Five Years, A Forged Vow

Gavin

Modern | Completed

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For five years, I was the devoted wife who helped Brandon build his tech empire. But the moment his first love, Kristal, returned with a feigned injury, he handed her the diamond necklace meant for our anniversary and abandoned me in a torrential storm. He knew my PTSD from a past kidnapping made storms terrifying, yet he drove away with her without a backward glance. When I called him for help, terrified of the stranger driving my rideshare, it was Kristal who answered. "Brandon is in the shower," she taunted. "Don't disturb our reunion." I barely escaped an assault that night, only to return home and discover the ultimate betrayal: Brandon never filed our marriage license in the US. Legally, I was never his wife. I was just a placeholder until she came back. While he was busy comforting her, I didn't scream or fight. I simply shredded the fake wedding certificate, packed my bags, and vanished. By the time he realized his mistake and came begging on his knees, I was already gone.

Betrayal Rebirth Substitute wife Second chance Personal growth

Chapter 10

12-11 10:09

Chapter 1

For five years, I was the devoted wife who helped Brandon build his tech empire.

But the moment his first love, Kristal, returned with a feigned injury, he handed her the diamond necklace meant for our anniversary and abandoned me in a torrential storm.

He knew my PTSD from a past kidnapping made storms terrifying, yet he drove away with her without a backward glance.

When I called him for help, terrified of the stranger driving my rideshare, it was Kristal who answered.

"Brandon is in the shower," she taunted. "Don't disturb our reunion."

I barely escaped an assault that night, only to return home and discover the ultimate betrayal: Brandon never filed our marriage license in the US.

Legally, I was never his wife. I was just a placeholder until she came back.

While he was busy comforting her, I didn't scream or fight.

I simply shredded the fake wedding certificate, packed my bags, and vanished.

By the time he realized his mistake and came begging on his knees, I was already gone.

Chapter 1

Audrey POV:

Every cheer for Brandon's victory was a hammer blow to my heart, especially when his eyes, usually so warm for me, fixed on her as he clutched the diamond necklace I believed was mine. The stadium lights blurred through the sudden film in my vision.

The crowd roared, a wave of adulation washing over Brandon Cervantes, the golf prodigy who had traded his clubs for a tech empire. They hoisted him onto their shoulders, a king crowned in the dazzling spotlight.

"What a comeback!" someone screamed.

"He's still got it!" another voice chimed in.

I stood at the edge of the celebration, a strange quiet in the roaring chaos. Five years I' d been his wife, his steady support as he built his business from the ground up, after he' d walked away from professional golf. He'd said he was done with the game, done with the heartache it brought.

But here he was, back on the green, winning, and for Kristal Gibson.

"Didn't he used to play with Kristal?" a woman next to me whispered to her friend.

"Oh, yes! They were inseparable. He practically raised her on the course."

My stomach clenched. I knew their story. Everyone in the golf world did. Brandon, the seasoned pro, and Kristal, his star pupil, his first love. They were a golden couple until she broke his heart.

"I remember their first match together," the woman continued, oblivious to my presence. "She was just a slip of a girl, barely sixteen. He taught her everything."

Suddenly, a group of his old golf buddies pushed Kristal forward. She stumbled, a theatrical flutter, and Brandon, still on the shoulders of the crowd, reached out instinctively. Their hands met, lingering. A spark, visible even from where I stood, jumped between them.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent, a coy smile playing on her lips. He smiled back, a genuine, unburdened smile I hadn't seen in years. It was the smile he only reserved for his deepest affections.

"Look at them," the woman next to me gushed. "Still so much chemistry."

My teeth dug into my lower lip. They were talking about their past, their shared history, stories I was merely an audience to. I felt like a ghost at my own husband's celebration.

"Remember when he gave up his career after she left?" another voice cut in. "Said he couldn't play without his muse."

"And that promise he made her," a third person added. "He'd win her the world, he said."

The words hit me like a physical blow. He'd won the world, or at least this tournament, and here she was. My heart throbbed, a dull, aching rhythm against my ribs.

I closed my eyes, a tremor running through me. The world spun. I remembered another time, years ago, when the world felt like it was spinning out of control. The cold steel of a stranger's hand on my arm, the whispered threats, the frantic struggle. The PTSD still haunted me, made me terrified of being alone, especially in cars with strangers, or during a storm.

Brandon knew this. He knew my triggers. Yet, when I'd begged him to install a state-of-the-art security system, he'd brushed it off. "Audrey, darling, you're safe with me," he'd said, his voice dismissive. "You're overthinking things."

When I'd cried for help after a particularly vivid nightmare, he'd merely offered a pat on the head. "It's just a dream, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."

Now, standing here, watching him gaze at Kristal, the truth was a cold, sharp blade. To him, my fears were an inconvenience. Her needs, her past, her heartbreak – those were monumental. They required his full, undivided attention.

Tears welled, hot and stinging, but I forced them back. I wouldn't cry here. Not now. Not in front of this crowd, this woman, this man who was supposed to be my husband.

"Poor Audrey," I heard someone mumble, not unkindly. "She always looks so lost when Kristal's around."

Lost. That was exactly how I felt. Adrift in a sea of his past, a past that still held him captive.

"He was the best back then," a man said, reminiscing. "Taught her everything she knows, then she just... left him for greener pastures."

"And he just withered away, until Audrey came along and nursed him back to health," another chimed in.

I was a placeholder. A bandage for a wound that never truly healed. The realization settled heavy in my gut. I had built my life around him, helped him transition from golf to tech, celebrated his triumphs, soothed his anxieties. But his heart, it seemed, had always belonged to another.

My hands clenched into fists. My voice, when it came, was a tight, strangled whisper. "Brandon."

He didn't hear me over the din. He was too busy looking at Kristal, a soft, almost vulnerable expression on his face.

"Brandon!" I tried again, louder this time.

He finally turned, his eyes, usually so sharp, unfocused for a moment as they landed on me. A flicker of something – regret? annoyance? – crossed his face.

"Audrey," he said, his voice flat. He detached himself from Kristal, but not completely. His hand still hovered near her back.

"The necklace," I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. "Who is it for?"

My heart hammered against my ribs, a desperate drumbeat. I needed him to say my name. I needed him to choose me. Just once, publicly.

He hesitated, his gaze drifting to Kristal, who now looked down demurely. A faint blush colored her cheeks.

Before Brandon could answer, one of his old friends clapped him on the shoulder. "It's for Kristal, right, old man? To boost her confidence for the next tour!"

The words resonated through the air, sealing my fate.

"He even missed a charity dinner for her last night," another friend added. "Rushing to comfort her twisted ankle, just like the old days."

My breath hitched. He had stood me up for dinner. He had said he was "caught up in business."

"And that diamond necklace... isn't that the one you were eyeing for Audrey's anniversary gift, Brandon?" someone else asked, trying to salvage the situation, or so I thought.

But the damage was already done. The question hung in the air, a cruel, public accusation. The whispers started again, this time about me, about my foolish expectation.