Choosing The Forgotten, Finding My King

For five years, I was blindly devoted to my fiancé, Austen Griffin. My family's power was the only reason he was about to be named heir to the entire Griffin fortune.

But on the night of the announcement, he arrived late with my sister, Dennie, a fresh hickey on his neck. He cornered me, demanding a prenuptial agreement.

"No shared accounts. No shared bedroom. And no questions about my life," he whispered. "You get the name, I get my freedom."

In my past life, their public betrayal broke me. He used my love to secure his power, then cast me aside, leaving me to die alone while he and my sister enjoyed the fortune I handed them.

But when I opened my eyes, I was back at the gala, moments before the decision.

This time, when the family patriarch asked me to name my choice, I looked past Austen' s triumphant smirk and smiled.

"I choose Kolton Griffin," I announced, my voice clear and cold, selecting the crippled, forgotten cousin he despised most.

Chapter 1

Kallie POV

I walked out of the opulent ballroom, the echoes of Frederick Griffin's booming laugh still ringing in my ears. The air outside was crisp, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth within. I needed a moment, a breath, before plunging back into the gilded cage that was the Griffin family.

Then I saw him.

Austen Griffin, draped in expensive silk, was holding court by the fountain. His usual entourage of sycophants and distant relatives hung on his every word.

He hadn't seen me yet.

One of his cronies, a sniveling distant cousin named Marcus, caught sight of me first. He nudged Austen, a smirk already forming on his lips.

The group parted instantly, like water around a stone, leaving Austen front and center. My presence always had that effect.

Marcus, emboldened by Austen's attention, snickered. "Look who it is. Still clinging to the old man's coattails, Kallie?"

His words were a blunt instrument, designed to wound. "Trying to squeeze every last drop out of your father's 'sacrifice'?"

Austen finally turned, his eyes, usually so captivating, now held a chilling indifference. They were like chips of ice, reflecting nothing of the warmth I once desperately sought.

"What do you want, Kallie?" he asked, his voice laced with annoyance. "Haven't you caused enough trouble already?"

He accused me, his words dripping with disdain. "Still using Frederick's good nature to worm your way into things, are we? Still clinging to a past that' s long over?"

"It's just tiresome, Kallie. Always bringing up how your father saved the firm. It' s ancient history. Move on."

He scoffed, adjusting his perfectly tailored jacket. "Honestly, I'm starting to reconsider this whole arrangement. Any further interference from you, and I'll call the entire engagement off."

His eyes narrowed, brimming with pure contempt and disgust. "Any attempt to meddle, to manipulate, and I promise you, any talk of our union will be dead. My decision is final, and nothing you can do will change it."

My stomach clenched. I knew this scene. I had lived it countless times in my past life, a life where my heart was a raw, open wound, constantly bleeding for this man. But this wasn't that life anymore. This wasn't that Kallie.

I took a deep, steadying breath. My past self would have crumbled, pleaded, begged for his understanding. This new Kallie, reborn from the ashes of that heartbreak, simply felt a cold, calculated satisfaction.

"Frederick invited me," I said, my voice calm, flat. "He's throwing me a birthday celebration."

A ripple went through the sycophantic crowd. Marcus's jaw dropped. "Frederick? Throwing Kallie a party?"

Murmurs erupted. "The old man hasn't bothered with family events in years!" someone whispered.

I understood their shock. Frederick Griffin, the patriarch, was a recluse, a ghost in his own mansion. His sudden reappearance, especially for my twenty-fifth birthday, was unprecedented. It was a clear signal, a chess move in the intricate game of power and inheritance.

Frederick's trust. The decisive block of voting shares. The choice of a Griffin heir to marry. The managing partner position. It all hung in the balance tonight.

The initial shock wore off, replaced by forced smiles and fawning. Marcus, ever the opportunist, elbowed Austen. "Looks like someone's about to be officially crowned, eh, Austen? The future head of Griffin & Associates!"

Austen' s lips curled into a sneer. He gave me a mocking, triumphant look. "Congratulations, Kallie," he drawled, his voice a silken threat. He stepped closer, invading my personal space, his breath warm against my ear.

"Let's be clear about the terms of our marriage," he whispered, his eyes glinting with a harsh possessiveness. "No shared accounts. No shared bedroom. And no questions about my life. My private life is exactly that-private."

"That's the only way this alliance works for me. You get the name, the status. I get my freedom. Don't expect anything more."

The sheer audacity of his demands stole my breath. Was he also... from another timeline? Did he remember what he had done to me, to us? The thought was absurd, yet a sliver of doubt, sharp as a splinter, pricked at my mind.

