My Ex Regretted Ditching the “Ugly” Heiress

The Wedding March inside St. James's Church stopped abruptly. 

Hundreds of aristocratic guests sat in the pews, their eyes fixed on the altar. They weren't trying to hide their whispers.

"Look at her face. Good lord, she's hideous. She should be thanking God the Suttons even agreed to take her in."

"I bet Julian finally sobered up. Having to wake up next to that face every morning? It's a nightmare."

My knuckles turned white as I gripped my bouquet. Right in front of me, my groom, Earl Julian Sutton, wasn't looking at me. He was staring at his phone. 

On his screen was a photo of a bandaged ankle at the bottom of a staircase. 

Julian looked up, his face pale with panic.

"Georgina," he said, his voice tight. "Lindsay took a bad fall on the stairs right before her Fashion Week fitting. Her ankle is completely busted, and she scraped her face. She's in the ER right now. I have to go."

He said it with a trace of self-righteous guilt, as if I should understand. As if leaving his bride at the altar for a C-list model was the only logical choice.

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Julian. If you walk out those doors today, we are completely done."

Julian froze. His foot stopped mid-step. For a split second, I saw hesitation flash across his face. 

But before he could say anything, his groomsmen standing off to the side started snickering. 

"Come on, Julian, just go," one of them called out, smirking at me. "It's not like Georgina's gonna run away. Where's she gonna go? Plus, with that face, it’s not like anyone's gonna crash the wedding to steal her!"

Low laughter rippled through the front rows. 

I ignored them and kept my eyes on Julian. "If you leave right now, I will marry someone else."

"Stop being dramatic, Georgina," he scoffed. "Let's be real here. Besides me, who else would actually want you? Just wait for me at home. I'll make it up to you later."

Without another word, he turned around and sprinted down the aisle. He burst through the doors and didn't look back once.

The doors slammed shut. 

In that echoing boom, my mind flashed back to two years ago.

I was backed into a corner by a group of drunk rich kids mocking my ugly, freckled face. Julian had stepped in out of nowhere. He draped his coat over my shoulders, used his own handkerchief to wipe the dirt off my cheek, and smiled warmly. 

“Don’t listen to them. I think you have a beautiful soul.”

I actually bought it. I thought I had found a man who didn't care about my ugly exterior and really love my soul.

But now, he was so sure I was too ugly to ever leave him...

Standing under the pitying and disgusted gazes of the high-society crowd, I didn't shed a single tear. 

I calmly reached up, ripped the lace veil off my head, and dropped it on the floor. I turned around and walked straight toward the VIP lounge at the back of the church, ignoring the gasps behind me.

Once inside the quiet lounge, I sat down in front of the vanity mirror. I grabbed a makeup wipe from the drawer and pressed it to my cheek. 

The door swung open. My father, Sir Arthur Goodwin, stormed in. He didn't look concerned. He looked furious.

"You let him walk out!" He yelled, slamming his hand on a chair. "Do you have any idea how much face our family just lost out there? You couldn't even keep a man at the altar!"

I didn't answer. I just rubbed the wipe against my jawline. 

He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Whatever. Julian is a lost cause today. By the way, the Hawthornes sent a representative. The Dowager Duchess is asking about the marriage arrangement again. Since the Sutton deal is dead, you're going to marry the Duke of Hawthorne. I don't care if you're terrified of him. Our family needs this."

Before I could tell him to get out, my phone buzzed on the vanity. 

It was a text from Julian. 

[Georgina, Lindsay is out of the ER. She's traumatized and crying. I need to stay with her tonight. Let's just reschedule the wedding for next month, okay?]

Immediately after, an Instagram notification popped up on my screen. Lindsay had just posted a new photo. 

It was a candid shot of Julian sitting by a hospital bed, carefully peeling an apple for her. He looked incredibly gentle and focused. 

The caption read: [When he drops the whole world just to be by my side, I know I'm the luckiest girl alive. ❤️]

I let out a short, dry laugh. I was about to hit block on both of them when my phone started ringing. Julian was calling.

I hit accept.

"Georgina," Julian's voice came through, sounding impatient and commanding. "Listen, you need to put out a statement to the press right now. Tell them you had a sudden severe migraine and had to cancel the wedding yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"Lindsay’s getting hate comments online," he said, sounding annoyed. "People are calling her a homewrecker. She's too fragile for this stress right now. Just take the blame. It's not a big deal. You hate being seen in public anyway."

You hate being seen in public anyway. 

Because I was ugly. So my reputation meant absolutely nothing to him. 

"Julian," I said, my voice ice-cold. "Don't ever call this number again."

I hung up and threw the phone into the trash can. 

My father was still rambling in the background about the Duke of Hawthorne, but I tuned him out. I looked back at the mirror. 

I took a fresh makeup wipe and began scrubbing my face in earnest. The thick, muddy yellow foundation melted away. The hundreds of fake, hideous freckles I had painstakingly painted on every morning for years vanished into the white cloth. 

I wiped away the heavy, drooping eyebrow makeup and the dull lip color. 

When I finally dropped the dirty wipe on the table, the girl in the mirror was a stranger to London's high society. 

Gone was the ugly, pathetic Georgina Goodwin. Staring back at me was a face of flawless, porcelain skin, sharp, breathtaking features, and piercing eyes that could bring any man to his knees. 

The disguise was off. The 'ugly duckling' game was over.