Stuck In Love (COMPLETED)

chapter-3

Raymond Reynolds's POV

I admit, I shouldn't have felt that pang of jealousy seeing Sophie with her boyfriend. She has every right to move on, just as I do. Yet, she's remained in my thoughts all these years, like a haunting melody that plays in the quiet moments—her laughter echoing through memories of shared dreams, and her eyes, always filled with a blend of hope and vulnerability, reminding me of the promises we made under starlit skies. Her presence lingered in the scent of jasmine on a summer breeze, in the warmth of a familiar touch that I yearned to feel again. Despite the years and the distance, her essence colored my world, a constant reminder of what I had lost and what I could never truly let go of. I understood the consequences of my actions—what I had to do to protect her, obeying my father's orders.

As much as I wanted to tell her the truth, I knew she wasn't ready to face the harsh realities. If she knew about the agreement, it would shatter her hopes. She had finally started believing in herself, in this world, and I couldn't take that away from her. She deserved better. She deserved to be everything she ever wanted to be. Because I knew she had the courage; it takes real bravery to remain humble when the world has inflicted deep wounds upon you. It is easy to give in to the sporadic impulses and let the world mold you into one of them—cruel, shrewd, and unrelenting. The relentless pressure to conform can erode the gentlest of souls, leaving behind a hardened exterior where compassion once thrived, replaced by a calloused indifference to others' plight.

Regret is a constant companion. We often imagine how different life could be if we hadn't made certain decisions. But you can't fathom the pain when you know that decision was inevitable.

I wanted her. Every day for the past seven years, I longed for her.

I belonged to her.

The hall exuded opulence, every detail conspiring to create an aura of grandeur. A lavish banquet stretched across the marble floor, its surface gleaming under the soft, ethereal glow of a magnificent crystal chandelier suspended from the lofty ceiling. Each crystal refracted light into a myriad of dazzling patterns, casting a spell of elegance and sophistication upon the gathered guests. The atmosphere hummed with the murmur of conversations punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the rustle of fine fabrics, enveloping the scene in an air of exclusivity and celebration worthy of the grand occasion.

In the far reaches of the hall, a band serenaded the guests, their music filled the air, adding a lively rhythm to the elegant affair.

"Well well, if it isn't our captain Raymond Reynolds," a voice chimed behind me. I turned around to find a striking blonde girl, standing so close it felt like an invasion of my personal space.

"Have we met before?" I asked, struggling to place her familiar face.

"I don't expect you to remember," she replied, her smile lighting up her features.

I've definitely seen her somewhere. Oh right, she's the photographer from Sporting News!

What was her name? Brittany? Beth? Bethany?

""Bethany?" I hazarded a guess, the name rolling off my tongue slowly.

"Thank God! For a moment there, I thought you forgot me," she replied, grinning widely as she enveloped me in a tight hug.

Bethany, a professional photographer, and I first met during a shoot for a magazine. I was still the youngest football player on the United States team then, and we were both signed for a photoshoot in Hawaii.

"Are you also—" I began, but Bethany cut in before I could finish.

"A nominee? Yeah," she replied, her voice tinged with excitement.