I Made My Fiancé Lost It All

I Made My Fiancé Lost It All

Shirlee Melnick

5.0
Comment(s)
363
View
11
Chapters

I was just a third-grade teacher, my life with my musician fiancé, Ethan, humming along. Our wedding was three weeks away, a dream I' d poured my savings and heart into, supporting his band from day one. But then I saw him. At "Book Nook Brews," not at band rehearsal, but with Chloe, his young intern. He was laughing with her, a genuine laugh I hadn't heard directed at me in months, his hand intimately on hers. The world instantly tilted off its axis. The next morning, the city' s biggest music blog confirmed my worst fears, plastered with photos of them. Yet, Ethan called, not to apologize, but to dismiss it as a "PR stunt," calling Chloe his "temporary PR girlfriend." He even expected me to be excited the wedding would be "bigger news" after his "promotional trip." Later, when I confronted him, he shoved me, causing me to stumble onto broken glass, cutting my hand deeply. He abandoned me bleeding, rushing off to comfort Chloe for a self-inflicted scratch. How could the man I loved be so cold, so manipulative, so utterly, shamelessly devoid of concern for my pain? Why had I sacrificed so much for someone who valued public image over basic human decency? The sting of betrayal was a physical ache, but a cold, hard resolve began to settle in. His final, hollow "love you" felt like ash in my mouth. That' s when I picked up the phone. "Aunt Carol," I said, my voice steady now. "I need a favor. Can you change the groom\'s name on the wedding invitations? To David Miller." And just like that, my meticulous plan, and my new life, began.

Introduction

I was just a third-grade teacher, my life with my musician fiancé, Ethan, humming along. Our wedding was three weeks away, a dream I' d poured my savings and heart into, supporting his band from day one.

But then I saw him. At "Book Nook Brews," not at band rehearsal, but with Chloe, his young intern. He was laughing with her, a genuine laugh I hadn't heard directed at me in months, his hand intimately on hers. The world instantly tilted off its axis.

The next morning, the city' s biggest music blog confirmed my worst fears, plastered with photos of them. Yet, Ethan called, not to apologize, but to dismiss it as a "PR stunt," calling Chloe his "temporary PR girlfriend." He even expected me to be excited the wedding would be "bigger news" after his "promotional trip." Later, when I confronted him, he shoved me, causing me to stumble onto broken glass, cutting my hand deeply. He abandoned me bleeding, rushing off to comfort Chloe for a self-inflicted scratch.

How could the man I loved be so cold, so manipulative, so utterly, shamelessly devoid of concern for my pain? Why had I sacrificed so much for someone who valued public image over basic human decency? The sting of betrayal was a physical ache, but a cold, hard resolve began to settle in.

His final, hollow "love you" felt like ash in my mouth. That' s when I picked up the phone. "Aunt Carol," I said, my voice steady now. "I need a favor. Can you change the groom\'s name on the wedding invitations? To David Miller." And just like that, my meticulous plan, and my new life, began.

Continue Reading

Other books by Shirlee Melnick

More
The Surgeon's Wife: A Postmortem Love

The Surgeon's Wife: A Postmortem Love

Horror

5.0

I feel the cold first. It' s the stainless-steel table beneath me, as my soul hovers just above, watching. The man in blue scrubs, my husband Dr. Ethan Cole, picks up a scalpel. He's a surgeon, brilliant they say, but today he' s playing forensic pathologist to my dismembered body. My body is in pieces-a leg here, an arm there. My soul is hollow, devoid of anger or jealousy, as Ethan and his assistant try to piece me together. He remarks, "This is a mess. The killer was thorough. Almost… personal." His voice sends shivers down what used to be my spine, reminding me of all the times he' d used that same dismissive tone. He finds a dark splinter near my ribs, speculating about where I was held. Moments later, his phone rings, and his voice softens for Olivia Hayes, inviting her to her birthday, then turning to me with pure disgust, muttering, "Let' s get this over with." Then he finds our secret. A tiny, nascent fetus within me. His mask shatters, replaced by a choked, guttural sound of shock, horror, and something else-a child he just declared not worth his money. Clara, my best friend, calls, frantic. Ethan coldly dismisses her, claiming ignorance of my whereabouts and indifference. Olivia arrives, radiant in red, bringing him soup. As she turns, her elbow bumps a tray of instruments, and caught off guard, a flash of pure, venomous rage twists her face – a look that unmasks my killer: Olivia. My last memories flood back: Olivia, silhouetted, smiling, whispering, "He' s mine, Chloe," before raising the hammer. Now I watch her ladle soup for Ethan, realizing my death freed him, made him hers. And a foolish, broken part of me thinks, 'Maybe it' s for the best. If my death makes him happy, then let him be happy.' But then Olivia answers Clara' s call, and, with a cruel smirk, lies, framing me as an unfaithful wife who ran off with "Ryan something." Just before Ethan rushes off, claiming a work emergency, I see him make a furtive call to Detective Ryan O' Malley, telling him to ping my real phone. And just as Olivia confidently shoves something into her bag after he leaves, it slips out: my phone, with its cracked screen and cat charm. I know exactly where Ethan is going now-to find my phone at Olivia' s other apartment-and the labyrinth of lies begins to unravel.

