I was a celebrated architect engaged to Carter Hart, the city' s golden boy politician. I designed our perfect life, and he was on the verge of becoming mayor. Then I found a video on a shared cloud drive. It was of him marrying his pregnant campaign manager three months ago. I was just a prop for his image, a "fake girlfriend" he planned to discard after the election. To keep me compliant, he secretly drugged my daily smoothies, making me feel foggy and unstable. He staged a fire at my award-winning building to ruin my reputation, then tried to have me locked away in a mental institution, claiming I' d had a breakdown. But the final blow came from my godfather. He discovered Carter' s manipulation began seven years ago, when he paid someone to sabotage my college thesis, shattering my confidence just so he could swoop in and be my savior. My entire relationship wasn't just a lie; it was a cage he had designed from the very beginning. So I flew to London and spent six months with my godfather' s production team. We created a ninety-minute documentary to expose every crime, every lie. And we planned to air it live, hijacking the broadcast of his final election night rally. We called it "The Architect of Lies."
I was a celebrated architect engaged to Carter Hart, the city' s golden boy politician. I designed our perfect life, and he was on the verge of becoming mayor.
Then I found a video on a shared cloud drive. It was of him marrying his pregnant campaign manager three months ago.
I was just a prop for his image, a "fake girlfriend" he planned to discard after the election. To keep me compliant, he secretly drugged my daily smoothies, making me feel foggy and unstable. He staged a fire at my award-winning building to ruin my reputation, then tried to have me locked away in a mental institution, claiming I' d had a breakdown.
But the final blow came from my godfather. He discovered Carter' s manipulation began seven years ago, when he paid someone to sabotage my college thesis, shattering my confidence just so he could swoop in and be my savior.
My entire relationship wasn't just a lie; it was a cage he had designed from the very beginning.
So I flew to London and spent six months with my godfather' s production team. We created a ninety-minute documentary to expose every crime, every lie. And we planned to air it live, hijacking the broadcast of his final election night rally.
We called it "The Architect of Lies."
Chapter 1
Harper Jensen POV:
I found out my fiancé was already married when my best friend called me, screaming.
"Harper, I just saw the footage from the shared cloud of you marrying your campaign manager at the courthouse. What' s going on?" Chloe' s voice was a frantic buzz in my ear, a hornet trapped in a jar.
I was standing in the center of my living room, the one I' d designed to be my sanctuary of clean lines and quiet minimalism. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Everything was calm. Orderly.
The shared cloud. Carter had set it up a year ago. "For total transparency, baby," he' d said, kissing my temple. "You' re my future, and I want you to see every part of my life." I' d found the gesture so touching, so modern and trusting, that I' d never once felt the need to look.
Until now.
My fingers felt like clumsy blocks of ice as I tapped open the app on my phone. The folders were neatly labeled: 'Campaign Speeches,' 'Donor Lists,' 'Media Appearances.' And then, one I' d never noticed before: 'Personal.'
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silent room. I clicked it. There was a single video file, dated three months ago. And a subfolder. 'Audio.'
I played the audio file first. A familiar voice, Carter' s, smooth as single-malt scotch. He was talking to his best friend, Liam.
"A future mayor needs a traditional family," Carter was saying, his tone casual, like he was discussing stock options. "Harper is for the image; Corinne is for the dynasty. I' ll handle it after the election."
The phone slipped from my hand, clattering onto the polished concrete floor. The sound echoed in the cavernous space. I sank to my knees, the cold of the floor seeping through my jeans, but I didn' t feel it. A different kind of cold, a deep, cellular freeze, was spreading through me.
I snatched the phone back up and jabbed at the video file.
There he was. My Carter. Dressed in the same Tom Ford suit he' d worn to our anniversary dinner last week. He was standing in front of a judge at the city courthouse. And next to him, her hand in his, was Corinne Schmidt. His campaign manager. A sharp, mousy woman I' d barely ever registered.
She was smiling, a triumphant, proprietary curve of her lips that made my stomach churn.
The judge pronounced them husband and wife. Carter leaned in and kissed her. It wasn' t a perfunctory peck. It was a real kiss, a kiss of ownership.
My world didn' t just shatter. It evaporated. It turned to dust and blew away in the serene, sunlit quiet of my perfect apartment.
I fumbled back to the audio file, my thumb shaking so badly it took three tries to press play again. Liam' s voice, tight with disbelief. "This is insane, Carter. What happens when Harper finds out?"
Carter' s laugh was a low, confident rumble. "She won' t. Not until I' m ready. I' ll stage a perfect proposal, something public and grand. The wedding will be after the election. It' ll solidify my image as a devoted family man."
"And Corinne?" Liam pressed. "You just married her. A pregnant woman."
Pregnant. The word was a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. I hadn't seen a bump in the video, but the legal documents...
"I' ve already married her," Carter' s voice was cool, a surgeon discussing an incision. "It' s a legal safeguard for the child. It secures the Hart lineage. After the election, I' ll have annulment papers drawn up, tell Harper it was a misunderstanding, a political maneuver that got out of hand. She loves me. She' ll forgive me."
He was so certain. So utterly, terrifyingly certain.
I scrambled to my feet, stumbling toward his home office. The safe was behind a minimalist print, the code our anniversary. The irony was so thick I could taste it, bitter as bile in the back of my throat.
The heavy door swung open. Inside, nestled beside the blueprints for my first award-winning building-the very project that had launched my career-was a crisp, official-looking document.
A marriage license.
Issued to Carter Hart and Corinne Schmidt.
The date was from three months ago. The same day he' d told me he was in a closed-door strategy session, the day he' d come home late and told me he missed me so much he couldn' t focus.
My breath hitched in a sob I refused to let escape. I stared at the blueprints, my own elegant, precise handwriting detailing a future I had built from nothing. He had kept them. He kept them right next to the proof of his ultimate betrayal, as if they were two sides of the same glorious prize he had won.
The sound of his key in the lock downstairs jolted me back to reality.
He was home.
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