Too Late For His Desperate Proposal

For seventeen years, I loved my best friend, Holden King. I was the quiet girl who always had a bandage for his scraped knees, secretly believing we were meant to be.

But he shattered my world with six words: "She's my sister. That's all." He fell for the cruel and glamorous Fabiola, even taking her to our secret meadow.

Her jealousy was a poison. She faked a pregnancy to trap him, then hired a man to attack me in an alley. The trauma ruptured an aneurysm in my brain, and I went blind.

Through it all, Holden defended her. He refused to believe she was capable of such evil, choosing the monster he'd known for months over the girl he'd known his whole life.

My savior, a kind doctor named Jace, offered me a future, and we planned a fake wedding to give my terrified parents hope.

But as I stood blind at the altar, Holden crashed the ceremony. He fell to his knees, a diamond ring in his hand.

"I love you, Chloe," he cried. "Marry me."

Chapter 1

Chloe Waller POV:

"I love you, Chloe," Holden King whispered, his voice thick with an emotion I' d waited a lifetime to hear. "It' s always been you." He knelt before me, his handsome face etched with desperation, a diamond ring held between his trembling fingers. "Marry me."

I looked down at the man I had loved for seventeen years, the boy who had been my entire world. Then, I looked past him, to the man standing by my side, whose hand was resting gently on my back.

I smiled, a small, sad curve of my lips. "Holden," I said, my voice clear and steady, "I' m already married."

One month ago, my world had been a different color. It had been painted in shades of Holden King.

The university' s annual spring festival was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and blooming jacaranda trees. Laughter and music swirled around me, but I only had eyes for one person. Holden. He was standing by the impromptu stage, the setting sun catching the golden highlights in his brown hair, a confident smile playing on his lips as he talked with his business fraternity brothers.

He was charismatic, popular, the sun around which so many people orbited. And I, Chloe Waller, was just a quiet moon, content to circle in his gravitational pull, a secret I had guarded since I was ten years old.

We were inseparable. The Chloe-and-Holden show, our parents called it. He was the adventurous one, I was the cautious one. He was the one who scraped his knees, and I was the one who always had a bandage ready. He saw me as his little sister, a role I played with practiced ease, all the while my heart was screaming a different truth.

"Seriously, King, when are you going to make a move on Fabiola Clarke?" one of his friends, Liam, elbowed him playfully.

My heart did a painful little flip-flop in my chest. Fabiola Clarke. The university' s reigning queen bee, an influencer with a million followers and a trust fund to match. She was everything I wasn' t: bold, glamorous, and wealthy.

Holden let out a low chuckle, a sound that usually made my stomach flutter. This time, it felt like a stone dropping into a pit. "Give me a break, man. I' m working on it."

"Working on it? Dude, the girl' s been giving you the green light for months," another friend chimed in. "What' s the hold-up? You' re not still hung up on your little shadow, are you?"

My breath hitched. I shrank back behind a large oak tree, the rough bark digging into my shoulder blades. I shouldn' t be listening. This was private.

Holden' s voice, when it came, was dismissive. "Chloe? Don' t be ridiculous. She' s my sister. That' s all she' ll ever be."

Sister.

The word was a hammer blow, shattering the fragile glass house of my dreams. I' d heard it a thousand times, but this time, in the context of him wanting someone else, it felt like a final judgment.

"Good," Liam said, clapping him on the back. "Because Fabiola is a score. Her family owns half the city. You lock that down, you' re set for life."

"It' s not about that," Holden said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "She' s... exciting. Different."

The unspoken words hung in the air: Different from Chloe.

I didn' t need to hear any more. I turned and fled, my vision blurring with tears I refused to let fall. I found a deserted corner behind the library, a place where the shadows were deep and comforting. I slid down the cool brick wall, pulling my knees to my chest, and finally let the sobs wrack my body.

It was over. A love story that had only ever existed in my head had reached its tragic conclusion.

After the tears subsided, a cold resolve settled in my chest. Fine. If he only saw me as a sister, then that' s what I would be. I would bury my feelings so deep he' d never find them. I would smile, I would be supportive, and I would watch him fall in love with someone else, even if it killed me.

I straightened my clothes, wiped my face, and walked back into the festival, a carefully constructed mask of cheerful indifference firmly in place.

