At My Engagement Party, My Fiancé Told Me He'd Been Cheating

Once my mother was admitted, I drove back to the Back Bay townhouse alone.

I'd picked the dining table out myself. Connor had wanted something big. Easier for entertaining, he'd said.

In the closet was the nightgown for our wedding night. Tags still on it.

I looked away and headed upstairs. My suitcase was open on the bedroom floor. I started throwing things in. I moved fast. I couldn't slow down. The second I slowed down, every memory we'd made in this house would come flooding back.

Connor walked in.

"Charlotte."

I didn't stop.

He set a folder down in front of me.

"Equity transfer. Take a look."

"My family talked it over. This is what we're offering you. As compensation."

I glanced up at him.

"It's worth a billion."

He winced slightly, like the number physically hurt him to say.

"For Sophia. For your mother. I think this should cover it."

"And we're going to be husband and wife soon anyway. It makes sense to tie the two families together financially."

That stopped my hands.

He sighed.

"Sophia is not going to threaten your position. You're my wife. The only wife. Sophia, from now on, is just my sister-in-law."

"So stop coming at her."

When he said sister-in-law, his face twisted as if the word itself cost him.

Like treating Sophia as family was some great sacrifice on his part.

Honestly, I wasn't blind. I'd sensed something.

I pulled my phone out from under the pillow. I scrolled through my photos and opened one.

The Boston Symphony charity gala. Sophia in the Harris family's private box. A Cartier diamond necklace on her throat.

Connor had given me the exact same one.

"Five years. You gave me six gifts." I held his eyes. "Connor. Did she get every single one too?"

Connor glanced at the photo. He shrugged.

"Charlotte. It's our world. You know how it works. This kind of thing is normal."

He stood up. His voice was sharper now.

"Plenty of wives know how to handle this with grace. The fact that I'm offering you this much is more than most men in my position would."

I gave him a thin smile.

"Too bad. I'm not that kind of wife."

I remembered the day Connor came to ask my father for my hand. I'd snuck halfway down the staircase to listen.

He'd said, "I'll be good to Charlotte for the rest of her life."

I'd buried my face in my hands, spinning around my room.

But my father was gone.

And Connor wasn't the same guy either.

He watched me, and seemed surprised that my face hadn't softened.

"You really want to call it off?"

He let out a small laugh, like the idea was absurd.

"Come on. This marriage was arranged by your father before he died."

"He put your hand in mine. He wouldn't want you to call it off."

How dare he. How dare he bring up my father. How dare he use my father's name to force me into this disgusting marriage.

My fists clenched. My nails dug into my palms.

Something in me snapped. I grabbed a glass of water off the nightstand and threw it in his face.

"Get out."

"You don't get to say his name. You didn't do a single thing you promised him."

Connor's pupils contracted. He slowly wiped the water off his face.

"Charlotte." His voice softened.

"I said get out. Are you deaf?"

"You... fine."

"I'm not giving up."

Connor sighed like I was a child throwing a tantrum. But there was a calm certainty in his voice.

"You're upset right now. Take some time. You'll come around."

"I won't argue with you over such trivial matters."