Married to His Rival After the Eighth Draw

For seven years, I played the elite's marriage game—only if my childhood sweetheart drew my name could I become his wife. Seven blank slips. Seven years of humiliation. Until I overheard the truth: he'd been shredding my name, replacing slips with blanks to protect his fragile ex-lover. "That fool won't marry anyone but me. Next year, I'll propose." That night was the eighth draw—my last chance. I pulled his rival's name instead and married him. While his empire crumbled and he begged at my engagement, I stood in a wedding dress. He thought I'd wait forever. Wrong.