Later that evening, the world exploded in a shower of fireworks. Under the glittering sky, I saw him. Holden was standing in the middle of the crowded lawn, holding a single, perfect red rose. He was looking at Fabiola Clarke, his eyes shining with an adoration I had only ever dreamed of receiving.

"Fabiola," he said, his voice carrying in a lull between explosions. "I know I' ve been slow to act, but the truth is, I can' t stop thinking about you. Will you be my girlfriend?"

The crowd around them oohed and aahed. Fabiola, looking every bit the starlet in her designer dress, let out a delighted gasp. She took the rose, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing against his. "Of course, Holden. I thought you' d never ask."

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, a deep, passionate kiss that sealed their new reality. The crowd erupted in cheers.

My own hands were clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. The bouquet of wildflowers I' d picked for him earlier, a silly, hopeful gesture, felt like a bundle of weeds in my grasp. A single tear escaped and traced a cold path down my cheek.

I turned away before anyone could see. As I walked towards the campus exit, I passed a trash can. Without a second thought, I tossed the flowers inside. They landed with a soft, pathetic thud.

A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips.

It' s time to let go, Chloe, I told myself, the words a silent, painful mantra. He' s not yours. He never was.

Two weeks later, Holden threw a party at his off-campus house to celebrate his new relationship. An invitation had appeared in my inbox, a casual "You gotta come, Chlo!" text attached. My first instinct was to delete it, to feign illness, to do anything but go. But that would be admitting defeat. That would be showing him he' d hurt me.

So I went.

I dressed simply, in jeans and a soft sweater, a stark contrast to the glitter and glam of Fabiola' s friends. The house was thrumming with bass-heavy music and the cacophony of a hundred conversations.

Holden spotted me from across the room and his face lit up. "Chlo! You made it!" He wrapped me in a familiar, bone-crushing hug. For a second, I let myself melt into it, breathing in his scent, the scent of home.

Then he pulled away, grabbing another hand. "Chloe, this is Fabiola. Fabiola, my best friend, Chloe."

Fabiola' s smile was bright, but it didn' t reach her eyes. Her grip was cool and firm as we shook hands. "It' s so lovely to finally meet the famous Chloe. Holden talks about you all the time."

"All good things, I hope," I managed, my own smile feeling stiff and unnatural.

"Of course," she said, her arm snaking possessively around Holden' s waist. "He told me how you' re like the sister he never had."

There it was again. That word. Sister.

"Congratulations, you two," I said, my voice sounding surprisingly steady. "You make a beautiful couple."

I grabbed a plastic cup of beer from a nearby table and took a long swallow, the bitter liquid doing little to numb the ache in my chest. I spent the rest of the night on the periphery, a ghost at the feast, watching Holden dote on his new girlfriend. He was attentive, charming, a perfect boyfriend.

The party eventually wound down. Fabiola was leaning against Holden, looking tired but triumphant. Holden looked over at me, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"Chlo, how are you getting home?" he asked. "It' s late."

Before I could answer, Fabiola spoke up, her voice syrupy sweet. "We can give you a ride, Chloe. It' s no trouble at all." It wasn' t a question; it was a declaration of ownership. We are a unit now. You are the outsider.

A surge of defiance, sharp and unexpected, cut through my alcohol-induced haze. "No, thanks," I said, grabbing my bag. "I' ve already called a car."

I didn' t wait for a reply. I walked out the door and into the cool night air, not looking back. As my rideshare pulled away from the curb, I glanced in the rearview mirror. I saw Holden take a step toward the door, a frown on his face, but Fabiola tugged him back, whispering something in his ear. He hesitated, then let her lead him back inside.

He didn' t even look back.

The tears finally came, hot and silent, as the car sped through the empty streets.

"Rough night?" the driver, a kind-faced older man, asked gently, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

I shook my head, quickly wiping my face. "No. I' m just... really happy for my friend."

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth.

Seventeen years. I had known Holden King for seventeen years. He had moved in next door when I was five. He' d taught me how to ride a bike. He' d punched a bully in the nose for pulling my hair in third grade and got detention for a week. I remembered sitting outside the principal' s office, crying, until he came out.

He had ruffled my hair and said, with all the bravado a nine-year-old could muster, "Don' t cry, Chlo. I' m your big brother. I' ll always protect you."

