Abandon Deadly Betrayal, Embrace New Life

My fiancé Franklin and I had been together for ten years. I was standing at the altar in the chapel I designed myself, waiting to marry the man who had been my entire world since high school.

But when our wedding planner, Hayley, who was officiating, looked at him and asked, "Franklin Frye, will you marry me?" he didn't laugh. He looked at her with a love I hadn't seen in years and said, "I do."

He left me standing alone at the altar. His excuse? Hayley, the other woman, was supposedly dying of a brain tumor. He then forced me to donate my rare blood type to save her, had my beloved cat put down to appease her cruel whims, and even left me to drown, swimming right past me to pull her from the water first.

The last time he left me to die, I was suffocating on the kitchen floor, going into anaphylactic shock from the peanuts Hayley had deliberately put in my food. He chose to rush her to the hospital for a fake seizure instead of saving my life.

I finally understood. He didn't just betray me; he was willing to kill me for her.

As I lay recovering in the hospital, alone, my father called with an insane proposal: a marriage of convenience to Arden Harvey, a reclusive and powerful tech CEO. My heart was a dead, hollow thing. Love was a lie. So when he asked if a change of groom was in order, I heard myself say, "Yes. I'll marry him."

Chapter 1

Charlotte Wooten and Franklin Frye were supposed to be a love story for the ages. Ten years, a decade of shared memories that stretched from a nervous high school prom date to this very moment, standing on the wedding aisle. Charlotte, a talented architectural designer, had even designed the beautiful chapel herself, a testament to the future she believed they were building. Franklin, a successful real estate developer, was the man who had been her anchor, her other half, since they were teenagers.

Their connection was once the stuff of local legend. Franklin, the popular football player, had only had eyes for the quiet, brilliant Charlotte. He' d followed her to the same college, supported her through grueling architectural exams, and celebrated every one of her successes as if they were his own. He was the man who, after a minor argument in their junior year, had driven three hours in a snowstorm just to leave a single, perfect gardenia-her favorite flower-on her doorstep with a note that read, "My world is cold without you." For ten years, he had been her world.

That perfect world began to crack six months ago. It started subtly. Franklin, who had always been an open book, became more private with his phone. He started working late, citing pressures on a new development project. Charlotte, trusting and preoccupied with their wedding plans, chalked it up to stress. She even felt a pang of guilt for not being more supportive.

The first real tremor came on a Tuesday night. Franklin was in the shower, and his phone, left on the nightstand, buzzed incessantly. It was a reflex, not suspicion, that made her glance at the screen. A string of notifications from an unknown number. Her stomach tightened. She told herself it was nothing, just a work thing. But a cold feeling crept over her.

Later that week, while looking for a document on his laptop, she saw an unlocked folder on his desktop. The name was innocuous: "Project H." Curiosity, a gnawing, ugly thing she hadn't felt in a decade, made her click.

It wasn't blueprints or financial projections. It was a photo album. Hundreds of pictures of a woman Charlotte had never seen before. A woman with bright, vivacious eyes and a smile that seemed to light up every frame. She was laughing on a boat, sipping coffee at a cafe Charlotte and Franklin frequented, even posing playfully in what was clearly Franklin' s office. The most recent photos were dated just days ago.

A separate text file held their conversations. Charlotte' s hands trembled as she read.

"Hayley, you' re like a wildfire. I can' t look away."

"Thinking of you again. Your laugh is stuck in my head."

"She' s... comfortable. Stable. You' re... everything else."

The breath left Charlotte' s lungs. Hayley. The name was unfamiliar, yet it now felt seared into her brain. She scrolled back through Franklin's recent emails. There she was. Hayley Herring. Their wedding planner. The woman Charlotte herself had hired three months prior, charmed by her efficiency and bubbly personality. The woman who had access to every detail of their lives.

Looking back, the signs were all there, screaming at her. Franklin' s sudden interest in the wedding details, attending meetings he' d previously called "a waste of time." His lingering glances at Hayley during their consultations, which Charlotte had mistaken for simple appreciation of her work. The way he' d started using phrases and jokes that weren' t his, phrases she now saw typed out in his messages to Hayley. The love he had once poured entirely into Charlotte was now being siphoned off, redirected to someone else.

That night, she confronted him. The photos were open on the laptop screen when he walked into their bedroom. He saw them, and the color drained from his face.

"Who is she, Franklin?" Charlotte' s voice was barely a whisper.

