After My Fiancé’s Public Betrayal, I Wedded His CEO Rival

I stared at the pregnancy test, my heart hammering against my ribs as I waited for the result to appear. One line. Just one. I exhaled, a mixture of relief and disappointment washing over me. Not pregnant. The bathroom light cast harsh shadows across my face in the mirror. I'd been so sure—the nausea, the fatigue, my period two weeks late. But the single pink line was definitive. "It's for the best," I whispered to my reflection, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Jason and I had talked about children, of course.

Chapters

Chapter 1

The bathroom light cast harsh shadows across my face in the mirror. I'd been so sure—the nausea, the fatigue, my period two weeks late. But the single pink line was definitive.

"It's for the best," I whispered to my reflection, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Jason and I had talked about children, of course. Three years together and an engagement on the horizon meant we'd discussed our future thoroughly. But we'd agreed: marriage first, then babies.

Still, I couldn't help but imagine his face lighting up at the news. Jason loved surprises.

I pulled out my phone and typed: *Got big news. Dinner tonight? I'll cook your favorite.*

Three dots appeared immediately, then: *Can't wait, babe. Love you.*

My apartment felt unusually quiet as I settled onto the couch with my laptop. I'd take the afternoon off to prepare a special dinner—Jason's favorite pasta carbonara, a bottle of wine (that I wouldn't be drinking, to keep up the pregnancy suspense), and maybe those chocolate soufflés he loved.

I opened Instagram, mindlessly scrolling while planning the evening. A notification popped up: *@MauiMoments tagged @JasonHayes in a photo.*

Jason wasn't in Maui. He was at a marketing conference in Portland. At least, that's what he'd told me three days ago.

My finger hovered over the notification, a cold sensation spreading through my chest. I tapped it.

The image loaded: Jason on a white-sand beach, sunglasses perched on his head, arm wrapped around a slender woman with caramel highlights and a bikini that probably cost more than my monthly rent. His assistant, Chloe Miller.

The caption read: *Day 2 in paradise with this one! #couplegoals #nofilterneeded*

I couldn't breathe. My thumb moved mechanically, scrolling through more photos. Jason and Chloe toasting with tropical drinks. Chloe kissing his cheek at sunset. The two of them tangled together in a hammock.

All posted within the last 48 hours. All tagged. All public.

My phone slipped from my trembling fingers. Three years. Three years of building a life together, of supporting his career moves, of planning our future. And he was in Maui, with his assistant, broadcasting their affair to the world. To our friends. To my family.

Had he forgotten I followed him? Did he think I wouldn't see? Or worse—did he simply not care?

I grabbed my laptop, opened FaceTime, and called him. Each ring felt like an eternity.

When his face appeared on screen, tan and slightly flushed, I could see palm trees swaying behind him. He wasn't even trying to hide it.

"Ava, hey—" His voice was casual, as if this were any other day.

"You're in Maui." My voice sounded strange, hollow.

His expression shifted, realization dawning. "I can explain—"

"With Chloe." I couldn't stop the tears now. "Everyone can see, Jason. Everyone."

"It was a mistake, okay? It just happened. You and I—we've been so predictable lately. So... boring." He ran a hand through his hair. "But it doesn't mean anything. I love you, Ava. When I get back—"

"When you get back, your things will be in boxes." The clarity of my decision surprised me. "We're done."

"Don't be dramatic. This is just a bump—"

I slammed the laptop shut, cutting off his excuses. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly see through my tears. Three years, and I was "boring." Three years, and he could betray me so casually, so publicly.

That night, I couldn't bear the silence of my apartment. Every corner held memories of Jason—his favorite coffee mug, the throw blanket we'd picked out together, the framed photo of us in Olympic National Park.

I grabbed my purse and headed to The Westin downtown. I just needed noise, people, and maybe a drink strong enough to numb the humiliation burning through me.

At the hotel bar, I made my way to the whiskey station, desperate for something that would burn away the image of Jason and Chloe on that beach. As I reached for a glass, my hand collided with someone else's.

"Sorry," I mumbled, glancing up.

