💔 THE POWERFUL DUKE RESCUED HER FROM THE HER CRUEL EX HUMILIATION

💔 "STILL NO HUSBAND?" HER CRUEL EX LAUGHED—BUT SHE HAD ALREADY MARRIED A POWERFUL DUKE

Rosalind Ashworth would never forget May 12th, 1813—the day Lord Benedict Thornton humiliated her in front of a hundred guests at his family's garden party. 💔
She'd thought she was there as his almost-fiancée. They'd been courting for six months. He'd called on her, driven her through the countryside, made her believe he genuinely cared. Then he tapped his champagne glass and announced his engagement to someone else. ⚡
Not just anyone—Miss Arabella Sterling, the merchant's daughter who'd arrived with a £50,000 dowry. And Benedict made sure everyone understood why he'd chosen her instead: "No sensible man continues settling for modest prospects when excellence becomes available." 💔
The implication was devastating. Rosalind was the "modest prospect" he was relieved to escape. The mediocrity he'd endured while waiting for something magnificent. She stood there in her best dress, a smile frozen on her face, while pity and schadenfreude swirled around her. 🥀
Two years later, Rosalind had rebuilt herself. She'd declined marriage offers from men she couldn't respect. She'd accepted she'd never marry for love—Benedict had cured her of that delusion. When the Duke of Greystone proposed a practical arrangement, she agreed. No romance. Just honest partnership. ✨
They married quietly by special license. Six days later, they attended their first ball as husband and wife. And that's when Rosalind saw him. Benedict. Looking older now, slightly worn. His wife Arabella beside him, dripping with jewels. 👑
He crossed the ballroom with that same confident smile. He didn't know. No one had told him. "Miss Ashworth," he said, using her maiden name deliberately. "Still without a husband, I see. At your age, with your limited prospects, perhaps you should lower those unrealistic expectations." 💔
He was mocking her. Again. Publicly. In front of witnesses. Implying she'd been pining for him for two years. That she was a pathetic spinster too proud to accept her diminished value. ⚡
Then Rosalind felt a warm hand at her back. Her husband's voice, cold as steel: "I believe you are addressing my wife." 💕
The color drained from Benedict's face. "Your wife?" he stammered. And the Duke smiled—dangerous, precise: "Allow me to introduce myself. Julian Blackwood, Duke of Greystone. And this is my Duchess. We were married six days ago." 🌹
Visuals are AI-assisted artistic recreations for storytelling purposes.

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