Erased from My Destiny

I sorted fellowship applications. My advisor tapped a thick folder. "Cordelia, Alistair is your fiancé, right?" I nodded.

She shoved the file across her desk. "Then why did he write a recommendation letter for Willow?" I stared at the page. Alistair's sharp handwriting bled through the paper.

I recognized those violent loops instantly. "He put real effort into this". My advisor flipped the pages. "It spans pages." I forced a smile. "Yeah.

He rarely commits this hard to anything". I scanned the final paragraph. "Willow faces intense poverty with unyielding optimism.

Funding her graduate studies abroad will entirely rewrite her destiny. I stake my personal reputation on her character. She deserves this".

I snatched my phone and typed a text. "You love playing savior and rewriting destinies, don't you?" His reply flashed a second later. "?" I ignored it.

Rewrite her destiny all you want, Alistair. I already erased you from mine.

Chapter 1 Alistair’s mother smiled across the dining table, raising her wine glass. “Alistair, once you both get to London, you have to look out for Willow.

She’s Cordelia’s best friend, after all. Treat her right for your fiancée’s sake.” My fork froze against the porcelain plate. Willow was already on her feet.

She held her glass with both hands, casting a timid, upward glance at him. “Alistair, I really couldn't have done this without you.

Editing my thesis, writing that recommendation… I wouldn't have landed this master's program offer in a million years. This toast is to you.” Alistair lifted his glass.

He tapped the crystal rim against hers, a sickeningly gentle smile pooling in his eyes—a softness he never directed at me. “Don't mention it.” They shared a lingering, private smile.

I sat wedged between them, watching the crystal clink. I suddenly found the entire scene a little ridiculous.

My best friend and the fiancé I’d grown up with were moving across the ocean together in exactly one week.

And I, the girl who introduced them, was the last person to find out. “I need something to drink.” I shoved my chair back and headed for the kitchen.

I ripped the refrigerator door open. The blast of Freon hit my flushed cheeks. I drew in a quiet breath. It was fine. They just forgot to mention it. It wasn't a massive red flag.

I grabbed a bottle of juice and turned back to the dining room. Someone else was sitting in my chair.

Willow leaned over my empty plate, her shoulder brushing Alistair’s arm as she listened to him speak.

She spotted me and scrambled to her feet, her cheeks flushing red. “Cordelia, I’m so sorry.

Alistair and I were just reviewing my thesis notes, and I guess I just lost track—” “Stay put.” Alistair’s fingers clamped around her wrist. He pulled her firmly back into my seat.

He looked up at me, his expression perfectly calm. “Cordelia, we’re right in the middle of something important.

You don’t mind taking the opposite chair, do you?” I stood frozen, the cold condensation from the juice bottle dripping onto my knuckles.

Since when did my designated spot shift from right beside him to completely across the table? Alistair’s mother must have sensed the suffocating tension.

She forced a laugh and pulled me toward the empty seat. “Speaking of grad school, Cordelia, didn't you take the GRE too?

What was your score again?” “328.” Willow ducked her head, her voice shrinking. “I couldn't afford test prep growing up.

I barely scraped a 290… If Alistair hadn't spent hours tutoring me, I wouldn't have even met the baseline requirements.” Alistair’s gaze softened as it landed on her. “You have raw talent, Willow.

It’s never too late to catch up.” I stared at the plastic rim of my juice bottle. I suddenly felt a faint urge to laugh.

Months ago, I had practically begged him. “Alistair, let me apply for the London programs with you.” He hadn’t even bothered to look up from his phone screen. “Your academic record is barely average, Cordelia.

You won't get in. Besides, I’m only doing a oneyear program. Don't stress yourself out over a pipe dream.” I lifted my chin and looked across the mahogany table.

Their heads were angled inward, entirely sealed off in their own private orbit.

They kept their voices low, occasionally sharing a laugh, acting as if there was no one else in the room. I picked up the glass and took a sip of the orange juice.

It tasted bitter and tart. Heavy footsteps approached on the hardwood floor. A pair of strong arms slipped around my waist from behind.

The familiar, radiating heat of his chest pressed flush against my spine. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Alistair’s lips grazed the shell of my ear.

The faint, sharp scent of whiskey ghosted across my skin. “You’ve been in a mood all night.” I didn't flinch.

