I Chose His Rival Blind Chapter 1

On my twenty-first birthday, my parents laid a dozen glossy photographs of America’s most eligible heirs across the mahogany dining table, gently nudging me to choose a fiancé.

I looked at my father and told him to just shuffle them face down and let me pick blind.

Because in my last life, I hadn't hesitated. I had reached straight for Preston Sinclair, the golden boy of Manhattan’s Upper East Side elite. The man I had loved since childhood.

It wasn't until after the wedding that I learned the truth: his untouchable first love, the fragile girl he had been forced to leave behind, had been so heartbroken by our marriage that she got blackout drunk at a dive bar and was assaulted. She attempted suicide three times. And Preston? Preston decided I was the architect of all her suffering.

To avenge her, he systematically dismantled my family. He funneled the entirety of the Kensington fortune into her hands, hollowing out my legacy until there was nothing left. And in the end, when she finally crept into our garage and severed the brake lines of our car, he looked the other way.

The three of us—my mother, my father, and I—died crushed in a mangled fortress of steel and shattered glass.

Given a second chance at life, I reached blindly into the pile and drew Miles Davenport. The elusive, fiercely private heir to a New England shipping empire—a man who spent more time in silent retreats and studying philosophy than in boardrooms.

But when I walked into my engagement party, my arm looped gracefully through Miles’s, Preston Sinclair completely lost his mind.

* * *

I slid Miles Davenport’s photograph across the table toward my parents.

They exchanged a loaded, uncertain glance.

"Stella," my father said softly. "Your mother and I know you’ve been infatuated with Preston since you were kids. If you want us to reconsider—"

I shook my head, my voice eerily calm. "If this is what fate handed me, I think I’d like to see where it leads."

Especially since I already know the bloody, gasoline-soaked ending of forcing Preston to marry me.

Seeing the quiet resolve in my eyes, my parents finally nodded.

"Alright. We’ll reach out to the Davenports to discuss the arrangement," my mother said, smoothing her skirt. "But the Kensingtons and the Davenports are both legacy families. The market will react. To avoid unnecessary media circus, we keep this strictly confidential until the engagement gala."

I agreed. But secrets bleed quickly in our world. That evening, as I stepped out of my town car to attend a charity gala at the Plaza, the paparazzi swarmed me like vultures who had caught a scent.

"Miss Kensington! Is it true you’re finally settling on a marriage alliance?"

Before I could even blink against the strobe of camera flashes, another reporter shoved a microphone forward. "Everyone knows you’ve been devoted to the Sinclair heir for years. Can we assume Preston is the lucky man?"

I lifted my gaze. Right on cue, Preston Sinclair was walking up the red carpet. Our eyes locked.

Even through the sea of flashing cameras, his expression was unmistakable: a familiar, chilling cocktail of profound boredom and absolute disgust.

"Excuse me. Please step aside," he commanded.

His security detail aggressively parted the sea of reporters. Without missing a beat, Preston reached out and pulled Harper Quinn into his chest. She looked up at him, her pale, heart-shaped face the very picture of delicate vulnerability.

"The only woman I have ever loved, and will ever love, is Harper," Preston declared, his voice echoing over the manic clicking of cameras. "Even if I were forced by family obligations to marry someone else, I would not give a single fraction of my heart to another woman."

Harper’s cheeks flushed a becoming shade of rose. She buried her face in his cashmere lapel, her arms tightening around his waist.

A few feet away, a cluster of socialites who had always resented my family’s standing began to loudly whisper.

"So what if she's the sole heir to the Kensington empire? Preston doesn't even want to look at her. He’d rather have the daughter of a lottery-winning nobody."

"God, she’s an embarrassment to her family name. Throwing herself at him just to play second fiddle to Harper Quinn."

The mockery grew louder. Harper tilted her head back from Preston’s embrace, finding my eyes through the crowd. A fleeting, razor-sharp smirk touched her lips before she hid it away.

I didn't react. I simply turned my head, fixing my posture, and walked into the ballroom.

Of course, the universe has a sick sense of humor. The organizers seated Preston directly to my right.

He dropped into his chair, radiating hostility.

"Stella, I have told you a thousand times I don't want to marry you. Why do you insist on suffocating me?"

I had heard those exact words in my past life. Back then, they had shattered me. Today, they just felt exhausting.

"I am not suffocating you, Preston."

He slammed his fist against the linen tablecloth. The crystal wine glasses shuddered. His face twisted with revulsion.

"Then why the hell are you forcing this? You think just because the Kensingtons have more capital and social leverage, you can dictate the rest of my life?" he hissed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You are trampling on my dignity. Let me make this clear: even if they drag me to the altar, I will never look at you. Not once."

Oh, I know, I thought. You kept that promise perfectly last time.

Just then, the fragile, adored center of his universe approached our table. Tears brimmed in Harper’s wide eyes. Without a word of warning, she collapsed to her knees right beside my chair.

"Miss Kensington, I know you despise me," she sobbed, her voice carrying just enough to turn heads at the neighboring tables. "But my parents are innocent. When you had your security throw them out of the country club yesterday, my father nearly had a heart attack!"

She gasped for air, clutching at the hem of my gown. "Please, I’m begging you, let them be. If you want... if you need me to leave Preston so you can have him, I'll do it. Just please..."

Her voice cracked perfectly on the final syllable. Before I could even process the absolute fabrication of her story, Preston was out of his chair. He hauled her gently to her feet, pulling her behind him as he glared down at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Whatever is between us has nothing to do with Harper! Why would you target her family?"

His self-righteous anger felt utterly bizarre.

"I didn't do anything to—"

"You are exactly what they say you are," Preston interrupted, his voice laced with venom. "Spoiled rotten since birth. You think the world is your plaything."

As the words left his mouth, a sycophantic junior executive scurried over, holding an exquisitely wrapped velvet box.

"Mr. Sinclair, congratulations. A small token for your and Miss Kensington's upcoming engagement—"

Before the man could finish, Preston snatched the heavy box and, in front of half the ballroom, hurled it directly at me.

"Apologize to Harper, Stella." His chest heaved. "Or so help me God, even if my family goes bankrupt trying to keep up with yours, I will nuke this arrangement. I will never marry a woman as vicious as you!"