Just then, a saccharine voice cut through the air. "Austen, darling! There you are!"

My sister, Dennie, emerged from the shadows, a vision in delicate lace. She clutched her chest, a faint flush on her cheeks, her eyes wide and seemingly fragile. Her "debilitating anxiety" was always more of a performance than a reality, a carefully crafted shield for her manipulative schemes.

Austen, ever the "chivalrous" gentleman, abandoned me instantly. He rushed to her side, his arm encircling her waist. "Dennie, my love! Are you alright? You shouldn't be out here in the cold."

Dennie leaned into him, a picture of delicate vulnerability. "Oh, Austen, I'm fine, really. Frederick just asked me to... keep an eye on things. Make sure Kallie wasn't too overwhelmed." Her gaze flickered to me, a flash of smug triumph in her carefully meek expression.

Austen's eyes, now devoid of all tenderness, shot back to me. His grip on Dennie tightened. "Kallie, Dennie needs to rest. She's far too fragile for your... antics."

He glared, a silent accusation. "You always think only of yourself. Dennie needs constant care, support. Something you seem incapable of providing."

He guided Dennie away, but not before pausing, turning back to me. His voice was low, threatening. "Don't even think about making trouble, Kallie. I won't hesitate to call off the engagement. You understand?"

I watched them go, a small, knowing laugh bubbling up from deep within my chest. Call it off? Oh, Austen, you have no idea what's coming.

Kallie POV

The day of the gala arrived, a whirlwind of false smiles and whispered judgments. The grand ballroom shimmered under crystal chandeliers, a stage set for the night' s impending drama.

Just as Frederick Griffin was about to make his entrance, Austen and Dennie finally appeared. Frederick, ever the stickler for punctuality, had already left the receiving line. Their tardiness was a deliberate slight, a calculated power play.

Dennie's cheeks were flushed, a little too rosy, and Austen's starched collar barely concealed a faint, tell-tale bruise on his neck.

The message was clear, scandalous, and utterly public. Everyone saw it. Everyone understood.

My past self would have felt a crushing wave of humiliation, a hot flush spreading across my face. I would have felt the sting of betrayal, the sickening lurch in my stomach. I would have run to the ladies' room, locking myself in a stall, tears streaming down my face as I confronted the ugly truth of their affair. I would have questioned their loyalty, their decency, my own worth.

But the Kallie standing there now was different. I simply allowed my gaze to drift over them for a brief, fleeting second. Then I turned my head, resuming my conversation with an elderly socialite about the merits of vintage champagne.

Austen, however, had noticed. His eyes, sharp and proprietary, followed my fleeting glance. He immediately shifted his body, subtly shielding Dennie from my view.

My silence, my utter lack of emotional reaction, clearly infuriated him. He expected a scene, an outburst, the familiar desperation that he had come to rely on.

He approached me, a forced, brittle smile plastered on his face. "So, Kallie," he said, his voice tight, "playing the magnanimous fiancée, are we? Trying to prove you're worthy of the Griffin name by ignoring my... indiscretions?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a condescending whisper. "Don't bother. This is just a formality. You know I'll be named managing partner tonight. I need a compliant wife, not a hysterical one. Your silence means nothing to me."

Dennie, ever the cunning actress, nestled deeper into Austen's side. She offered me a simpering, fake apology, her eyes, however, gleaming with triumph. "Oh, Kallie, I'm so terribly sorry we're late. Austen was just... helping me calm my nerves. He's so wonderfully attentive."

She batted her eyelashes, a delicate tremor in her voice. "We just lost track of time. It was all so... intense."

The double meaning hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. A wave of titters and whispers spread through the room. Eyes darted between Dennie, Austen, and me, calculating, judging.

My past self would have felt a surge of white-hot rage. I would have screamed, perhaps even slapped Dennie, making a spectacle of myself. Austen would have pulled her protectively into his arms, denouncing me as a "crazy, jealous woman," further solidifying their narrative of my instability.

But this Kallie merely took a slow, deliberate sip of my champagne. The bubbles tickled my tongue, a small, internal rebellion against the chaos.

"It's quite alright, Dennie," I said, my voice perfectly level. "The celebration is for Frederick. Your absence wasn't exactly a tragedy. In fact, it was barely noticed."

I paused, letting my gaze linger meaningfully on Austen's collar. "But perhaps, Austen, you should ask Dennie to wipe the lipstick from your collar. It's a rather vibrant shade of crimson. And it matches her dress perfectly."