I didn't lean into him. “You completely managed Willow's study abroad applications.

Why didn't you tell me?” “Why would I?” He scoffed lightly, his breath hot against my neck. “It’s not exactly headline news.” He gripped my shoulders and spun me around.

His hands slid down to rest on my hips, pulling me flush against him. “She’s your best friend, Cordelia. I only helped her out as a favor to you.

You know that.” I stared dead into his eyes. The moonlight spilled across his face. I had memorized every angle of those eyes over the last twenty years.

Right now, I was staring at a total stranger.

Chapter 2 “Did you honestly forget?” I whispered, the silence stretching tight between us. “I originally planned on applying, too.” He paused for a second, then laughed it off. “Stop messing around.” He dropped one hand from my waist, using the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Her GPA isn't like yours, Cordelia.

She can't compete with the other applicants. You're different. You're brilliant. You'll land on your feet anywhere.” He paused.

The sheer entitlement in his voice made my stomach drop. “Besides, our families already agreed we're getting married the second I finish this program.

You don't need a master's degree.

Once you're my wife, I'm not exactly expecting you to be the breadwinner.” I stared straight into his eyes, spacing out every single word. “Are you actually serious?” His brows snapped together.

He finally caught the razor edge in my tone. But the words spilling from his mouth didn't change track. “Cordelia, I never thought you'd get territorial over something like this.

She needs this a hell of a lot more than you do. She has nothing. Academics are her only way out. You aren't like her.

You have your family's money, you have this engagement, and you have me.” He closed the distance between us.

His head dipped, his voice dropping into that soft, placating register he always used to coax me. “Just let her have a win for once.

Can't you do that?” My lips parted, but my lungs refused to push a single syllable up my throat.

I pivoted on my heel to walk away. “Cordelia.” His arms banded around me from behind.

The sharp edge of his jaw dug right into the crook of my neck. “I've had too much bourbon to drive. Stay the night.” I didn't make a sound.

He tilted his head, his mouth grazing the sensitive skin below my ear. “I'm leaving so soon. Aren't you going to miss me?” I squeezed my eyes shut.

I let him hold me, not bothering to pull away. A low chuckle vibrated against my spine. His arms clamped tighter around my ribs. Willow ended up staying the night, too.

Alistair insisted it was too late for her to take an Uber back to her neighborhood alone. Hours later, I slipped out of bed for a glass of water.

The hardwood hallway was pitch black, except for a sliver of yellow light bleeding out from Alistair’s bedroom. Hushed voices drifted through the cracked door.

I pressed my palm against the wood and pushed it open by a fraction of an inch. Willow had her face buried in Alistair’s shoulder.

She choked on a sob. “Alistair, someone with my background… do I even deserve to study abroad?

I don't know the first thing about living over there…” His hand stroked a slow, rhythmic path down her spine. His voice was devastatingly gentle. “Stop overthinking. I've got you.

I'm going to be right there with you. I'll help you figure it all out. Relax, okay?

Have I ever broken a single promise to you?” “But…” She sniffled, wiping at her eyes. “Won't Cordelia be upset? She's your fiancée.

I'm terrified she'll get the wrong idea…” The rhythmic stroking stopped.

He paused. “Our parents forced that engagement.” I stopped breathing. “I never actually planned on marrying her. Taking this program abroad is just a way to ice her out for a while.

When I get back, I'll break off the engagement. I'll just say she lacks ambition and we have zero common ground.

My parents will back me up.” Through the crack in the door, I watched the tearful panic melt off Willow's face. A heavy blush stained her cheeks as a smile tugged at her lips.

I stood in the shadows, my whole body turning cold. I couldn't pinpoint the exact second I started loving Alistair. Maybe it was when I was eight.

Some kid in the grade above yanked my pigtails on the playground. Alistair tackled him into the dirt, fists flying.

He wiped his bloody lip, looking back at me. “Anyone messes with you again, you drop my name.” Maybe I was twelve. A brutal fever kept me locked in my bedroom.

He showed up with my missing assignments.

He sat on the edge of my mattress, walking me through the algebra equations step by step. “Hurry up and get better,” he grumbled from the doorway. “Not having you around to argue with is boring as hell.” Maybe I was fifteen.

