Married to His Rival After the Eighth Draw

The Whitmore and Lancaster families have been allies for generations, holding a grand gala every year where marriage matches are decided through a "blind selection." For seven years straight, every slip my childhood sweetheart Asher Whitmore and I drew was blank. Because I was deeply in love with Asher, for the eighth gala's selection, I pulled every string I could to ensure the box contained only his name. Until I overheard his mother's frustrated question. "Asher, you've always said you'd marry no one but her. Why have you spent seven years replacing the slips in the selection box with blanks?" "Watching her cry in disappointment every year—doesn't it hurt you?" The man laughed softly. "Of course it hurts." "But Bianca just came back from abroad. Her mental state is fragile. I promised to help her through seven years of recovery." "Besides, that fool won't marry anyone but me." "Next year, I'll give her a grand proposal." With that, he fed the slips bearing his name into the paper shredder. And in that instant, I was set free. After all, Grandfather had said it himself. The family alliance only gave me eight chances. Since you don't want to marry me, I'll simply marry someone else. …… "The sound of that shredder really is more pleasant than your crying." Asher adjusted his cuffs and pushed open the door to the lounge without a care. Outside, the hall was ablaze with chandeliers and filled with designer gowns. This year, it was my family's turn to host the selection gala. Also my last chance. He didn't even spare a glance at me standing in the corner, face unreadable. He walked straight toward Bianca, who was surrounded by a swarm of socialites. "Asher!" Bianca's eyes reddened as she threw herself into his arms like a startled doe. "They're saying I don't belong here, that I'm the other woman trying to break you and Serena up..." Asher's brows furrowed, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room and landing on the gossiping women. "Who dares say she doesn't belong? My word is law in this circle." "Bianca is my honored guest. Anyone who makes her uncomfortable makes me uncomfortable." The room fell dead silent. The women turned pale, looking desperately toward me as I stepped out from the lounge. After all, for the past seven years, I had been Asher's girlfriend—the only woman he allowed by his side. He gave me everything I asked for. But year after year, the selection failed, and I never became his fiancée. Everyone expected me to march over and slap Bianca across the face, or break down in tears like I had for the past seven years, demanding to know why he was protecting another woman. But this time, I simply smoothed the folds of my dress, picked up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray, and took a sip. The cold liquid slid down my throat, drowning the last flicker of affection I had for my childhood sweetheart. "Serena, aren't you going to do something?" someone whispered hesitantly. I smiled. "Mr. Asher playing hero? Why would I get in the way? Besides—" I swirled my glass, eyes glinting with amusement, "—I'm curious to see what we'll draw from the selection box tonight." Asher froze, turning his head instinctively to look at me, as if he hadn't expected this reaction at all. In the past, by now I would've been sobbing and making a scene, demanding Bianca leave. But tonight, I was as calm as a bystander. A flicker of irritation crossed his eyes as he let go of Bianca and strode toward me. "Serena, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? Bianca just got back from overseas. She's fragile. She can't handle being frightened." "You're the daughter of one of the most powerful families in New York. Can't you be a little more gracious?" Gracious? I looked at the man I'd loved for over a decade and suddenly, he felt like a stranger. Seven years. Over two thousand nights. I had molded myself to fit his tastes, softened my edges, learned to cook his favorite meals. And what did I get? My sincerity, shredded to pieces in that machine. "Asher." I set down my glass, the crystal clinking sharply against the marble table. "I'm not throwing a tantrum. I just think you're right—Miss Bianca is so delicate. She really does need someone to take care of her during her recovery." Asher froze, staring into my eyes, searching for jealousy or resentment. But there was nothing. Only a calm, lifeless stillness. That loss of control unsettled him. He reached for my wrist. "Good. You understand. After tonight, next year—" "There won't be a next year." I stepped aside, avoiding his touch, my tone as detached as if I were discussing the weather. "Grandfather said it himself. Nothing lasts beyond eight tries. Tonight is the eighth." "If we draw blanks again, then we're done." "Let's part on good terms."