You'll also like

The Billionaire's Medicine: His Silent Obsession

The Billionaire's Medicine: His Silent Obsession

Sutton Horsley
5.0

My stepmother sold me like a piece of inventory to a man known for breaking people just to plug the financial crater my father left behind. I was delivered to the Morton estate in the middle of a freezing storm, stripped of my phone, and told that if I didn't make myself useful, my senile grandfather would be evicted from his care facility by noon. The master of the house, Adonis Morton IV, was a monster living in a silent mausoleum, driven to the brink of madness by a sensory condition that turned every sound into a physical assault. When I was forced into his suite to serve him, he didn't see a human being; he saw a source of agony. In a fit of animalistic rage, he pinned me to the wall and nearly strangled me to death just for the sound of a shattering teacup. I only survived by using my grandfather’s secret herbal blends and pressure-point therapy to force his overactive nervous system into a drugged sleep. But saving him was my greatest mistake. Instead of letting me go, Adonis moved me into a guest suite connected to his own bedroom by a hidden door. He didn't just want me as a servant; he needed me as a human white-noise machine to drown out the demons in his head. The nightmare deepened when he took the promissory note that defined my freedom and tore it into confetti. By destroying the debt, he destroyed my exit strategy. He replaced my maid’s uniform with a silver silk dress that clung to my skin but did nothing to hide the dark, ugly bruises his fingers had left on my neck. He branded me as his "primary care associate," a title that was nothing more than a gilded cage. I felt a sickening sense of injustice as he forced me to sign a contract that banned me from contacting other men and required me to sleep wherever he slept. He looked at me with a possessive heat, calling me his "medication" rather than a woman. My family had sold my body, but Adonis Morton was intent on owning my very presence, using my grandfather’s medical bills as a leash to keep me within twenty feet of him at all times. Standing in a neglected greenhouse with mud staining my expensive silk, I realized I was no longer a victim waiting for rescue. If I was going to be his medication, I would learn how to be his cure—or his undoing. I began clearing the weeds with a cold, calculated frenzy, determined to turn this prison into my laboratory. He thinks he has trapped a helpless girl, but I am going to pry open the cracks in his stone walls until his entire world comes crashing down.

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

Flash Marriage To My Best Friend's Father

Madel Cerda
4.5

I was once the heiress to the Solomon empire, but after it crumbled, I became the "charity case" ward of the wealthy Hyde family. For years, I lived in their shadows, clinging to the promise that Anson Hyde would always be my protector. That promise shattered when Anson walked into the ballroom with Claudine Chapman on his arm. Claudine was the girl who had spent years making my life a living hell, and now Anson was announcing their engagement to the world. The humiliation was instant. Guests sneered at my cheap dress, and a waiter intentionally sloshed champagne over me, knowing I was a nobody. Anson didn't even look my way; he was too busy whispering possessively to his new fiancée. I was a ghost in my own home, watching my protector celebrate with my tormentor. The betrayal burned. I realized I wasn't a ward; I was a pawn Anson had kept on a shelf until he found a better trade. I had no money, no allies, and a legal trust fund that Anson controlled with a flick of his wrist. Fleeing to the library, I stumbled into Dallas Koch—a titan of industry and my best friend’s father. He was a wall of cold, absolute power that even the Hydes feared. "Marry me," I blurted out, desperate to find a shield Anson couldn't climb. Dallas didn't laugh. He pulled out a marriage agreement and a heavy fountain pen. "Sign," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. "But if you walk out that door with me, you never go back." I signed my name, trading my life for the only man dangerous enough to keep me safe.

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book