Discarded Fiancée: The Tech King's True Queen
I returned to New York for my welcome-home party, expecting a warm embrace from Edwin, my devoted fiancé of twenty years.
Instead, his first words to me were a cold, public warning to stay away from his new girlfriend, Kacy.
He stood in my family's hotel, shielding a girl I had never even met, and painted me as a vicious, jealous bully.
"She is very sensitive, Kaitlyn. Her background is tough. Please, be gentle with her. Don't upset her."
He humiliated me in front of our entire elite circle, allowing them to mock me as the aggressive, discarded ex while he carried her away like a fragile princess.
For twenty years, I had been his loyal shadow, fixing his mistakes and loving him unconditionally.
I couldn't understand how decades of deep devotion could be instantly erased by a few crocodile tears and a manipulative damsel act.
He was absolutely certain I would throw a tantrum, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his attention.
But he was wrong.
He didn't know that Everett Rowe, a billionaire tech mogul, had been patiently waiting five years to marry me.
He also didn't know that during my three years abroad, I wasn't just studying art—I became "K.B.", the ruthless Wall Street predator who could swallow his family's empire whole.
I calmly pulled out my phone, ignored the mocking whispers around me, and typed a single message to Everett.
"Yes. I'll marry you."
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Chapter 1
Weeks before my return from London, murmurs about Edwin Brown had already reached me. Friends from New York sent discreet messages, hinting at a new woman in his life. The initial reports were vague, mostly gossip about a "delicate" girl from a modest background. I shrugged it off. Edwin and I had a history. Three years apart did not erase twenty years of shared life. I felt a slight curiosity, but mostly a dismissive confidence. He was my Edwin. He always came back to me. The idea of a "replacement" felt ridiculous, almost insulting to our bond. I believed in us.
The rumors grew more specific. People said Edwin constantly feared this new girlfriend, Kacy Munoz, would be hurt. They claimed she was a vulnerable soul from a difficult background, and Edwin felt compelled to protect her. He reportedly saw her as a stand-in for me, but a softer, less intimidating version. I found this idea utterly preposterous. Edwin knew me better than anyone. He understood my strength, my drive. He wouldn't pick some fragile replica. The thought made me laugh. It sounded like something out of a bad rom-com. I dismissed the whispers as overblown exaggeration. People loved drama, especially when it involved heirs from prominent families.
I walked into the familiar grand ballroom of the Barton Hotel, the very place my family owned, for my welcome-home party. The air hummed with conversation and clinking glasses. I moved through the crowd, greeting old friends and business associates, feeling a surge of satisfaction at being back. Then, a hand touched my arm. My body stiffened. I turned and saw Edwin. His eyes held a familiar intensity, but something new flickered there-a guardedness I had never seen directed at me. My smile faltered.
His first words were not a welcome back. He did not ask about my trip, my work, or even if I was well. Instead, he leaned in, his voice low, almost a plea.
"Kaitlyn, I need to talk to you about Kacy."
My breath hitched. The carefully constructed façade of indifference I had maintained for weeks cracked. Kacy. His new girlfriend. He led with her name, a name that felt foreign and unwelcome in this space, on his lips. His concern was not for me, but for her. A cold wave washed over me.
His eyes, once filled only with devotion for me, now held a tender, protective glow as he spoke of Kacy. He looked at me, then past me, as if searching for someone else, his brow furrowed with a protective anxiety. He spoke about her sensitivity, her fragility, her difficult past. He painted a picture of a delicate flower he needed to shelter from the harsh world, a world that suddenly, disturbingly, included me.
"She is very sensitive, Kaitlyn," he said, his voice dropping an octave, a subtle warning in his tone. "Her background is tough. Please, be gentle with her. Don't upset her." His words were a preemptive defense, a shield raised against me before I had even met her. He cast me as a potential aggressor, a bully who would intentionally hurt this "fragile" Kacy.
I stood there, momentarily speechless. The sheer audacity of his words, the immediate assumption of my malice, left me feeling a bitter mix of outrage and disbelief. He had known me my entire life. He had seen my loyalty, my fierce protection of those I cared about. Yet, he now perceived me as a threat, a villain in his new narrative. The absurdity of it all resonated deeply. He had already judged me, condemned me, based on an imagined future interaction with a woman I had yet to meet.
My eyes narrowed. A coldness settled deep within me. He had decided my role in his new life without any input from me. He had cast me as the antagonist. My voice came out flat, devoid of the warmth I had felt moments before.
"Are you serious, Edwin?" I asked, my tone sharp, cutting through the pleasant background chatter. "You haven't seen me in three years. Your first words to me are a warning about your new girlfriend?"
Edwin flinched. He had not expected my directness. His face, usually so composed, showed a flicker of surprise, then something akin to guilt. He realized his words had been out of line, a gross breach of etiquette. He cleared his throat, his gaze shifting uncomfortably.
"Kaitlyn, I… I didn't mean it like that," he stammered, his usual smooth confidence replaced by an awkward fumbling. "It's just… Kacy. She cries easily. It's hard to comfort her when she gets upset." His explanation only made things worse. He was still prioritizing her feelings, still justifying his dismissive behavior towards me by portraying her as a perpetual victim. His voice, though slightly agitated by my directness, still held a deep, unwavering concern for Kacy. It was clear. His loyalty had shifted entirely.
I found his explanation utterly ridiculous. The Edwin I knew would never have tolerated such melodrama. He used to find my own occasional bursts of frustration or sadness charming, seeing it as part of my strong personality. Now, another woman' s tears defined his behavior. The contrast was stark, almost laughable.
