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 2
Kaitlyn Barton POV:
Edwin' s sudden transformation from my devoted childhood love to a condescending protector of another woman was truly tiresome. I felt a knot of anger tighten in my stomach. The entire encounter left a bad taste in my mouth, spoiling what should have been a triumphant return.
My phone vibrated incessantly. I pulled it from my clutch. My screen glowed with an avalanche of notifications: messages from friends, social media updates, and a flood of shared videos. Everyone was reacting to the awkward scene Edwin and I had just made. I swiped through them, my thumb hovering over one particular video sent by Bettie. I tapped it open without much thought.
The video showed Edwin, seated comfortably in a plush armchair, swirling a glass of amber liquid. He sighed.
"How do you usually handle these kinds of situations, Edwin?" a friend's voice asked off-screen.
Edwin leaned forward, his expression serious. "Kacy... she's had it really tough, you know?" He spoke slowly, a tone of deep concern in his voice. "She comes from nothing. She' s fragile, easily hurt." He looked directly at the camera, as if addressing an unseen audience. "She' s not like us, not accustomed to... the rough edges of our world. People could easily take advantage of her, bully her."
My blood ran cold. He painted Kacy as this helpless, innocent creature. Then, his voice shifted, a subtle, almost imperceptible hardening in his tone as he continued. "Kaitlyn, on the other hand, she' s always been… well, Kaitlyn. Regal, fiery, always getting her way. She doesn't back down from anything. Sometimes she doesn't even realize how sharp she can be." He paused, a troubled look on his face. "I just need to protect Kacy. I can't let anyone upset her." He then shared a specific incident. "Just yesterday, someone said something insensitive to Kacy, and she cried for hours. I couldn't console her. Her tears are just so devastating to see." His tone, despite the implied frustration, held no real impatience. Only deep, genuine concern.
I stared at the screen, my mind blank. The words resonated, echoing the exact sentiment he had just expressed to me in person. He hadn't just warned me; he had publicly defined me. He had twisted my independence into aggression, my confidence into cruelty. My vision blurred. I couldn't decide what I felt more strongly: pure, unadulterated rage, or a chilling sense of ironic amusement at his utter blindness. He had already cast me as the villain, preemptively assigning me guilt for a crime I hadn't committed.
I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting the surge of emotion. My phone buzzed again. It was Bettie.
"Hey, are you still coming to the party? Everyone's here," she asked, her voice laced with concern. "And are you going to meet her? The infamous Kacy?"
"Edwin's been hovering around her like a mother hen," Bettie continued, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "He practically barricaded her in the corner. And she's... well, she's definitely 'tea-flavored.' All sweet smiles and batted eyelashes, but you can practically see the calculations behind her eyes." Bettie's blunt assessment hit home. I knew my best friend saw through people.
"You really should come back, Kaitlyn," Bettie insisted. "Don't let her win this. Don't let Edwin paint you as the bad guy. You need to come and rip that little manipulator apart." Bettie's words ignited a spark of defiance within me. She was right.
A sudden clarity washed over me. Why should I retreat? This was my hotel, my city, my welcome-home party. I had done nothing wrong. I had no reason to run, no reason to hide. I was Kaitlyn Barton. I had a right to be here, to stand my ground. I would not allow myself to be sidelined, or worse, vilified, in my own home.
The thought of all those prominent figures gathered in the ballroom, all the eyes watching, waiting for the drama to unfold, fueled my resolve. If Edwin wanted to turn this into a spectacle, then I would give them a show. I would not disappoint my audience, nor my own dignity.
I turned around, my stride purposeful, adrenaline coursing through me. My heels clicked with renewed determination as I made my way back to the private lounge Edwin had originally pointed to, the designated meeting spot for our closest friends. As I pushed open the heavy oak door, I heard Kacy's voice, soft and melodious, carrying clearly across the room.
