The Day My Fiancée Married Another

The Day My Fiancée Married Another

Gavin

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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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When Love Turns to Ash

When Love Turns to Ash

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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