My Dreams His Reality Trilogy

My fiancé, Ethan, insisted we use our life savings-the money for our dream architectural firm-to buy a house for his widowed friend, Kiera. He called it a sacred promise. I called it betrayal.

After weeks of fighting, I discovered the truth. He hadn't been asking for my permission; he had already emptied our joint account two months ago.

A photo confirmed it: him and Kiera, toasting with champagne, celebrating the day he stole our future. He then had the nerve to ask me to design her new house for free.

When I finally confronted him, he chose to believe her fake pregnancy and her staged fall, calling me a "monster" as he rushed her to the hospital.

He didn't just take our money; he stole my voice and painted me as the villain in his story.

So while he played the hero for her, I quietly canceled our wedding, sold our assets, and booked a one-way ticket to a new life. He thought he was breaking me, but he was setting me free.

Chapter 1

Cassie POV:

My fiancé, Ethan Wolf, believed that using our life savings-the money we' d painstakingly saved to start our own architectural firm-to buy a house for his childhood friend, Kiera Preston, was a "sacred promise" he couldn't break. I believed it was a betrayal that would demolish everything we had built.

"Cassie, we have to do this," Ethan said, his voice a low, steady drone that had become a familiar torment over the past few weeks.

He stood in the middle of our living room, the one I had designed with such care, as if he were addressing a jury. His corporate lawyer persona was in full effect, articulate and unwavering.

"Have to?" I asked, my voice thin, stretched tight like an old rubber band. "Ethan, this is our firm. Our dream. We've talked about this since college."

He sighed, a long, suffering sound that was meant to convey my unreasonableness. "Kiera is a widow. She has a child. Her husband, Mark, asked me to look after them."

"Look after them, or buy them a mansion?" I countered, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "There's a difference, Ethan. A huge difference."

He took a step closer, his gaze intense, trying to bore into my resolve. "It's a house, Cassie. A home for a grieving family."

"It's our future, Ethan," I said, a tremor running through me. "It' s every late night I spent sketching, every coffee I skipped, every penny we put aside."

He ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair, a sign of his growing frustration. "Don't you have any compassion? She lost her husband. She's fragile."

"I have compassion," I shot back, my voice rising. "But I also have common sense. And a sense of self-preservation. This isn't about compassion anymore; this is about draining us dry for someone else's benefit."

His jaw tightened. "She needs this, Cassie. And Mark trusted me."

"And what about me, Ethan?" I asked, my voice cracking. "What about my trust? What about our trust?"

Our apartment, usually a haven of quiet productivity, felt charged with unspoken accusations. The air was thick with the weight of our unresolved conflict. This wasn't a conversation; it was a wall we kept hitting, again and again.

"It's not fair that you're making this so difficult," he accused, his tone shifting from pleading to outright blame. "You know how important this is to me. To Mark."

My mind reeled. How had we gotten here? This was beyond logic. My partner, the man I was supposed to marry, was prioritizing a vague, unconfirmed "promise" over our entire shared life.

"Difficult?" I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "You think I'm making this difficult? Ethan, you want to spend every cent we have on a house for Kiera. A house for her. Not for us. Not for our firm."