Fiancé's Betrayal: My Fatal Wedding Gift

live. My fiancé, however, de

Krista, calling our three-year relat

my fatal illness-wasn't a sacrifice. It was a transaction. He had manipulated

her fake injury, then gave her power of attorney over my cri

e man I thought was my savior had orchestrated my d

my own death. I left him with one final wedding gift: my terminal

pte

el

live. My fiancé, however, de

lungs. Severe autoimmune disease. Aplastic Anemia. My own body was waging a w

n my hands, the black letters swimmi

roaring silence in my head. He pushed a box of tissues across his

re brutally expensive and offered no guarantees. All they promised was a prolonged, painful goodbye. A goodbye I wasn't ready to sa

Ha

swept into my life and promised me a universe of stars

ll him. He deserved to know. He was my rock, the man w

nto the bustling streets of Seattle. The sleek, formidable tower of Dia

loor, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps. Harden' s office door was slightly aj

oice that was sharp, saccharine, and la

My ste

nd hovering ne

isdain. "You' re actually going to wait until after the IPO to dump her?

y medical diagnosis, began t

k Schmitt is watching the stocks like a hawk. Any scandal before we go publi

The paper in my hand crin

ng my placeholder? God, I still can' t believe she was naive enough to

echo. They were talking about the car accident. The accident three years ago that had nearly killed

my memory. I needed someone. Guilt is a powerful motivator. All I had to do was whisper that the crash was her f

fo

t surely compromised my own immune system, leading me to this very death sentence, had been

s a lie. He had used me. A warm body to keep his bed full while he w

ch," Krista purred. "Or, at least, her family is. Th

searing pain tore through my abdomen, a brutal reminder of the traitorous cells multipl

nside the of

ucted world I had built with Harden, the love I thought wa

d felt like a joke. A c

me, but his words ha

or, ran out into the cold, indifferent city. The memories Harden had so carefully c

ting medical bills. One of my gigs was as a designated driver, a late-night hustle for extra cash. That night, th

through the slick, rain-soaked streets. He kept yellin

did you leav

from me. The car skidded, a symphony of screechin

bone marrow transplant. A rare blood type. The same as mine. They o

a crushing, suffocating guilt. I believed t

my marrow. M

he gave me a

fore the crash gone, he saw me by his bedside and his eyes, the co

, his hand finding mine. "I feel

He covered all of Jakobe' s medical expenses, sending him to the best cardiac specialists in the country. He even bought a

n on his handsome face. Frank Schmitt, his best frien

ething so cheesy," Frank had quipped, raising

ove for you," Harden had explained, his gaze sincere and

rce of warmth, now bur

omise, every grand romantic gesture. It was a meticulous

I was left alone in the dark, with nothing but a term