He was silent for a long, agonizing minute. A minute where ten years of trust crumbled to dust.

"I... I got carried away, Charlotte," he finally said, his voice strained. "It was just a momentary thing."

"A momentary thing? There are hundreds of photos. You told her I was 'stable' while she was 'everything else'!" The words felt like acid in her mouth.

"She' s just so... alive," he stammered, looking away, unable to meet her eyes. "Different. It was a mistake. A stupid, fleeting attraction. It meant nothing."

Charlotte felt a wave of nausea. Her entire body went cold. "So, who do you choose?" she asked, the ultimatum hanging in the air, heavy and final.

He looked at her then, his face a mask of guilt. "You, Charlotte. Of course, it's you. It has always been you."

He swore it was over. He swore it was just a stupid infatuation that had gotten out of hand, that he had never physically cheated, that he was blinded by the novelty. To prove it, he took his phone, and right in front of her, deleted Hayley Herring' s number and all the photos. He held Charlotte, begging for forgiveness, promising his entire future was with her and only her.

Part of her, the logical, self-respecting part, screamed at her to leave. But the other part, the part that had loved this man for a third of her life, was desperate to believe him. She chose to believe him. She buried the pain and the betrayal, telling herself that every long-term relationship has its tests. This was theirs. They would get through it. They would still get married.

A week later, Franklin came to her with a strange proposal.

"Hayley called me," he said, his tone carefully casual. "She apologized for everything. She feels terrible. She' s a good person, Charlotte, she just... made a mistake."

Charlotte said nothing, her heart hardening.

"Our officiant had to cancel due to a family emergency," he continued. "I was thinking... what if we let Hayley do it? It would be a way to show there are no hard feelings. A way for all of us to officially move on, to close that chapter right before we start our new one."

The suggestion was so bizarre, so utterly tone-deaf, that Charlotte was speechless. A cold dread filled her. She wanted to scream, to ask him if he was insane. But looking at his earnest face, his plea for a "clean slate," she felt a crushing weariness. She was so tired of fighting, so tired of the suspicion. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was the only way to truly put it behind them. To let the woman who almost destroyed them be the one to officially bind them together. A final, symbolic victory.

Against every instinct, she agreed. "Fine," she said, her voice flat. "Let her do it."

How could she have been so stupid? The question echoed in her mind now, a mocking, relentless drumbeat.

Here, at the altar, in the chapel she designed, standing before everyone they knew, the full, horrifying truth of her foolishness was laid bare.

Hayley Herring, dressed in a tasteful cream-colored suit, smiled brightly at the crowd, then at Franklin. The music had swelled and faded. The air was thick with anticipation.

"Do you, Franklin Frye," Hayley began, her voice clear and carrying through the silent chapel, "take... Will you marry me?"

A few confused titters rippled through the guests. A simple slip of the tongue. An officiant' s nervous mistake. Charlotte managed a tight, strained smile, waiting for Franklin to laugh it off, to correct her, to turn to Charlotte and say his vows.

But Franklin didn't laugh.

He didn't even look at Charlotte.

His gaze was fixed solely on Hayley. And in his eyes, Charlotte saw not confusion, not amusement, but an ocean of raw, unguarded emotion. A look of such profound longing and adoration that it stole the breath from her lungs. It was the look he used to give her, but a thousand times more intense.

The world seemed to slow down. The confused murmurs of the guests faded into a dull roar. All Charlotte could see was her fiancé, the man she had loved for a decade, looking at another woman as if she were the only person on earth.

Then, he spoke. His voice was firm, clear, and utterly devastating.

"I do."

A collective gasp swept through the chapel. Hayley' s eyes filled with tears, a triumphant, brilliant smile breaking across her face. She reached out, her hand trembling.

"Franklin," she breathed. "Take me away from here. Please, just take me away."

Franklin' s eyes flickered to Charlotte for a single, fleeting second. There was a flicker of something-guilt, maybe pity-but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a look of grim determination. He took Hayley' s outstretched hand, their fingers lacing together as if they were the ones who belonged.

He turned his back on Charlotte. On their ten years. On their future.

"Franklin, no," Charlotte whispered, the words catching in her throat. She reached for him, her fingers brushing the sleeve of his tuxedo. "Franklin, don't you dare do this. Don't you dare walk away."

Her touch made him pause for a fraction of a second. But then he pulled his arm away as if her touch burned him. Without another glance, he led Hayley Herring down the aisle, past their stunned friends and family, and out of the heavy oak doors of the chapel, leaving Charlotte alone at the altar.