"Oh, Edwin," Kacy was saying, her tone a delicate blend of false regret and exaggerated concern. "Is Kaitlyn really not coming back? I feel so terrible. I must have ruined her evening. I am so sorry." She paused, then added, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "Perhaps I should just leave. I wouldn't want to cause any more trouble for her." My entrance, the sharp sound of the door swinging open, cut her perfectly phrased apology short.
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7.6
Kaylee's family was drowning in debt, and her stepmother locked her inside a freezing bedroom.
To save their bankrupt company, they decided to sell her off to a sixty-five-year-old man with a disgusting reputation.
They cut off her allowance and confiscated the only precious keepsake her dead mother had ever left her.
"Put on the engagement dress, or I will smash your mother's crystal box into a million pieces."
Terrified of the old man, Kaylee risked her life by jumping out of the second-story window into a violent storm.
She hit the muddy ground hard, twisting her ankle and tearing her skin on rusted iron gates as she escaped into the pitch-black night.
Dragging her bleeding bare feet across the cold sand, her lungs felt like they were filled with broken glass.
She didn't understand why she had to be the sacrifice for their endless greed, or how they could be so cruel as to hold her dead mother's memory hostage.
She had absolutely nowhere to go, and the old man's cars were already pulling into the estate to claim her.
Cornered by the blinding headlights of a motorcade on the beach, she threw herself at the feet of Ernest Blackwell, the most ruthless billionaire in New York.
"Marry me! You need a wife, and I need a husband right now!"
To buy her freedom and crush the family that sold her, she chose to sign a twenty-million-dollar fake marriage contract with the devil himself.
8.2
Justine abandoned her career as a top trauma surgeon to marry Congressman Carl McConnell. She did it to fulfill her dying sister's last wish: to protect her son, Leo, from this ruthless political family.
But the seven-year-old boy she swore to protect shoved her into a freezing koi pond, then cried to his father that Justine tried to drown him.
Carl didn't even check the security cameras. He hugged his precious heir and looked at his freezing wife with pure disgust.
"Are you out of your mind? Trying to hurt the heir to the McConnell family!"
He locked Justine in a 55-degree wine cellar while she was burning with a 102-degree fever. When she finally told him the truth, Carl flew into a rage and hurled a heavy brass-cornered book at her face, slicing her cheekbone wide open.
His mother even ordered the staff to starve her for seven days to reflect on her sins.
Justine stood in the dark, blood dripping down her face, her heart completely dead. She had sacrificed her brilliant future and her pride for this family, only to be tortured and discarded like garbage. How could they be so utterly devoid of humanity?
She pulled out her old medical kit and stitched up her own face.
Then, she signed the legal documents to permanently relinquish her stepparent rights, threw them at the housekeeper, and calmly looked at her abusive husband.
"I am divorcing you, Carl."
8.8
Clara supported her boyfriend Leo for four years, paying his rent and buying his headshots while working dead-end extra gigs.
On his twenty-sixth birthday, she caught him in their bed with Veronica, a wealthy producer's daughter who constantly stole Clara's roles.
Leo mocked Clara as a "pathetic, poor stepping stone" who was just there until he got his foot in the door.
Veronica threatened to ruin Clara's career forever.
Clara dumped him, packed her bags, and impulsively entered a contract marriage with a cold stranger she met at City Hall.
But her nightmare wasn't over.
When her mother suddenly needed a $200,000 emergency brain surgery, Clara was forced to take a demeaning extra gig to survive.
There, Veronica and her starlet friend cornered Clara.
They mocked her cheap clothes, ridiculed her new wedding ring as fake glass, and intentionally poured scalding coffee on her feet.
"Well, maid, you better clean that up."
Veronica laughed, forcing Clara to her knees to wipe up the burning liquid while snapping photos.
Clara swallowed her burning humiliation, secretly recording their abuse on her phone.
She endured the pain, desperate for the $300 day rate to save her mother's life, feeling entirely crushed by their overwhelming wealth and power.
What she didn't know was that outside the soundstage, her new contract husband—the man she thought was just a struggling, broke tech worker—was sitting in a sleek black Maybach.