I thought about our past. Edwin, the boy who once worshipped the ground I walked on. He used to move mountains to make me smile. There was the time I mentioned wanting a rare antique doll, a fleeting thought I barely voiced. The next day, he had scoured the city, flown across states, and presented it to me, wrapped in silk, his eyes shining with triumph. Another time, when I had a bad flu, he assembled a team of top doctors and nurses just to monitor me, insisting on round-theclock care even though it was just a common virus. He even once flew me to Iceland on a whim, claiming he had "predicted" a perfect aurora borealis display just for my birthday. For years, my birthdays were extravagant affairs he meticulously planned: private yacht parties, surprise celebrity performances, custom-designed jewelry. He once shut down an entire amusement park just so I could ride the roller coasters without a queue. He lived to spoil me, to cherish me, to make me feel like the most important person in the world. His devotion was legendary among our friends.
Now, he stood before me, warning me away from a woman he'd known for a fraction of that time, a woman he implied I would instinctively harm. A bitter, involuntary laugh escaped my lips. It was a harsh, humorless sound.
Edwin' s face darkened further. My laughter clearly stung him, adding to his obvious embarrassment and frustration. He looked genuinely angry. But I just felt a profound weariness. This conversation was pointless. He had already made his choice, had already defined our new dynamic. There was nothing left to say, nothing to salvage here.
I shook my head, my decision made. I had planned to join Bettie and our friends in the private lounge, but the thought of spending another moment in Edwin' s condescending presence, or worse, meeting this Kacy under his protective gaze, was intolerable. I turned on my heel.
"You know what, Edwin?" I said, my voice cutting and sharp. "Keep your 'sensitive' girlfriend safe. I wouldn't want to accidentally hurt her delicate feelings. You worry about her. I'll worry about myself." My words dripped with sarcasm. I did not wait for his response.
Edwin' s face went pale. He called my name, a desperate, confused sound, trying to chase after me, to offer another half-hearted explanation. But I ignored him. I walked away, my heels clicking sharply on the polished marble floor, each step a definitive statement, leaving him, and our fractured past, behind.
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9.5
The disgraced daughter of the Patton family is back from the countryside.At the news, everyone spurned her with contempt!
A good-for-nothing young lady, a crude village wench, a vicious devil...
Until one day--The world-famous life-saving medical sovereign is her.The enigmatic top forensic specialist is her.The grandmaster hacker hunted across the globe is also her.
One hidden identity of the young miss came to light after another.Shocked and dumbfounded, the crowd fell to their knees to beg for forgiveness.
In an instant, Evie was cornered by the mysterious powerhouse.Hartwell's voice lured and mesmerized:"Darling, you have countless secret identities. Would you mind taking on one more, being my wife!"
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.
9.3
He was supposed to be my brother. The cold CEO everyone feared. The man who controlled the entire country's business world.
But one night, he looked at me and calmly destroyed everything I thought I knew.
"We're getting married."
I laughed, but he didn't.
Now every door in my life is closing, every choice is disappearing, and the one man I'm not supposed to love refuses to let me go.
Because to Lucien Hale, this was never forbidden. It was inevitable.
And the most terrifying part? The closer I get to him, the harder it becomes to run.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
7.1
For six years, I played the pathetic, wolfless Omega to honor the dying wish of the late Alpha who protected me.
But on our sixth anniversary, my fated mate, Alpha Kian, was photographed looking tenderly at his mistress.
When he finally stormed into our penthouse, he didn't apologize. Instead, he threw a fifty-million-dollar check onto the bed.
"Take the money and accept my rejection obediently, or I'll show you what happens when you defy an Alpha."
To force my compliance, he terminated all trade agreements with my best friend's pack, pushing them to the brink of bankruptcy. He accused me of blackmailing his grandfather into our marriage, entirely blind to the fact that his beloved mistress was actually a banished, feral Rogue.
I had spent six years swallowing my pride, drinking toxic herbs to suppress my true White Wolf scent, and enduring his absolute disgust just to keep his pack safe.
Why did I bleed for a man who despised my very existence?
I looked at the blood money, and the suffocating sorrow in my chest was instantly replaced by white-hot fury.
I didn't take a single cent. Instead, I submitted the rejection papers myself, dropped my pathetic disguise, and walked out into the freezing rain.
A towering warrior with a black umbrella dropped to one knee before me in the mud.
It was time to stop hiding and return home as the billionaire heir of the legendary Silvermoon Pack.
9.2
I was a broke freelance copywriter, tortured for three sleepless nights by an impossible corporate client.
Needing to vent, I typed out a wild, highly inappropriate rant mocking the brand's stiff heritage.
But in my exhausted, sleep-deprived blur, I accidentally sent the massive block of text to the wrong chat.
The recipient wasn't my friend. It was Emerson Beard, the elite, ruthless brand consultant I was supposed to desperately network with.
I waited for the professional execution, terrified of the massive five-figure penalty fee hanging over my head.
Instead, he didn't block me. He critiqued my unhinged draft.
He saved my career through late-night, encrypted phone calls, his deep, commanding voice becoming my only lifeline.
But when I heard a woman with a sultry French accent knocking on his hotel door during our call, my ugly jealousy flared.
I yelled at him and hung up, completely humiliating myself.
I thought I was just a pathetic, annoying workaholic interrupting his romantic getaway.
But he texted back to clarify he was entirely single, and in the process, realized I was actually twenty-five, not a fresh-out-of-school teenager like he had assumed.
The cold, distant mentor instantly vanished.
In his place was a man radiating a raw, aggressive, and predatory energy that bled right through the screen.
"Texting is too inefficient. The full integration requires face-to-face communication."
He dropped a location pin for an ultra-exclusive Manhattan club, demanding I meet him to save my contract.
Wearing a desperately bought emerald silk dress, I pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping right into the trap of a man who had just taken off his leash.