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Heiress Betrayed: My Sweet Revenge Wedding

Heiress Betrayed: My Sweet Revenge Wedding

For seven years, I hid my identity as a wealthy heiress to be with my boyfriend, Ewing. I followed him across the country and made myself small so he could feel big. On Thanksgiving, he ditched our celebration for his first love, Bree, who supposedly had a "burst pipe." Later, she posted an intimate selfie with him, calling him her "hero." Then she sent me a video of him at a bar, laughing with his friends. "She's just being dramatic," he slurred, smirking at the camera. "A new necklace and she'll forget all about it. She's easy." Easy. Seven years of my life, my love, my sacrifice-all reduced to that one word. I realized I was never his partner. I was just a placeholder. I didn't cry. I packed my bags, booked a one-way flight to New York, and sent him one final text before blocking his number. "Don't bother coming home. I'm getting married."
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Chapter 5

Haven Holden POV: A week after I returned to New York, my phone buzzed with a message from an unblocked number Ewing must have borrowed. "Hey, how are you holding up? Are you still crying?" I had been so immersed in the whirlwind of my new-old life that I didn' t see his message until late that night. I was back in my family's sprawling Upper East Side penthouse, a place I had once run from, but which now felt like a sanctuary. My days were filled with meetings at Holden Properties, reacquainting myself with the empire I was born to inherit, and my evenings were spent with my parents, slowly mending the bridges I had burned for a man who wasn't worth the ashes. His message, with its casual, condescending concern, felt like it was from another lifetime. Crying? I hadn't shed a single tear for him. With a strange sense of calm, I typed a simple reply. "I' m engaged." His response was instantaneous. "Don' t be ridiculous, Haven. Who would you be engaged to? You don' t know anyone in New York anymore." Another message followed immediately. "I get it. You' re trying to make me jealous. It' s a bold move, I' ll give you that. But it' s not going to work." The speed of his replies was almost laughable. For years, I had waited hours, sometimes days, for a response from him. Now that I no longer cared, I had his undivided attention. I remembered the countless nights I had feigned a headache or a bad day, just hoping for a scrap of his concern. He would offer a distracted pat on the back before turning back to his work or his phone. His indifference had been a constant, dull ache in my heart. It was a self-inflicted humiliation I was only now beginning to understand. I had no desire to play his games anymore. I didn' t reply. A moment later, my phone started ringing. Ewing' s borrowed number flashed on the screen. I declined the call and blocked the number. Then, I sent him one last message from my own, now unblocked, number. A message I knew he wouldn' t be able to ignore. "Goodbye, Ewing. My fiancé is waiting for me." Then I blocked him for good. It wasn't a lie. I was engaged. My fiancé was Kasen Coleman. As in, the Coleman family, founders of Vanguard Innovations, the tech behemoth our family's real estate company had partnered with for decades. He was the brilliant, self-made CEO who had taken over the family business and quadrupled its value in five years. He was the boy my parents had wanted me to marry all along. Growing up, Kasen was the specter of perfection that haunted my childhood. He was the "son of our family friend" who always scored perfect grades, won national science fairs, and was accepted into every Ivy League university. While I was struggling with calculus, he was publishing papers on quantum computing. While I was going to college parties, he was interning at Google. After graduating from MIT with a double major in computer science and business, he didn't join the family company. Instead, he took over a small, failing subsidiary and, within two years, turned it into one of the most profitable branches of the corporation. Only then did he accept the CEO position, a move that silenced all critics and solidified his reputation as a prodigy. We had run in the same circles our entire lives, but our paths rarely crossed. He was always quiet, intense, and focused. I found him intimidating. When my father called him to propose the marriage alliance after my return, I had been sure he would refuse. A man like Kasen Coleman didn't need an arranged marriage. He could have anyone he wanted. To my astonishment, he agreed without hesitation. Our engagement was a quiet affair, just our two families at a private dinner. He arrived with a simple, elegant bouquet of my favorite stargazerg lilies-a detail Ewing had never managed to remember. The engagement party was planned exactly to my taste, understated and intimate, a stark contrast to the lavish events our families usually favored. When the time came, he didn't just present me with a ring. He got down on one knee, his dark, serious eyes holding mine. The diamond on the platinum band was flawless, but it was his words that took my breath away. "Haven," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. "I know this is an arrangement, but I promise you will have my utmost respect, my loyalty, and my protection. I will be a true partner to you, in every sense of the word." He gave me everything Ewing had only ever promised. Sincerity. Respect. I looked into his eyes and felt a sense of peace settle over me for the first time in years. I smiled, a real, genuine smile, and nodded. "Yes, Kasen. I will." He slid the ring onto my finger, a perfect fit. He was right. This was a partnership, a strategic alliance. There was no pretense of love, and that was a relief. Love had brought me nothing but pain. With Kasen, I wouldn't have to worry about him calling out another woman's name in his sleep. I wouldn't have to compete for his attention. This was a transaction, and the terms were clear. It was a safe, stable, and, frankly, brilliant move for both our families. It was the perfect ending. After the whirlwind of the past week, I was exhausted. I lay on my bed, a cooling face mask on, scrolling through my phone. A video call request popped up. It was my best friend, Clara. "So," she said, her grin wide. "Did he lose his mind? Is the crematorium officially open for business?"