The Day My Fiancée Married Another

The Day My Fiancée Married Another

Waterfront View

5.0
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I was finally marrying Savi, the girl I'd given up my dream tech job for, the one for whom I'd poured years into building software for her family's oil company. Today was supposed to be our day to get our marriage license, the culmination of a five-year journey, two of them spent dedicated to her father's business. Then her text came, an hour before the courthouse: a "massive family emergency." A quick dismissal for our future. Soon after, a plain envelope arrived. Inside: a marriage certificate. Savannah Monroe. Married. To her personal assistant. Today. She showed up later, tear-streaked and with Caleb, who looked suspiciously unwell. "Terminal leukemia," she tearfully explained. "His dying wish. A compassionate act. It changes nothing for *us*." She called *me* selfish for questioning this insane charade, for having the audacity to care that my fiancée just married another man. The sheer, breathtaking nerve of it. Married someone else, spun a ludicrous lie, and then tried to make me the villain for wanting out. This wasn't just a betrayal; it was a brazen insult, a transactional disregard for everything I'd built, for *us*. My gut churned with a cold, simmering rage. When her father's goons showed up, "insisting" I attend their crucial gala to play the dutiful fiancé for a multi-million-dollar deal, I had a choice. Play along for their empire, or turn their meticulously planned spotlight into their worst nightmare. I decided then and there: they wanted a show? They'd get a show.

Introduction

I was finally marrying Savi, the girl I'd given up my dream tech job for, the one for whom I'd poured years into building software for her family's oil company. Today was supposed to be our day to get our marriage license, the culmination of a five-year journey, two of them spent dedicated to her father's business.

Then her text came, an hour before the courthouse: a "massive family emergency." A quick dismissal for our future. Soon after, a plain envelope arrived. Inside: a marriage certificate. Savannah Monroe. Married. To her personal assistant. Today.

She showed up later, tear-streaked and with Caleb, who looked suspiciously unwell. "Terminal leukemia," she tearfully explained. "His dying wish. A compassionate act. It changes nothing for *us*." She called *me* selfish for questioning this insane charade, for having the audacity to care that my fiancée just married another man.

The sheer, breathtaking nerve of it. Married someone else, spun a ludicrous lie, and then tried to make me the villain for wanting out. This wasn't just a betrayal; it was a brazen insult, a transactional disregard for everything I'd built, for *us*. My gut churned with a cold, simmering rage.

When her father's goons showed up, "insisting" I attend their crucial gala to play the dutiful fiancé for a multi-million-dollar deal, I had a choice. Play along for their empire, or turn their meticulously planned spotlight into their worst nightmare. I decided then and there: they wanted a show? They'd get a show.

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Dying for His Love, Reborn

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"Ava, are you really going to propose to Liam again?" My best friend, Sarah, looked at me with worried eyes. I just smiled and adjusted my brand-new dress. This was the fourth time; it had to be a success. An hour later, I was at the Grand Hotel, clutching the custom-made engagement ring for Liam. He was making a "huge announcement," and his best friend said he wanted me there. My heart raced, certain this was it-after three years and three rejections, he was finally ready to accept me. But then, standing beside him in the spotlight, was a beautiful woman I' d never seen before. "This is Chloe Green," Liam announced, "My fiancée." My world imploded. The room erupted in applause, but to me, it was deafening silence. Hundreds of eyes turned to me-pity, mockery, amusement. I was the city' s biggest joke, watching him slip a sparkling diamond on her finger. When I tried to show him the ring I' d brought, he sneered, "You thought I' d ever want something from you? You thought I' d ever want you?" Then he threw my precious, custom-made ring into the dark, freezing river below the balcony, challenging me: "Go get it, then. If you can find that ring in the river, I' ll believe you." Despite my fragile health and my doctor' s warning, I jumped. I found it, shivering and half-drowned, and returned to him, only for him to declare, "This scar... Every time I see it, it makes me sick. I would never marry a woman like you. Get out of my sight." The scar was from the kidney I' d donated to save his life. I died alone in an empty chapel days later, a "dying wish" marriage proposal from me twisted into his cruel, public humiliation. My ghost, tethered to his hatred, watched him publicly propose to Chloe while I faded into transparency, my very existence erased by his disgust. But a private investigator and my doctor had the truth about my sacrifice-my hidden kidney donation, my last letter to him. They revealed it all, forcing him to confront the monster he had been.

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