''I don't believe in love''

5

Anastasia sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at her phone, the morning light streaming through the curtains. Her heart felt heavy as she picked it up, her mind still reeling from the previous day's revelations and her abrupt decision to distance herself from Riccardo.

As she scrolled through her news feed, her breath caught in her throat. The headline blared at her, bold and unforgiving: "The Hottest Bachelor and the Prettiest Model Finally Engaged!"

The photo accompanying the article made her stomach twist. There was Riccardo, standing tall and regal, a bright smile on his face that seemed genuine as he held the hand of a stunning woman—his fiancée. The way they looked at each other, as if they were sharing a private joke, sent a surge of pain through her. The werewolf princess, with her flowing hair and captivating beauty, radiated a sense of confidence that contrasted sharply with Anastasia's own turmoil.

She felt a wave of nausea rise within her. So this is what he meant by duty, she thought bitterly. This is what he was bound to all along.

Anger, betrayal, and heartache intertwined, leaving her breathless. How could he pretend to care for her while already engaged to someone else? Had he truly been lying to her from the start? She recalled his words, the way he spoke about their connection, and her heart ached at the thought that it was all a facade.

The comments section exploded with reactions, ranging from jealousy to admiration, praising their looks and making comments about their apparent chemistry. Each notification felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest.

"I can't believe I ever thought he was different," she muttered to herself, tears welling in her eyes. I should've known better.

Anastasia tossed her phone onto the bed, her mind racing. She felt humiliated, angry at herself for opening up to him, for believing that he could be someone worth trusting. She thought of how he had described their connection as something special, something beyond the ordinary, and now it felt like a cruel joke.

She stood up, pacing her small room, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to engulf her. How could he be so callous? How could he move on so quickly?

Finally, she grabbed her jacket and headed out the door, needing to escape the confines of her thoughts. As she stepped outside, the fresh air hit her face, but it did little to clear her mind. She wandered the streets aimlessly, the image of Riccardo and his fiancée seared into her brain.

With each step, she felt a mix of grief and resolve growing inside her. I won't let him drag me down. She knew she had to focus on herself, to regain control over her own life. If Riccardo was choosing his duty over his feelings for her, then she would do the same.

She made her way to a nearby café, determined to distract herself with a warm cup of coffee and a good book. But even as she sat down and tried to immerse herself in the pages, her mind drifted back to him—the way he had looked at her, the way he made her feel alive and understood.

But was it real? The thought hung in the air, refusing to be silenced.

Hours passed as she fought to keep her emotions in check, but with every passing moment, the image of Riccardo's smile haunted her. She wanted to scream, to cry, to forget, but the world kept turning, indifferent to her pain.

As she finally left the café, the sun beginning to set, she felt an unexpected determination wash over her. If he could play the role of the devoted fiancé, then I can be stronger than this.

No more would she allow her heart to be led astray by a man who lived in a world of obligations and secrets. It was time for her to reclaim her life, to carve out a path that was solely her own—one without Riccardo, no matter how much it hurt.