"Such a vulgar display," I concluded, a cool disdain in my voice.

Austen's face, already flushed with indignation, darkened further. He had clearly expected tears, anger, anything but this icy indifference, this surgical strike at his carefully constructed facade. He wanted me to be his puppet, dancing to his tune of jealousy and despair. He wanted me to prove I was still his devoted follower. Instead, I saw him as a stain, an embarrassing smudge on an otherwise perfect evening.

He tightened his grip on Dennie's waist, his knuckles white. "Watch your words, Kallie," he hissed, his eyes blazing. "Your position here is only due to Frederick's passing fancy. He might change his mind if you continue to be so... ungracious. You should be grateful Dennie even bothered to show her face."

I let out a soft, almost imperceptible laugh. "Grateful for what, Austen?" I asked, my voice rising just enough to carry to the nearby clusters of guests. "Grateful she occupied your time so thoroughly that you forgot your manners? Perhaps you and Dennie should go tidy yourselves up. You're both quite pathetic."

With that, I turned my back on them, gracefully joining a group of older guests, leaving Austen fuming in my wake. I could feel his furious gaze like a physical weight on my back, the impotent rage of a man who had completely lost control of a situation he always assumed he governed. The power dynamic had irrevocably shifted, and he hated it.

For the rest of the evening, I played the perfect hostess, charming the younger generation of Griffins with easy laughter and intelligent conversation. I watched as Austen, isolated and seething, brooded in a corner, waiting. Waiting for me to break, to return to the familiar role of the pathetic, heartbroken girl.

But that girl was gone. Buried.

As midnight approached, the atmosphere in the ballroom crackled with tension. The moment of decision was drawing near.

Austen smoothed his hair, a smug, triumphant smile returning to his face. He truly believed he had won. He was convinced I would choose him. He strode to the very center of the room, puffing out his chest, ready for his coronation.

A hush fell over the assembled guests. All eyes turned to Frederick Griffin, and then to me.

Kallie POV

The grand ballroom grew silent, every eye fixed on me, the air thick with anticipation. It was time for Frederick to announce his successor, and for me to formalize my choice.

Just then, a hush fell as the double doors of the ballroom swung open. A nurse carefully wheeled in Kolton Griffin. He looked painfully thin, his face stark against the crisp white of his shirt. He was confined to a wheelchair, a permanent reminder of the car accident that had claimed his parents and left him with a limp and a marginalized existence within the family.

A ripple of knowing smirks passed through the older members of the family. They saw Kolton as damaged goods, an invalid not fit to lead.

My choice. It was now.

I remembered Frederick' s words to me earlier that week, during a private dinner in his study. "Kallie," he had said, his voice gravelly with age but sharp with wisdom, "the trust stipulates your choice, and I will honor it. Entirely. But I advise you to keep your decision to yourself until the moment of the announcement. Let them speculate."

"When the time is right, everyone will know," he had concluded, a glint in his eye. His control, even from the sidelines, was absolute.

I had hesitated, almost blurting out my true intentions. But I held back, respecting his wisdom. Kolton, across the table, had remained impassive, but I could have sworn I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, a brief moment of disappointment, quickly masked.

I understood Frederick's caution. This family, vast and sprawling, was a nest of vipers, each one eyeing the fortune and power that controlling Griffin & Associates wielded. Any hint of my decision, any deviation from their carefully constructed expectations, would lead to chaos.

Austen had spent his life believing the firm was his birthright. His arrogance was a shield, but also a blindfold. He truly thought I was still his pathetic, lovesick devotee. I decided then not to give him the satisfaction of a fight. Let him gloat. Let them all think what they wanted.

I turned my back on the murmuring crowd, on Austen's smug confidence, and walked towards the center of the room, my head held high.

Frederick, from his raised dais, cleared his throat. The sound echoed in the sudden, profound silence. He looked at me, a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of his head. It was my cue.

"Tonight," Frederick announced, his voice booming, "we celebrate Kallie Parrish's twenty-fifth birthday, and a new chapter for Griffin & Associates."

He gestured towards me. "As per my late partner's wishes, Kallie will now announce her choice. Her voice, and hers alone, will decide the future leadership of this firm."

Austen, radiant with self-importance, puffed out his chest, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He had already angled his body, preparing to accept the congratulations.

I met his gaze, and then, slowly, deliberately, I turned my head. My eyes swept past the snickering faces, past the expectant looks, past the pitying glances directed at Kolton in his wheelchair.