Pinned against a brick alleyway by a group of older kids after the final bell. He swerved his bike onto the pavement and ran them off without a second thought.

I rode on the back pegs of his bike all the way home. The wind was strong. I only remember the warmth of his back. Or maybe I was eighteen.

Our families clinking champagne glasses around a massive dining table. His fingers slid over my knee under the white tablecloth, giving my hand a firm squeeze. I looked up.

He flashed me a smile. He said absolutely nothing. He said absolutely everything.

Chapter 3 I had hoarded too many of those “maybes.” So many that I couldn't even pinpoint the exact second my entire world narrowed down to just him.

But I had never once stopped to ask myself one crucial question—Did he protect me because he actually loved me, or simply because I had always been there?

Take care of someone long enough, and it becomes a habit. Protect someone long enough, and it morphs into an obligation. And I had stupidly confused habit and obligation with love.

The strange part? Hearing him admit he never planned on marrying me didn't shatter me the way I thought it would. Was I bitter? Maybe a little.

But he hadn't technically done anything wrong. He just didn't love me. I turned back down the hallway, my footsteps completely silent against the floorboards.

A draft from the open window hit my face. The skin on my cheeks felt freezing. I lifted a trembling hand, my fingertips brushing against the icy wetness. Oh.

My body was crying, even if my brain hadn't registered it yet. It didn't matter. Tears eventually dry. Alistair. Starting tonight, I was done needing your protection.

I sat locked in the back seat of his SUV, my jaw wired shut for the entire drive back to campus. Willow, who supposedly suffered from terrible motion sickness, sat shotgun.

She spent the entire ride laughing and chatting with Alistair. I had never realized just how much they had to talk about.

The tires scraped against the curb outside our dorm building. Willow linked her arm through mine, practically gluing herself to my side.

Right at the stairwell entrance, her footsteps stuttered to a halt. “Cordelia.” I turned to look at her. She dropped my arm.

Her head ducked, fingers twisting into knots in front of her. “I'm so sorry I kept it from you… Alistair said he didn't want you overthinking it.” Her eyes were already rimmed with red. “I swear, I only begged him to help edit my thesis and write that letter.

Someone with my background… going abroad for grad school is something I couldn't even dream of…” I stared at her, utterly silent. Panic flared in her eyes.

The tears spilled over, dropping one by one in perfect, tragic succession. She was incredibly good at crying. “Cordelia, please don't get the wrong idea.

He only helped me because of you. You're his fiancée…” A quiet, selfdeprecating laugh almost escaped me.

So she did remember Alistair was my fiancé. “It's fine.” I forced my mouth into a smile. “Opportunities, right?

They always favor the prepared.” The tears hung on her eyelashes, but her expression went rigid for a split second.

Then, the floodgates opened harder. “Cordelia… you're so brilliant and independent. You have everything.

He just realized I could never measure up to you, so I needed this spot more…” She closed the gap between us, grabbing my hand.

She looked up at me, a textbook picture of fragile distress. “Cordelia, I swear I only just found out from Alistair that you wanted to apply for the London programs too.

If I had known…” I looked down at her fingers gripping my skin.

Those exact same hands had been flat against Alistair's chest last night. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I asked. She shook her head frantically. “Nothing!

I just… I don't want you two fighting over me.” “Relax. We aren't fighting.” Her teeth dug into her lower lip. A flash of resentment crossed her eyes before vanishing.

The perfectly timed tears continued to roll. “Cordelia, do you hate me now?” I just looked at her. She cried beautifully.

The corners of her eyes flushed a delicate pink, her lashes clumped and damp.

She looked like the very picture of fragile innocence, the kind that naturally drew people's pity. “No.” I ripped my hand out of her grip. My voice was dead calm. “He was right.

You definitely deserve it more than I do.” Willow froze, totally thrown off script. I didn't spare her another glance. I turned and walked up the concrete stairs.

Chapter 4 At the thirdfloor landing, I stopped and stood leaning against the wall for a while. I pulled out my phone and tapped open Safari. My thumbs hovered over the search bar.

Slowly, I typed out a single line: “Application deadlines for Top 20 US grad schools.” The window at the end of the hall stood cracked open. A sharp draft bit into my skin.

I took a steadying breath and continued up the stairs. Go to London. Go live your perfect, intertwined new lives across the Atlantic.