The silence that followed was absolute, a crushing weight. The scent of gardenias from her bouquet was suddenly sickening. The beautiful vaulted ceilings she had designed now felt like they were closing in, suffocating her.

Then, a sound broke the stillness. It was a laugh. A broken, hysterical sound that she vaguely recognized as her own. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the hideous, painful laughter. It was all a joke. Her life, her love, her trust-it was all one spectacular, humiliating joke.

Her mother, her face a storm of fury and horror, rushed onto the altar. "That bastard! That absolute bastard!" she hissed, wrapping her arms around Charlotte' s trembling body.

Her father was right behind her, his expression grim. He looked past Charlotte, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on a man sitting quietly in the back row-Arden Harvey, a reclusive and immensely powerful tech CEO, a family acquaintance whose business and Charlotte's father's had some dealings. He was a man of few words but immense influence.

"Arden," Charlotte' s father called out, his voice cutting through the chaos. "The Wooten family owes you a favor. And we have a bride. Perhaps a change of groom is in order."

The suggestion was insane, a desperate, face-saving measure born of pure shock and rage. But to Charlotte, standing in the ruins of her life, it sounded like the only lifeline in a drowning sea. Her heart was a dead, hollow thing in her chest. Love was a lie. Vows were a joke. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Yes," she heard herself say, her voice devoid of all emotion. "I'll marry him."

Her parents breathed a sigh of relief. Her father immediately began making arrangements, his voice low and urgent as he spoke with Arden Harvey's assistant.

Charlotte was numb as her mother led her away, back to the bridal suite. Back to the house she had shared with Franklin, a house that now felt like a mausoleum. She tore off the beautiful lace gown, the symbol of her shattered dreams, and let it fall to the floor in a heap of white silk and humiliation. She began robotically packing a bag, throwing in clothes, her laptop, anything that was solely hers. She had to get out. She had to erase every trace of herself from this place.

Just as she zipped the suitcase, the front door burst open.

It was Franklin.

He looked exhausted, his face pale and strained, but the frantic desperation was gone, replaced by a heavy, somber grief. He rushed toward her, his arms outstretched.

"Charlotte, I am so, so sorry," he said, his voice thick with a pain that, for a horrifying second, she almost believed. "Let me explain."

She flinched away from his touch, her entire body recoiling. "Explain?" she repeated, her voice dripping with ice. "What is there to explain, Franklin? You left me at the altar for our wedding planner. I think that's pretty self-explanatory."

"No, you don't understand," he pleaded, his eyes welling with tears. "Hayley... she' s sick, Charlotte. She' s dying."

Charlotte stared at him, bewildered.

"She has a brain tumor," he choked out, the words tumbling over each other. "Glioblastoma. The doctors... they gave her three months, maybe less. She got the final diagnosis this morning. She panicked. At the wedding, when she said that... it was a cry for help. She told me it was her dying wish, just to hear me say 'I do' to her once. Just once. How could I say no, Charlotte? How could I deny a dying woman her last wish?"

He looked at her, his face a portrait of earnest, heart-wrenching anguish. He was begging her to understand, to see the nobility in his cruel betrayal. He was asking her to postpone their wedding, to let him spend the last few months of Hayley' s life by her side, to grant him this act of "compassion."

Charlotte looked into the eyes of the man she had loved for ten years, and for the first time, she saw the depths of his weakness. He had loved Hayley. She had seen it in his eyes at the altar. This story, this perfectly tragic, cinematic tale of a dying wish, was nothing but a convenient excuse. It was a way for him to have his cake and eat it too-to play the hero for his new love while keeping his devoted fiancée on hold. He was weaving a web of lies not just to trap her, but to convince himself of his own righteousness.

If she had known then, in that moment, the true extent of Hayley' s deception and Franklin' s capacity for cruelty, she would have laughed in his face and walked out forever. She would have seen that his love for Hayley was a bottomless pit he was willing to throw Charlotte into, again and again.

But she didn't know. She only saw the man she loved, weeping, torn between his past and a tragic, fabricated future. And in that moment of weakness, she hesitated.

That hesitation was the beginning of her descent into hell.

Just then, his phone rang, shrill and demanding. Franklin' s head snapped up, his expression instantly changing to one of sheer panic.

"Yes? What is it?" he barked into the phone. "What do you mean she's bleeding out? I'm on my way!"