Destiny Picked a Better Man

On my twentieth birthday, my parents placed a stack of photos in front of me—eligible bachelors from elite families all over the country—and told me to pick one for an arranged marriage.

I told my dad to leave it to fate and draw lots.

In my past life, I had chosen without hesitation the man I’d long admired: Lucas Whitmore, the most eligible bachelor of Astor Hill's elites.

But after we got married, I found out the truth.

His first love—the girl he had always held dear, Claire Monroe—was devastated by our marriage. One night, heartbroken, she went out drinking and was assaulted by a group of thugs.

Claire attempted suicide three times after that.

And Lucas blamed it all on me.

He handed over my family’s fortune to Claire, draining every last cent from the Meyers.

In the end, Lucas even helped her cut the brake lines on our car.

My parents and I died in that crash.

Now that I’d been given a second chance at life, the name I drew was Liam Morgan—the reclusive heir from Orchard Valley, known for shunning the world and dedicating himself to Buddhism.

But when I showed up arm-in-arm with Liam at our engagement party, Lucas lost his mind.

I placed Liam Morgan's photo in front of my parents.

They exchanged a look—clearly uneasy.

“Destiny,” my dad began, “we know you’ve liked Lucas since you were little. Maybe you should reconsider—”

I shook my head.

“If this is what fate chose, maybe I should try going along with it… just this once.”

I already knew how things would end if I forced that marriage to happen.

Seeing that I was firm in my decision, my parents gave in with a sigh.

“All right. We’ll reach out to the Morgans and discuss the engagement. But Destiny, both the Meyers and the Morgans are high-profile families. To avoid any unnecessary trouble, we should keep this quiet until the actual engagement party.”

I agreed. But on my way to a charity gala that night, reporters swarmed me. Somehow, the news was leaked.

“Miss Meyer! Have you chosen which family you’ll be engaged to?”

Another reporter jumped in before I could speak.

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Whitmores’ son. It must be him, right?”

I looked up and met Lucas Whitmore’s eyes as he stepped into the venue.

Surrounded by cameras and press, his expression was as cold and dismissive as always.

“Excuse us.”

His bodyguards pushed the reporters aside. He walked past them without hesitation, pulling a pale-faced Claire Monroe into his arms.

“My heart has always belonged to Claire,” he said. “Even if I’m forced to marry someone else for the sake of the family, I will never give a single shred of my love to anyone but her.”

Claire’s cheeks flushed pink as she clung tightly to his waist.

Nearby, a few socialites—girls who had never liked me—giggled quietly.

“So what if she’s the number one heiress? Mr. Whitmore clearly wants