That was the day my childish affection had morphed into something deeper, something quieter and more profound. I had followed him, supported him, cheered for him from the sidelines of his life, always believing that one day he would turn around and see me. Really see me.

He had promised to protect me forever.

But who was going to protect me from him?

Chloe Waller POV:

The car drove aimlessly through the rain-slicked streets, the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers a hypnotic counterpoint to the turmoil in my heart. I couldn' t go home. Not yet. My parents would see the ravages of my unshed tears, my mother' s astute gaze would pierce right through my carefully constructed facade.

"Just... drop me at the nearest hotel," I told the driver, my voice hoarse. "I' ll get a room for the night."

He hesitated, a worried frown creasing his brow. "Are you sure, miss? Maybe you should wait..."

"I' m sure," I said, a little too sharply.

He pulled up to the curb in front of the Grand Astoria, a monolith of glass and steel that catered to the city' s elite. I paid him, mumbled a thank you, and stepped out into the cold, damp air.

As I pushed through the revolving glass doors, a wave of warmth and the faint scent of lilies washed over me. I was just about to head to the front desk when a familiar laugh stopped me cold.

There, by the check-in counter, stood Holden and Fabiola.

He was leaning against her, his arm draped casually around her shoulders as she spoke to the receptionist. He looked drunk, his usual sharp features softened by alcohol and fatigue. She was supporting his weight, her posture radiating a triumphant possessiveness.

They were checking in. Together.

They got their key card, and Fabiola looped her arm through his, guiding him toward the elevators. They were laughing, their heads close together. As they waited, Holden leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, right there in the brightly lit lobby.

I stood frozen in the middle of the entrance, feeling like an invisible spectator at a play I never wanted to see. The air in my lungs seemed to turn to ice. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My feet were rooted to the plush carpet.

"Miss? Are you alright? Do you need some help?" A concerned-looking bellboy was standing in front of me.

I opened my mouth to reply, but all that came out was a choked sob. Tears I hadn' t even realized I was holding back began to stream down my face, hot and unstoppable. The bellboy' s eyes widened in alarm.

"They... they' re staying together?" I whispered, the words tearing from my throat. I pointed a trembling finger towards the elevator, where the doors were just sliding shut on Holden and Fabiola. "In the same room?"

The young man' s expression softened with pity. He glanced at the reception screen, then back at me. "Yes, miss. A king suite on the 25th floor."

The confirmation was a final, brutal blow. The last sliver of hope, the naive belief that maybe, just maybe, he was just being a gentleman and getting her a room, shattered into a million pieces.

I stumbled back out of the hotel, my body trembling uncontrollably. The rain had intensified, plastering my hair to my face, but I barely felt the cold. I sank onto a stone planter by the curb, the rough edge digging into my thighs, and stared blankly at the blurs of headlights passing by.

Some insane, masochistic part of me refused to leave. I sat there, in the rain, a pathetic, sodden heap of misery, and I waited. I don't know what I was waiting for. For him to come back out? To tell me it was all a mistake?

I waited as the sky turned from inky black to a bruised purple, then to a soft, hazy gray.

And then I saw them.

They walked out of the hotel hand in hand, looking refreshed and ridiculously happy. Fabiola was wearing the same dress, but Holden had changed into a fresh shirt. He opened the passenger door of his car for her, then jogged around to the driver's side and slid in. The car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the morning traffic.

The last ember of hope inside me died, leaving nothing but cold, gray ash.

I finally dragged my heavy, aching body home. The house was empty; my parents had already left for work. I collapsed onto my bed, the events of the last twenty-four hours playing on a relentless loop in my mind. Every smile, every touch, every laugh they had shared was a fresh stab of pain.

I cried until I had no tears left, and then I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

When I woke, the afternoon sun was streaming through my window, casting long shadows across the room. I reached for my phone, a sense of dread coiling in my stomach. My thumb hovered over Holden' s contact, then swiped to his social media page.

A new video had been posted an hour ago.

My heart stopped.

It was Fabiola, her face alight with joy, twirling in a field of wildflowers. My wildflowers. Our wildflowers. It was the secret meadow Holden and I had discovered on a hike years ago, the one he swore was "our place," a sanctuary no one else knew about.

He had taken her there. He had given her my sanctuary.