Because I was going somewhere completely out of reach. Alistair vanished into the chaos of studying abroad.

Visa applications, housing logistics, and endless predeparture paperwork consumed his entire schedule.

Add in Willow needing his help from time to time, and his schedule was completely packed. The texts I got were sporadic and hollow.

A few rushed words before he'd cut the conversation short. It left me with wideopen days to finally focus on myself.

I hit the campus library and checked out a massive stack of TOEFL prep books and application guides. A girl from my seminar spotted the titles. “Cordelia?

What's with the study guides? I thought you weren't going abroad.” “Just brushing up,” I said simply. “I've got time to kill.” I claimed a corner desk and opened my laptop.

I hunted down the Ivy League programs in the States and the toptier universities in Canada. Every single one was an ocean away from London.

I filled a notebook with deadlines, prerequisite courses, and portfolio requirements. I narrowed it down to three choices.

All of them ranked significantly higher than Alistair's program. I tracked down my academic advisor to request a letter of recommendation.

She leaned back in her desk chair, her eyebrows raised. “Cordelia? This is a sudden pivot.

I thought the plan was getting married right after graduation?” “Plans change,” I said evenly. “I need to focus on my own career first.” A proud smile broke across her face. “Done.

I'll write it tonight. Your academic record is bulletproof.” I stepped out of her office and leaned against the corridor wall, the quiet settling over me.

How painfully naive had I been? I had actually let Alistair gaslight me into believing my grades were barely average.

I hit submit on my applications hours before the deadlines closed. One month later, an acceptance letter from Stanford hit my inbox. I broke the news to my parents over FaceTime.

I told them Alistair and I were better off as friends, and I wanted to quietly break off the engagement.

They didn't fully understand, but they backed my play, urging me to handle the fallout cleanly. “I'll talk to him,” I promised. I genuinely intended to give him a proper goodbye.

A clean break. My birthday fell a few weeks before my flight to California. Since we were kids, Alistair had never missed a single one.

This year, he called days in advance. “Cordelia, I've got everything booked for your birthday.

I promise it's going to blow your mind.” I spent the afternoon of my birthday waiting in my apartment. He had promised to pick me up at seven. I started getting ready at five.

I slipped into the black silk dress he bought me last year and meticulously applied my makeup. I stared at my reflection in the vanity mirror.

A hollow, sickening feeling pooled in my stomach. Trying to make myself look perfect for him had just become a pathetic reflex. At sixthirty, my phone buzzed on the marble counter.

It wasn't him. It was the girlfriend of one of his frat brothers. “Cordelia! Alistair booked the rooftop at The Pinnacle for you tonight.

He even arranged a private fireworks show—my boyfriend helped him set it up. The view up there is insane.” She squealed through the speaker. “You better look gorgeous!

I swear he's going to propose!” My chest tightened. I already knew the absolute truth. I hung up the phone and sat on the edge of my mattress. Waiting. Seven o'clock hit.

Sevenfifteen. Seventhirty. My screen stayed pitch black. At exactly eight, I hit his contact name and pressed call.

It rang for a long time before he finally answered. “Cordelia.” His breathing came out heavy and erratic.

Chaotic street noise and sirens blared in the background. “Willow had a massive emergency.

I can't make it tonight.” He didn't even pause to let me speak. “Birthdays happen every year. Be good, okay? I'll make it up to you later.” The call dropped.

Chapter 5 I sat on the couch for a long time, the heavy weight of the phone sinking into my palm. Finally, I pushed myself up and walked into the bathroom. I unclasped my earrings.

I scrubbed the flawless makeup off my face until my skin flushed red.

I unzipped the black silk dress, folded it into a neat square, and shoved it into the darkest corner of my closet. Right before bed, I opened Instagram.

Willow had just posted a new story. The geotag read “The Pinnacle”. Massive, brilliant fireworks exploded across the pitchblack sky.

The text overlay was tiny but perfectly legible: “So incredibly lucky to have you by my side.” I stared at that photo for a long time. That exclusive rooftop.

That private fireworks show. Those were supposed to be my birthday surprises. I tossed the phone onto the mattress and walked over to the window.

The city spread out in complete silence below me. In the far distance, faint flashes of light pulsed against the clouds. A sudden, quiet laugh broke through my lips. Yeah. Lucky.