He watched his wife kneeling on the floor, and his dark eyes filled with a lethal, terrifying rage.
8.7
I woke up from a coma in the hospital, universally condemned as the vicious daughter who pushed the beloved fake heiress, Georgina, down the stairs.
My ruthless billionaire brother, Angelo, stood over my bed with cold eyes, ready to destroy me for hurting his precious sister.
But as I looked at him, a terrifying prophecy from my coma flooded my brain. Our entire family was doomed.
In the original timeline, Georgina would team up with corporate rivals to bankrupt the company, frame Angelo, and send him to federal prison, while our parents would abandon me to die miserably.
Lying there, I didn't dare speak. I just desperately cursed my idiot brother in my head.
"This stupid brother is still yelling at me for that fake heiress. He doesn't even know he's going to be framed and sent to prison next month!"
I just wanted to stay quiet, let them ruin themselves, and run away from this toxic family.
But strangely, Angelo didn't strangle me. Instead, his attitude took a shocking turn.
He abruptly fired the driver plotting to kill him, destroyed the abusive fiancé of a family ally, and publicly humiliated Georgina at a high-society gala.
He even shielded me from our abusive parents, declaring to the world that I was the only sister he would ever protect.
I was completely terrified and confused. Why was the tyrant brother suddenly acting like a protective beast?
It wasn't until he flawlessly crushed a massive corporate attack using the exact financial secrets I had just complained about in my mind that a horrifying realization hit me.
He could hear my inner thoughts!
7.4
Alaya woke up in the sterile hospital room to a devastating reality: her six-month-old baby was gone, lost in a horrific car crash.
But as the memories crashed into her, she realized she had been reborn. She was back three years before her ultimate death, back to the moment she remembered lying bleeding on the asphalt while her husband, Hardy, shielded his mistress from the freezing rain.
When Hardy finally showed up at the ward, he coldly dismissed the crash as a mere accident and immediately left to comfort his young lover. To make matters worse, Alaya secretly checked her medical files and found a terrifying detail: someone had intentionally slipped beta-blockers into her system, a lethal drug for her transplanted heart. And Hardy didn't care about her dead baby or her irreversible infertility. He only coldly confirmed with the doctor that her heart was still viable.
A horrifying suspicion made Alaya's blood run cold. Why was her husband so obsessed with protecting her transplanted heart while treating her like garbage? And why was his perfectly healthy mistress secretly racking up massive bills at an advanced cardiac hospital?
Realizing she was nothing but a vessel in a twisted, deadly game, Alaya didn't shed another tear.
She packed her belongings, left her flawless diamond wedding ring on the cold marble table, and vanished from their penthouse.
When Hardy finally tracked her down, she threw a thick stack of documents onto the table.
"Sign the divorce papers," she said, her eyes completely dead.
8.8
Alaia Dudley spent her life playing the devoted partner, completely unaware that her fiancé Austen was sleeping with another woman.
She thought the worst he could do was break her heart, until she found herself pinned to a cold operating table.
Austen held her down with a cruel smirk while a scalpel sliced through her sternum.
They cracked her chest open while she was still fully conscious.
The agonizing pain of her heart being cut out burned into her nerve endings.
She realized then that to him, she was never a lover—just a spare organ, a boring piece of wood to be discarded the second his true love needed it.
She died in excruciating agony, choking on her own blood while the man she loved walked away with her heart.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand why she had to suffer so brutally.
Why did she waste her life begging for a monster's attention? Why did they get a happy ending while she was carved up like an animal?
But then, ice-cold water flooded her lungs, and Alaia violently broke the surface of her bathwater.
Her trembling fingers touched her smooth, flawless chest. No scars. Her heart was still beating.
The date on her phone glared back at her: it was exactly five years ago.
Tonight was the exact night Austen first took his mistress to a hotel room.
This time, she wouldn't just expose them. She would use Wall Street's most terrifying tyrant as her personal weapon to strip them of everything they had.