Fiancé's Betrayal: My Fatal Wedding Gift

Hazel POV:

I carefully placed the diagnosis report into a waterproof document bag, tucking it deep inside my suitcase. This, along with the star certificate and a few other carefully chosen mementos of his deception, would be my parting gift to Harden. A little surprise for him to find after I was gone.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was him. A wave of nausea washed over me, so potent I had to grip the edge of the dresser to steady myself. I let it ring.

It buzzed again, this time with a text.

Harden: Big night tonight. The official engagement party. Don' t be late.

The engagement party. A public spectacle to celebrate a lie. My fingers hovered over the screen, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. He was calling me to his own execution. Fine. If he wanted a show, I' d give him one he would never forget.

I zipped the suitcase and pushed it under the bed. I would deal with that later. For now, I had a role to play.

The ballroom of The Olympian Hotel was a sea of glittering chandeliers, champagne flutes, and Seattle' s elite. I moved through the crowd like a ghost, my simple navy dress a stark contrast to the couture gowns and flashing diamonds. Every smile felt like a mask, every polite greeting a line from a script I no longer believed in.

And then I saw her.

Krista was holding court by the grand piano, radiant in a crimson dress that clung to her like a second skin. She was the center of gravity in the room, pulling everyone into her orbit with her practiced laughter and sparkling eyes. She looked every bit the social media influencer she was, a perfect prop in her own curated life.

Harden was beside her, his body angled protectively towards her. He was murmuring something in her ear, and his hand rested on the small of her back, a gesture of casual intimacy that was a thousand times more genuine than any touch he had ever given me. He leaned in to adjust a stray strand of her blonde hair, his fingers brushing her cheek with a tenderness that made my stomach churn.

I saw it. That flicker of raw obsession in his eyes. The same look he used to give me.

"It' s a shame, isn' t it?" a woman next to me whispered to her companion, her voice dripping with pity. "Harden was so crazy about Krista back in the day. Everyone thought they' d get married. Then she just up and left for Europe."

"And poor Hazel Rogers steps in," the other woman replied, shaking her head. "She' s a sweet girl, but she' s just keeping the seat warm. You can see it in his eyes. He' s still completely gone on Krista."

The words were meant to be gossip, but they were daggers, each one hitting a fresh, open wound. It was true. I was the placeholder. The convenient, self-sacrificing stand-in.

I remembered the early days, after Krista had dumped him and fled the country. Harden had been a wreck. He' d told everyone they broke up amicably, that she needed to find herself. A lie. He was protecting her reputation, even then. When the press had started hounding me, asking if I was the other woman, the homewrecker, Harden had stood by silently, letting me take the heat. He never once defended me.

My heart, which I thought had already shattered, seemed to splinter into even smaller fragments.

Suddenly, Krista' s eyes met mine across the room. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her perfect lips. She excused herself and glided towards me, her movements sinuous and predatory.

"Hazel, darling!" she cooed, throwing her arms around me in a mock embrace. "I' m so, so happy for you and Harden. You deserve this."

Her perfume, a cloyingly sweet floral scent, enveloped me, making me feel sick. I stiffened, refusing to return the hug.

"Get off me, Krista," I said, my voice low and tight.

She pulled back, her blue eyes glistening with fake tears. She feigned a hurt expression, her lower lip trembling. "Hazel, I know we' ve had our differences, but tonight is your night. I just wanted to wish you well."

She reached out to touch my arm, and I instinctively recoiled. My revulsion was a physical force.

"Don' t touch me."

Krista' s eyes flashed with anger for a split second before the mask of sorrow slipped back into place. She stumbled backward, deliberately bumping into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes.

The crash was spectacular.

Glass shattered, and golden champagne sprayed everywhere. Krista let out a theatrical shriek. I was closer to the waiter, and the top tier of the pyramid of glasses rained down on me. A sharp, searing pain shot through my arm as a shard of glass sliced deep into my forearm. Another piece caught my leg.

Krista, meanwhile, had a few drops of champagne on her expensive dress and a tiny, almost invisible scratch on her hand.

"Krista!"

Harden' s voice boomed across the ballroom. He was at her side in an instant, his face a mask of frantic concern. He bypassed me completely, his eyes fixed on Krista as if she were the only person in the room.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" he asked, his voice filled with a panic I had never heard from him, not even when I' d been deathly ill from the bone marrow donation. He fussed over the microscopic scratch on her hand, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at it.

"I' m fine, Harden, really," Krista whimpered, leaning into him. "I' m just worried about Hazel. I think… I think she pushed me."

The accusation hung in the air, thick and poisonous.

Harden' s head snapped towards me. His warm whiskey eyes were now glacial, filled with a cold fury that froze me to the spot. I stood there, blood dripping from my arm onto the pristine white floor, a silent testament to the real injury.

"Hazel, what the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled.

"I didn't push her," I whispered, the words barely audible. My arm was throbbing, and a dizzying wave of blackness threatened to pull me under.

"Don' t lie to me! I saw you recoil from her. You' ve always hated her, haven' t you? You couldn' t even stand to let her be happy for us on our engagement night?"

"Harden, please, don' t be angry with her," Krista sobbed, pulling on his arm. "It was an accident. I' m sure she didn' t mean to. She' s just a little overwhelmed. You know how clumsy I am."

Her voice was a masterpiece of faux generosity, designed to make her look like a saint and me a monster.

"See?" Harden' s voice softened as he looked at Krista, his expression melting into pure adoration. "This is why I love you. You' re too kind, too forgiving."

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. "Let' s get you cleaned up."

He turned, scooping a protesting Krista into his arms, and carried her away as if she were a precious, injured doll. He didn' t give me a second glance. He didn' t see the blood pooling at my feet, or the deep gash in my arm, or the utter devastation in my eyes.

He just left me there. Bleeding, broken, and utterly alone in a room full of strangers.