Dark eyes met mine—intense, curious, and somehow understanding. The man was tall, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that screamed money and influence.

"Looks like we both need the good stuff tonight," he said, his voice deep and smooth.

I didn't know then that he was Finn Shepard, billionaire CEO and the man who would turn my world upside down for the second time in one day. I just knew that when he smiled and offered to buy me a drink, the crushing weight on my chest lifted just enough to let me breathe again.

Continue to next part

I scrolled mindlessly through Instagram, sprawled across our king-sized bed in the Manhattan penthouse I'd helped Christopher afford. Ten years of my life invested in his dreams, his company, his success. The afternoon sun streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Central Park—windows I'd insisted on when we were house-hunting, because Christopher had been too busy closing another deal to attend the viewings. My phone buzzed with a text notification. Then another. And another. Mom: *Natalie, call me right now.* Dad: *Sweetheart, is this some kind of mistake?* Mom: *Are you okay?* Before I could respond, photos started flooding in. I squinted at the first image—an elaborate floral arch, white roses cascading down crystal pillars. The Plaza Hotel's grand ballroom, transformed into something out of a bridal magazine. I sat up straighter, a chill creeping up my spine.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.9

Awakening From A Toxic Billionaire Marriage

7.9

I woke up in a sterile hospital room, my head split open from a horrific car crash. But the pain in my skull was nothing compared to the memory burned into my retinas just before the impact: my billionaire husband, Dawson, walking into a luxury hotel with a woman who looked exactly like his dead first love. When Dawson finally arrived at the ward, there was no panic or relief in his eyes. He just coldly looked at my bloody bandages. "Your reckless driving just forced me to postpone the quarterly board meeting." Even our seven-year-old son, who I almost died giving birth to, didn't spare me a single glance. He kicked my hospital bed in annoyance. "The Wi-Fi here is garbage. You're a bad mom! Dad said Aunt Angelita should be the one living with us!" My blood turned to ice. For five years, I had bent over backward, wearing the hideous pale dresses he picked, starving myself to maintain a fragile figure, all to be a perfect, obedient substitute for a ghost. And this was what I got. An unfaithful husband who would rather bury me in debt than grant me a divorce, and a son who wished I was dead. The weak, subservient Charlene died on that wet asphalt. When the doctor pointed to Dawson and asked for his name, I looked at my husband with a hollow, defensive stare. "Who are you?" I whispered. Using retrograde amnesia as my shield, I was going to tear their perfect world apart.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.3

BENEATH THE SAME SKY

9.3

Aria and Gavin were a married couple considered perfect by everyone around them. Aria loved Gavin more than her own life. For five years of marriage, Aria sacrificed her career, her friends, and her entire time just to manage the household and serve Gavin. She believed their love was eternal. However, cruel reality struck her hard. Gavin was having an affair with Selina, Aria’s own best friend. But it was not just that... Gavin did not only break Aria’s heart, he had planned everything to destroy Aria’s life completely, all for the sake of his freedom and wealth with his mistress. Aria discovered proof after painful proof. Every day was torture. Her tears ran dry, her heart shattered into pieces. Until finally, a terminal illness came to claim Aria when she was at her most vulnerable state. Would Gavin finally realize and regret his actions? Or would he remain cruel until the very last second?

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.0

Framed By The Billionaire I Saved

7.0

For five years, I was the live-in psychologist who saved billionaire Julian Davenport. I did it to repay a debt, believing he was the boy who once saved my life. On my last day, he and his fiancée framed me. They destroyed my career, turned my family against me, and left me with nothing. I was broken, betrayed by the very man I had healed. Then, a kind stranger found me standing in the rain. He revealed a devastating secret that changed everything: he was my real savior, and the man I sacrificed my life for was a fraud.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.1

My Fiancé Stole My Research to Give His Mistress Fame

8.1

I stood outside Cassian's office, my hand poised to knock on the mahogany door. The wedding planner's portfolio was tucked under my arm, filled with seating charts and floral arrangements for our ceremony—just one month away. Ten years of devotion had led to this moment. Ten years of molding myself into the woman I thought he wanted. The door was slightly ajar. Strange. Cassian hated interruptions. "Mr. Edwards, I've finished reviewing the quarterly reports," came a woman's voice from inside. Jolie Ramos.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.0