I looked at Kolton. His eyes were wide, a silent plea for me to choose Austen, to maintain the status quo, to not drag him into this mess. Or perhaps... a quiet hope I had never dared to acknowledge.

"I choose Kolton Griffin," I stated, my voice clear and unwavering, cutting through the silence like a sharp blade.

The gasp that erupted was instantaneous, deafening. It was a collective roar of disbelief, shock, and outrage.

Austen's face, only moments ago so full of triumph, crumpled into a mask of pure horror. His jaw went slack, his eyes wide and vacant.

"What did she say?" someone gasped. "Kolton? The cripple?"

Frederick' s gaze, usually so distant, now held a glint of steel. "The choice has been made," he declared, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "Kallie Parrish has chosen Kolton Griffin to be her husband and, by extension, the next managing partner of Griffin & Associates."

"No! That's impossible!" Austen shrieked, his voice raw, desperate. He lunged forward, stumbling over his own feet, his carefully constructed composure shattered. "Frederick, you must be mistaken! You're old! You misheard!"

Frederick merely raised an eyebrow. "My ears are perfectly fine, Austen. And my mind sharper than yours will ever be. Kallie's choice is clear and final."

Austen turned to me, his eyes now pleading, desperate. "Kallie! Tell them! Tell them it's a mistake! You love me! You've always loved me!" He reached for my hand, his fingers surprisingly cold. "This is a joke, right? You're playing a cruel trick!"

I pulled my hand away, a wave of disgust washing over me. "There is no trick, Austen," I said, my voice cold and hard. "I chose Kolton."

Kolton, still in his wheelchair, visibly flinched. His eyes widened, fixing on me with a mixture of shock and something I couldn't quite decipher.

Austen's face contorted in rage. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. "How could you? The whole city knows you're obsessed with me! You've fawned over me for years! You wouldn't choose... him!" he spat the last word, glancing at Kolton with utter contempt. "You're doing this to get back at me, aren't you? Because of Dennie?"

I ripped my arm from his grasp. "Jealous of what, Austen? Of your pathetic displays of affection with my sister? I chose Kolton because he possesses something you never will: integrity. Steadfastness. A quiet strength that far outweighs your superficial charm."

The room erupted again, a cacophony of whispers and gasps. The very same people who had mocked Kolton moments ago now looked at him with dawning respect. The currents of power in the room had shifted, abruptly, decisively. Overnight, Austen was relegated to the sidelines, a forgotten prince. Kolton, the 'damaged' cousin, was now the king.

Dennie, her face pale with shock, suddenly surged forward, casting aside her fragile act. "Kallie, you can't!" she cried, rushing to my side. "You're being cruel! Austen was ready to marry you!" She turned to the crowd, her voice rising. "Don't you see how heartless this is? How could you choose that... that invalid, over Austen?"

I stared at her, a bitter smile on my lips. "Ready to marry me?" I scoffed, my voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Ready to marry me under conditions of an 'independent life'? No shared accounts, no shared bedroom, and no questions asked about his... 'private' affairs?"

"Is that the 'love' you're defending, Dennie?" I challenged, my gaze sweeping over the shocked faces of the guests.

Dennie faltered, her face draining of color. The murmurs intensified, now directed at her and Austen. Austen looked around, a dawning horror on his face. His carefully constructed image lay in ruins. His arrogance had been his undoing.

Kolton, who had been listening in silence, now spoke, his voice low but resonating with newfound authority. "The decision is made," he reiterated, his gaze firm. He looked at Austen, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Kallie has chosen, and Frederick has approved. If you have an objection, Austen, I suggest you take it to the board of directors."

Then, he turned to me, and for the first time, called me by a new title. "My fiancée."

The word sent a shiver through me, a thrilling jolt of warmth. Kolton looked at me, his eyes no longer holding that subtle hint of disappointment. Instead, they burned with a quiet, fierce intensity. He was no longer the invalid, the marginalized cripple. He was a man reborn, a hidden weapon finally unleashed.

Austen let out a strangled cry, his body trembling with rage and despair. He knew. He had lost everything: his inheritance, his prestige, and the woman he had always treated as his personal "toy." For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. He realized that without my adoration, without the power that came with me, he truly was nothing.

"No! I won't let you!" Austen hissed, his voice hoarse, broken. "Frederick is senile! Kolton will never take what's mine! You're mine, Kallie!"

"I belong to no one," I whispered back, my voice barely audible but firm. "Tonight, I celebrate with my future husband. Get out, Austen. Go take care of your little... playmate."

Austen's eyes widened in utter disbelief, his world collapsing around him.