"Part on good terms?" Asher looked like he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world, his lips curling into a mocking smile. "Serena, how many times are you going to play this little game of hard-to-get?" "Two years ago, you said you were going to study abroad. Then you called me crying at the airport." "Three years ago, you said you wanted to break up. Then you stood in the rain all night and ended up with a fever." "Can you even leave me?" He was certain, confident, even a little condescending in his pity. Because in his mind, I was nothing more than Asher's shadow. And how could a shadow ever leave the light? He also knew something I didn't—he'd personally made sure tonight's box was filled with nothing but blanks. There was no way either of us could draw a name. No way this charade could end tonight. Beside him, Bianca covered her mouth with a soft laugh, her eyes sparkling with mockery. "Serena, I know you're upset, but Asher's only looking out for me. Don't say things like that just to spite him." "What if it backfires? Who else would want you after this?" "After all, everyone in New York knows you've been waiting for Asher for seven years. You're practically a running joke at every party." A joke? She was right. For Asher's sake, I'd turned myself into a punchline. I looked at Bianca's fake, saccharine face and suddenly remembered what I'd overheard earlier at the lounge door— "Besides, that fool won't marry anyone but me." So that's what I was to them. My devotion? Foolishness. My persistence? Desperation. "You're overthinking it, Miss Bianca." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, smiling gracefully. "My family's wealth is beyond measure. I am the sole heir to everything." "The line of men wanting to marry me stretches all the way to Paris." "But you, Miss Bianca." My gaze dropped to where she clung tightly to Asher's arm. "I heard you spent seven years overseas recovering from an illness." "So why is it that now you're back, you still can't seem to stand on your own two feet?" "Should I call an ambulance? Maybe they can take you straight to the morgue for a checkup." "You—!" Bianca's face turned red, trembling with rage. Tears welled up instantly and began streaming down her cheeks. "Asher, did you hear what she just said...?" Asher's expression darkened. "Serena! That's enough! Apologize to Bianca!" "Apologize?" I raised an eyebrow. "Why should I?" "Because she's your precious little darling? Or because she's shameless?" "Asher, have you forgotten? This is my family's gala tonight." "I'm the hostess here and I have every right to put an outsider who doesn't know her place in check." Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Asher's mother hurried over, and when she saw the scene, her brows furrowed deeply. "Enough! Stop making a scene! You're embarrassing yourselves!" She shot Asher a glare, then turned to me, her expression complicated. "Serena, it's almost time. Don't let irrelevant people ruin what matters." Asher's mother genuinely cared for me and genuinely hoped the selection would finally succeed tonight. But her beloved son had destroyed that possibility with his own hands. Asher took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, wrapped an arm around Bianca's shoulder and patted her soothingly. Then he turned to me, his tone ice-cold. "Fine. If you want to go through with this so badly, then let's begin." "Let's see, when we both draw blanks again, if you can still run your mouth like this." He was so confident because he knew—he'd replaced every slip in that box with blanks just this morning. There was no possible way for this selection to succeed. With that, he turned and walked toward the raised platform in the center of the hall. There sat an ornate rosewood box—the very thing that would decide my fate. I watched his retreating figure, my gaze growing colder. Asher, you think you've controlled everything. But you don't realize—the roles of hunter and prey can reverse in an instant.

Center stage, crystal chandeliers bathed the room in dazzling light. Every eye in the hall was fixed on the rosewood box. According to tradition, the box contained one hundred slips of paper. Our families alternated each year—one year Asher would draw, the next year I would draw. If Asher drew a slip with my name, or if I drew a slip with his name, it was fate—a match made in heaven, and I would become his fiancée on the spot. Draw a blank, and destiny hadn't aligned. Try again next year. For the past seven years, we had taken turns drawing. And every single time, the slip was blank. I thought God was testing our love. But now I knew the truth—Asher had been replacing the slips all along, ensuring we'd always draw blank. "Serena, go ahead." Asher's mother stood below the platform, smiling encouragingly. "I had your astrology chart read. They said your stars are aligned this year. You'll succeed." Stars aligned? Maybe. But not with Asher. I lifted the hem of my gown and walked up the platform step by step. Asher stood beside the box, one hand in his pocket, expression arrogant, looking at me like I was a child throwing a tantrum. "Serena." He lowered his voice so only I could hear. "Apologize to Bianca right now, and next year, I'll make sure you draw the right slip." "Hell, you don't even have to wait until next year. As long as you behave and stop targeting Bianca, I'll consider ending this game early and making you my fiancée." A game. That's what it was to him. Seven years of torment, my youth, my dignity—nothing more than a game he could end whenever he felt like it. I stopped in my tracks, standing across from him, only a few feet apart, but our hearts were worlds away. "Asher." I looked into his eyes and asked softly, "Do you really think I can't live without you?" Asher paused, then laughed mockingly. "What else? Who else would put up with your spoiled attitude? What other family is worthy of yours?" "Serena, face it. You're destined to be mine." He was so confident, confident to the point of arrogance. He thought he'd found my weakness and could trample on my boundaries however he liked. He also thought the box was full of blanks—there was no way I could draw a name. I lowered my gaze, hiding the scorn in my eyes. "Is that so? Then let's see who's the one who should face reality." I took a deep breath, slowly raised my right hand, and reached into the dark box. My fingers brushed against cold paper—one slip, two slips, countless slips. Each one felt like a blade slicing through my heart. The crowd below fell silent. Bianca stood at the front, a victor's smile playing on her lips. She knew the box was filled with nothing but blanks—she was waiting to watch me humiliate myself in public, to see me cry. Asher glanced away casually, as if he'd already foreseen the outcome. I closed my eyes, my fingers searching along the bottom of the box. Finally, I found a slip that felt slightly different. It was the one I'd had someone slip in before the gala—my last safeguard. I snapped my eyes open, gripped it tightly, and pulled it out. "Mr. Asher." I held up my slip high, my voice clear and ringing across the hall. "It seems your promise just expired."

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