Starlight in My Heart

8.0

After four years of fighting cancer, I could hold on no longer. Before the end, I wanted one last look at the old Redbrick Factory housing where I’d lived with my parents. Just as I moved to enter, a black Phaeton pulled up. Behind the window sat Gregory—the man I’d hated for seven years. Impeccably dressed, a gleaming gold watch on his wrist, he looked at me as though I were a stranger. “Why are you back?” he asked. I tightened my grip on the old key in my pocket. “I’m going home. Is that a problem?” Pushing the car door open, he stepped out and raised a hand as if to touch my forehead. I jerked away. Between him and me, love had died a long time ago. The time I had left belonged to me alone. … Winter in Rivermouth: the wind cut to the bone. Hugging my threadbare coat tighter, I dragged a battered suitcase and stood before the rusted iron gate of the old Redbrick Factory housing like a ghost—a faded remnant out of place in its own past. Seven years. Everything here looked unchanged, yet felt utterly different. More plaster had flaked from the walls. Moss carpeted the corners, climbing almost to my waist. The air still carried that familiar, old-industrial scent of coal dust. I was about to head inside when a black Phaeton glided silently to a stop beside me. The window rolled down, revealing a familiar face. Gregory. He wore a tailored cashmere coat. On his wrist, a Patek Philippe gold watch accentuated his sharp features—more pronounced, more distant than they’d been seven years before. “Dorothy?” He said my name, a thread of uncertainty in his tone. I nodded. Said nothing. What was there to say? *Long time no see*? Or, *Look, I’m dying, so I came back for a peek at what we used to call home*? His gaze dropped to my misshapen, faded gray gloves. I’d knitted them myself years ago, embroidering a tiny ginkgo leaf on one with white thread. Back then, he’d pointed to a ginkgo tree and said, “See how it holds its fan-shaped leaves until the bitter end? That’s loyalty.” I’d embroidered the leaf as a keepsake of that earnest, foolish promise. Now he wore fine black leather gloves that matched his entire aura—expensive, detached, cold. “Why… are you back?” He seemed to choose his words carefully, finally settling on the most direct, and most cutting, question. Right. Why—why *was* I back? Tugging at the suitcase handle, I kept my voice barely a whisper, stolen by the wind. “I’m going home. Is that a problem?” He frowned slightly, taken aback. *He’s not used to this*, I thought. *The old Dorothy was never prickly.* Of course. The old Dorothy had always been gentle, always compliant with him. “That’s not what I meant.” Stepping out of the car, his tall frame blocked the light in front of me. “Why are you dressed so lightly? You look pale.” He reached out to touch my forehead. Instinctively, I stepped back, avoiding his hand. His arm hung awkwardly in the air before he withdrew it, pretending it was nothing. A heavy, absolute silence settled between us. Between us lay seven years, two lives, and the cancer cells raging through my body—a wasteland beyond all repair. “The house…” He finally grasped for a new topic. “You don’t have a key, do you? I have a spare. I can let you in.” “No need.” Fishing a lone key from my pocket, I showed it to him. “I have it.” It was the one I’d pulled from the door seven years ago, when I left. I’d never thrown it away. Like a brand seared over my heart, it was a constant reminder of what I’d once had, and lost, behind that door. He stared at the key in my hand, his expression complex, finally dissolving into an almost inaudible sigh. “Let me at least carry your suitcase up, then.” He reached for my luggage as if it were the most natural thing. This time, I didn’t refuse. I truly had no strength left. The few kilometers from the station had drained the last of my energy. Lifting the suitcase effortlessly, he walked ahead. I followed, step by step, over the stairs littered with dead leaves, toward the familiar Redbrick Factory apartments. Toward the place where our story began—and where it ended.

Billionaire Modern Romance

After My Fiancé’s Public Betrayal, I Wedded His CEO Rival

Chapter 1

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