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When The Pawn Strikes Back

When The Pawn Strikes Back

Gavin

5.0
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My wedding day was supposed to be perfect, a celebration with my fiancé, Andrew, the "golden boy" lawyer, and my best friend, Molly, by my side. But then, during a heartfelt song at Andrew's bachelor party, I watched them both break down, tears streaming, clinging to each other in a way that felt chillingly intimate. Stepping out for air, I overheard Andrew whisper to Molly, "I'll be wearing this at the wedding... as if I'm finally marrying you," confirming a devastating truth: their bond was ancient, predating me for years. My entire two-year relationship, my engagement, was a meticulously crafted lie, a desperate ploy for Andrew to stay close to the woman he truly loved-my best friend. How could I have been so blind? So utterly used? Every promise, every moment, a cruel performance. The woman he pursued, the woman he proposed to, was merely a prop in his tragic love story with someone else. That night, lying next to the man who built his world on my shattered trust, I made a promise to myself: if I was just a pawn in their twisted game, I would become the queen of their downfall.

Introduction

My wedding day was supposed to be perfect, a celebration with my fiancé, Andrew, the "golden boy" lawyer, and my best friend, Molly, by my side.

But then, during a heartfelt song at Andrew's bachelor party, I watched them both break down, tears streaming, clinging to each other in a way that felt chillingly intimate.

Stepping out for air, I overheard Andrew whisper to Molly, "I'll be wearing this at the wedding... as if I'm finally marrying you," confirming a devastating truth: their bond was ancient, predating me for years. My entire two-year relationship, my engagement, was a meticulously crafted lie, a desperate ploy for Andrew to stay close to the woman he truly loved-my best friend.

How could I have been so blind? So utterly used? Every promise, every moment, a cruel performance. The woman he pursued, the woman he proposed to, was merely a prop in his tragic love story with someone else.

That night, lying next to the man who built his world on my shattered trust, I made a promise to myself: if I was just a pawn in their twisted game, I would become the queen of their downfall.

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The Homecoming Queen and the Home-Wrecker

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Eleven years. I dedicated them all to Wesley Scott, sacrificing my architect dreams to support his political ambitions. After a decade of being his unassuming small-town Texas girl, he finally proposed, not out of love, I suspected, but for his political image. Then, an anonymous email arrived with a photo: Wesley and his childhood friend, Gabrielle, smiling, holding a deed to a luxury Austin condo, purchased jointly under their names. Beneath it, Gabrielle' s chilling message: "Coming home for good." Wesley dismissed it as "just a favor," his casual use of "Gabby" a slap in the face. But the next day, the building manager casually confirmed Gabrielle was the primary owner, and I, his fiancée, was merely "the friend," a temporary guest. That night, at Gabrielle's welcome dinner, Wesley sat beside her, radiating ownership, as everyone toasted them as "the perfect couple." Then, a friend goaded them into a kiss, and Wesley, playing to the crowd, gave Gabrielle a soft, lingering kiss, a gesture of intimacy he never showed me. All eyes turned to me, expecting tears, a scene, but I just smiled. "If Gabrielle wants him," I said, my voice clear and calm, "she can have him." He dragged me out, furious, but a later anonymous message, a screenshot of their secret Instagram post-"To our future!" and his reply, "Whatever you want, you get. Always"-extinguished any lingering hope. It was the same day he'd asked me to move in, calling it "our first real step." His betrayal culminated when a mob of HOA women, spurred by Gabrielle, publicly assaulted me at the condo, and Wesley stood by, calculating the optics of defending me. I collapsed, humiliated, only to later see his reply on the HOA Facebook chat, throwing me under the bus: "The owner on the deed is the one who matters." He had confirmed I was nothing, a squatter to his entire world. When he abandoned me in the hospital for Gabrielle's fake allergic reaction, I knew. It was over. Three days later, at our lavish engagement party, instead of our romantic slideshow, I played the video of their kiss, the condo deed, and his damning words on the jumbo screens. His political career ignited in a glorious fireball. "Why, Wesley?" I told him calmly when he screamed down the phone. "I was just making way for the real couple. After all, the owner on the deed is the one who matters." I hung up and blocked him, and everyone from that life. I was free to build my own.

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