My fingers trembled as I typed a comment, my vision blurring again. Is that our spot? The words looked stark and pathetic on the screen. I deleted them. You promised you' d never take anyone else there. Deleted.

With a shaking hand, I finally managed a single, hollow sentence.

Looks beautiful. Hope you two are happy.

A reply came almost instantly. It was from Holden.

It is! Fabiola loved it. I knew you wouldn' t mind me sharing our little secret. She thought it was so romantic.

He didn' t remember. He didn' t remember the promise he' d made to me under the summer sky in that very field, his voice sincere and earnest. "This is our place, Chlo. Just for us. Forever."

Forever had turned out to be a lot shorter than I' d expected.

A strangled sob escaped my lips, and then I was crying again, a raw, guttural sound of pure agony. It felt like my heart was being physically torn from my chest.

For the next month, I was a ghost. I went to classes, I did my assignments, but I was hollowed out. I spoke in monosyllables, the effort of forming words too much to bear. My mother watched me with worried eyes.

"Chloe, honey, you' ve barely said a word all week," she said one evening, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

I just shook my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

Later that week, she came into my room. "I heard from Holden' s mom that he has a new girlfriend," she said gently, her voice full of understanding. And just like that, she knew. She knew the reason for my silence, for the shadows under my eyes.

The next day, she came up with a flimsy excuse about needing a specific brand of imported coffee that was only sold at a gourmet shop downtown. "I just can' t find it anywhere else, and you know how your father gets without his morning brew," she said, pressing her car keys into my hand. "Could you be a dear and go pick some up for me?"

It was a blatant attempt to get me out of the house, out of my self-imposed prison of misery. I didn' t have the energy to argue.

"Okay, Mom," I mumbled.

The gourmet shop, of course, was out of the coffee. Defeated, I was heading back to my car when I saw them again. Holden and Fabiola, walking out of the university hospital across the street.

My first instinct was to hide, but it was too late. Holden had already seen me.

"Chlo!" he called out, a wide smile on his face.

I forced myself to walk toward them, my feet feeling like lead. "Hey, Holden. Fabiola."

Fabiola offered a tight-lipped smile, her eyes cool and assessing.

"What are you guys doing here? Is everything okay?" I asked, my gaze fixed on Holden. He looked a little pale, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by a layer of anxiety.

"Oh, we' re fine," Fabiola said, her voice a little too bright. She clutched Holden' s arm tighter. "I' ve just been feeling a little... queasy lately. We came in for a check-up."

A cold dread, sharp and familiar, washed over me. I didn' t want to hear this. I didn' t want to know.

Fabiola' s hand drifted to her flat stomach, a shy, triumphant smile playing on her lips. She looked from me to Holden, her eyes sparkling.

"I' m pregnant."

Chloe Waller POV:

The world tilted on its axis. I watched, as if in slow motion, as the tight knot of anxiety on Holden' s brow smoothed out, replaced by a look of dazed, unmistakable relief. He was happy. The thought was a shard of ice in my heart.

"Wow," I managed to breathe out, the word feeling foreign on my tongue. "That' s... that' s great news. Congratulations."

Fabiola' s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "Thank you, Chloe! We' re so excited." She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Could you do me a huge favor and keep this a secret for a little while? We want to tell our parents in person, make it a special surprise."

Holden just stood there, a goofy, shell-shocked smile on his face, nodding in agreement. He was going to be a father. With her. He didn' t even glance at me. It was like I wasn' t even there.

A desperate, foolish question clawed its way up my throat. "Aren' t you... scared? I mean, you haven' t even graduated yet."

Fabiola waved a dismissive hand, the large diamond on her finger catching the light. "Please. I can just take a semester or two off. My family will be thrilled. They' ve been wanting me to settle down." Her gaze flickered to me, a glint of steel beneath the sweetness.

"Chloe, please," Holden finally said, his voice soft but firm. He was looking at me now, but his eyes were pleading on Fabiola' s behalf. "Just for a little while. Don' t tell anyone."

The weight of his request pressed down on me, suffocating me. My entire body felt tight, coiled like a spring. I was the keeper of their happy secret, a secret that was tearing me apart from the inside out.

I gave a jerky nod, unable to form words. "I have to go," I mumbled, turning and walking away as fast as my trembling legs would carry me. I didn' t look back, but I could feel Holden' s surprised gaze on me. My brisk departure was so unlike my usual lingering presence in his life.

