opened her mouth, ready to mock her.

Ciel did not give her the chance.

"The man I wish to marry is the war hero who was severely injured overseas. I want to marry Deacon Chavez."

The name landed like a grenade.

The ballroom seemed to lose all air.

Harry stared at her as if she had gone insane.

"Are you crazy?" Karina shrieked. "You want to marry a vegetable? The doctors said he's never waking up!"

Peregrine's pupils tightened. His grip on his cane grew so hard the veins in his hand stood out.

Eleonora froze for a few seconds.

Then something calculating flashed in her eyes.

Ciel stood in the center of the storm, calm and unbroken.

She waited for the patriarch's answer.

The silence lasted for ten long seconds.

Only the faint hum of the central air conditioning remained.

Peregrine slowly walked down from the stage. His leather shoes struck the floor one step at a time, each sound heavy as a countdown.

He stopped inches from Ciel. His tall frame blocked the chandelier light and cast a shadow over her.

He bent slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"Deacon's name is not a bargaining chip for you to use in a lover's quarrel, little girl."

Ciel did not step back.

"I am completely serious, sir," she whispered. "General Deacon saved my family in the past. I want to repay that debt."

A few feet away, Eleonora's mind raced.

Deacon had an enormous trust fund. If Ciel married that comatose man, Eleonora could use her as a puppet and plant people inside Deacon's estate. It would remove Ciel from Harry's path and give them access to Deacon's assets.

Her expression softened into false compassion.

She stepped beside Peregrine and placed a hand on his arm.

"Perhaps this is God's will, Peregrine," Eleonora said gently. "Maybe a devoted wife is exactly the miracle Deacon needs to wake up."

Harry heard her and let out a furious growl.

He lunged forward and grabbed Ciel's wrist. His fingers clamped down hard, pressing into her bones.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hissed. "You're going to ruin your life just to get my attention?"

Pain shot up Ciel's arm.

She looked at his hand, then at his face.

Her eyes went cold.

She yanked her wrist free.

"Watch your hands, Harry," she said loudly. "Show some respect. I am about to become your aunt-in-law."

The word aunt struck Harry hard.

The color drained from his lips. A sudden, nameless emptiness slammed into his chest. He did not understand the pain, so his mind turned it into rage.

Peregrine watched Ciel's resolve. Then he looked at Harry, who was losing control in public.

The patriarch made his decision.

He struck his cane against the floor again and turned toward the crowd.

"If Ciel has such deep affection for our hero, Deacon," Peregrine announced, "the Chavez family is happy to honor this noble devotion."

The guests erupted into chaotic whispers.

Under Peregrine's pressure, they quickly forced smiles and began clapping, offering fake congratulations.

Harry stood frozen.

He stared at Ciel's profile. She looked relieved.

His heart tightened painfully, as if an invisible fist had closed around it.

He wanted to break something.

Ciel bent her knees slightly and gave Peregrine a flawless curtsy. Her gratitude was precise and controlled.

Her goal was achieved.

She refused to stay another second in that toxic room.

Ciel turned and walked toward the heavy mahogany doors.

The crowd parted for her.

Their eyes followed her with curiosity, pity, and a strange kind of awe.

Harry's body jerked forward. Instinct screamed at him to chase her.

Eleonora grabbed his arm with bruising force.

"Control yourself," she whispered sharply. "Do not make a scene over a woman who has made herself useless to us."

Ciel pushed the doors open.

Cool hallway air hit her face, clearing away the smell of perfume and alcohol.

She walked to the elevator and stared at her reflection in the polished steel doors.

Young. Healthy. Still untouched by years of depression and illness.

She exhaled shakily.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened.

Ciel stepped inside, turned around, and watched the doors close.

Harry, the ballroom, and that nightmare were shut out of her life.