Luckily, I never actually gambled my entire existence on one man.

Luckily, the grueling late nights rewriting essays, the secret prep tests, and the hidden applications had actually paid off. Luckily, I was leaving tomorrow.

I pulled my suitcase from under the bed and threw it open. I glanced back at the folded black dress sitting on the closet shelf. I left it exactly where it was.

The next morning, a text from Alistair lit up my lock screen. “Cordelia, I am so sorry about last night. Willow was having a total meltdown and really needed me.

You aren't mad, right?” I replied calmly: “It's fine.” A second bubble popped up instantly. “My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon.

Make sure you come see me off.” I didn't bother typing a reply. I powered the phone down completely. I grabbed my carryon and walked straight toward my departure gate.

I didn't look back once. The Boeing jet shuddered as the wheels left the tarmac.

The sprawling city shrank into a grid of tiny gray blocks before vanishing entirely beneath a thick blanket of clouds. I leaned my head against the headrest and closed my eyes.

Have a great life, Alistair. Because I am off to build my own. — Alistair stood frozen at the international checkin counter.

His knuckles turned white around his passport as his eyes constantly darted toward the sliding glass terminal doors. “Alistair?” Willow tugged gently at his jacket sleeve. “We need to check our bags.” “Right,” he muttered.

He hauled his suitcase onto the scale, his gaze entirely locked on his phone screen. Zero notifications. They cleared TSA and navigated the crowded concourse to their gate.

The second he dropped into a waiting area seat, the phone was back in his hand.

A hard line formed between his eyebrows. “What's wrong?” Willow leaned into his personal space, her voice dripping with concern. “Did you forget something at the apartment?” “Cordelia never showed up.” He swiped aggressively at the screen. “She isn't returning my texts, and her phone is going straight to voicemail.” “She's probably just tied up.

You know how busy she gets.” Willow lowered her voice, hesitating to speak. “Actually, I heard a rumor… She's been getting really close to some guy in her seminar.

People said she hasn't been sleeping at the dorm…” Alistair's head snapped toward her, his scowl deepening into a glare. “Who told you that?” “Just… rumors going around.” Willow shrank back, suddenly looking uncomfortable under his intense stare. “That's impossible.” Alistair cut her off, his voice carrying a harsh, defensive bite. “Cordelia has been obsessed with me since we were kids.

She would never look twice at another guy.

Stop listening to garbage gossip.” The sympathetic mask slipped off Willow's face for a fraction of a second before she forced a gentle smile back into place. “I was just mentioning it.

Don't be mad.” “I'm calling her mom. What if something actually happened to her?” Alistair pulled up his contacts and hit the dial icon.

A loud chime echoed through the terminal. “Attention passengers on flight BA288 to London Heathrow.

We are now beginning the boarding process…” Chapter 6 Willow quickly reached out, her fingers clamping down over his hand to stop the call. “Alistair, we're out of time.

We have to board right now. You can just call her when we land.” Alistair hesitated for a split second before shoving the phone into his jacket pocket.

He dragged his carryon down the narrow aisle of the Boeing jet. The moment he settled into his airplane seat, he pulled out his phone again.

His thumb dragged down the screen, refreshing the empty feed over and over. Willow murmured something beside him. The sound of her voice didn't even register.

He mindlessly tapped open Instagram. A new post from Cordelia's academic advisor sat at the top of his feed. A screenshot.

The caption read: “The brightest student going the furthest distance.

Huge congratulations to Cordelia on her fullride fellowship to Stanford!” All the air punched out of his lungs. Stanford? He clicked the image.

The cardinal red Stanford seal stared back at him, stamped clearly at the top of an official acceptance letter. The date read over a month ago. A violent tremor wracked his fingers.

He bypassed text entirely and dialed the advisor's number. “Alistair?” She sounded thrown off. “Aren't you flying to London today?

Calling at this hour—” “What does your post mean?” he cut her off, the words scraping his throat. “Cordelia… she went to Stanford?” The line went dead quiet for a second. “Yes.

She flew out to California yesterday morning. You didn't know?” The advisor's tone shifted, dipping into confusion. “Aren't you two engaged?

She never told you?” Alistair gripped the phone. The plastic edge dug into his palm, but his vocal cords completely paralyzed