I ducked into an alleyway, the stench of garbage filling my lungs, and slid down the wall, my body finally giving out. The tears came, silent and agonizing. It was real. It was all real. A baby. A family. A future that I was no part of.

Let him go, a voice in my head screamed. He' s a father now. You have to let him go.

But why did it have to be so fast? How could seventeen years of shared history, of inside jokes and secret promises, be erased by a few months of whirlwind romance?

Back at the hospital, Fabiola watched me flee, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. She turned to Holden, who was still staring after me with a frown.

"Holden?" she said softly, her hand on his arm. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. "It' s nothing."

"Are you... mad at me?" she asked, her lower lip trembling slightly. "For getting your mom that special tea from abroad? I know you said she didn' t want to bother anyone with her illness, but I just wanted to help..."

Holden' s expression softened. He pulled her into a hug, ruffling her hair. "Of course not. Don' t be silly. It was a good excuse. Thank you." He glanced one last time in the direction I had disappeared, a strange, unreadable emotion in his eyes.

Fabiola saw that glance. She felt the subtle shift in his attention. And in that moment, a cold, hard determination settled in her heart. She knew I was in love with Holden. It was pathetically obvious. And she would not, under any circumstances, give me a single chance to win him back.

A few days later, my phone buzzed with a text from Fabiola.

Hey Chloe! Me and some friends are going shopping downtown. You should come! It' ll be fun :) xoxo

I stared at the message, a wave of nausea rolling through me. The last thing I wanted to do was spend an afternoon with the woman who was living my dream.

"You should go," my mother said, peering over my shoulder. "It' s good to get out. And it' s important to get along with your best friend' s girlfriend."

The tremor in my voice was undeniable as I replied. "Okay, Mom." Her face softened with a pang of sympathy. She knew how much this was costing me.

The shopping trip was a special kind of torture. Fabiola and her two friends, both carbon copies of her in their designer clothes and bored expressions, floated from one high-end boutique to another. I trailed behind them, a silent, awkward shadow.

We took a break at a chic little café. The girls chattered on, their conversation a dizzying swirl of gossip and brand names.

"Oh, Fabi, that necklace is divine!" one of them, a blonde named Tiffany, gushed. "Is it new?"

Fabiola' s hand went to the delicate diamond pendant at her throat. "Holden gave it to me last night," she said, her voice dripping with casual pride. "Isn' t he the sweetest?"

I felt a familiar pang. Holden had never given me jewelry. Not once in seventeen years.

Just then, Fabiola' s phone rang. Her face lit up. "It' s him!" she squealed, answering with a syrupy, "Hey, baby."

I tried to tune out her side of the conversation, focusing on stirring my overpriced latte, but her words were like tiny daggers. "Oh, that' s amazing! ... Yes, of course, I' ll be there. ... I love you too."

She hung up, her face glowing. "Holden' s mom wants to meet me," she announced to the table. "She invited me over for dinner tonight."

"Oh my god, you' re meeting the parents!" Tiffany shrieked. "The wedding is totally happening!"

I felt the air leave my lungs. Wedding. The word echoed in the sudden silence of my mind. I would probably be asked to be a bridesmaid. The thought was so grotesquely painful I almost laughed out loud.

Fabiola' s eyes, sharp and calculating, landed on me. "You should come with me to visit Mrs. King sometime, Chloe. I' m sure she' d love to see you." It was a power play, a way of reminding me of her new, intimate place in the King family, a place that used to be mine.

"I' m a little busy with midterms," I said, my voice tight. "But please tell her I said hello."

"Of course," Fabiola said, her smile not reaching her eyes. "I' ll be sure to tell her. Maybe next time Holden can host you himself." The implication was clear: He is the host now, and you are the guest.

I felt a wave of shame and inadequacy wash over me. Fabiola was beautiful, confident, and from a world of wealth and influence I could only imagine. What did I have to offer in comparison? A quiet, steadfast love he didn' t even want.

Fabiola and her friends stood up to leave for their dinner appointment. I was about to gather my things and head home when Tiffany, the blonde, "accidentally" stumbled.

Her full, scalding hot cup of coffee flew through the air and landed directly on my chest and arm.