My Fiancé Proposes But Not to Me

The video loaded. The stream counter showed 47,000 viewers and climbing. The camera angle was perfect—professional lighting, the marble lobby serving as a backdrop, the company logo subtly visible on the wall behind. Someone in production knew what they were doing. The frame centered on a figure kneeling, and my breath caught. Alan. My Alan, in his charcoal Tom Ford suit, the one I'd helped him pick out last month. The overhead lights caught the silver at his temples, making him look distinguished, powerful. In his hands, he held a small velvet box, open to reveal a diamond that threw prismatic light across the polished floor. Pride swelled in my chest for a moment. He'd actually done it. He'd eventually prepared so delicately to propose— The camera panned up. Not to me.

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Chapter 2

I pressed the intercom button, my finger steady despite the storm raging inside me. "Victoria, come to my office. Now."

The words emerged with a glacial calm that surprised even me. I released the button and watched through the glass as my assistant's head snapped up, her eyes widening at my tone. She knew me well enough to recognize when something fundamental had shifted.

While waiting, I unlocked my computer's secure partition—the one containing protocols I'd designed for worst-case scenarios. I never imagined I'd be using them against the man who'd promised me forever just last month.

Victoria appeared in my doorway, notepad in hand, her usual efficiency now tinged with apprehension. "Yes, Iris?"

"Close the door." I maintained eye contact as she complied, my voice dropping to a controlled whisper that made her visibly tense. "Prepare the emergency PR broadcast system. Full override capabilities. I want it ready in fifteen minutes."

"But that's only for major corporate—"

"I'm aware of its purpose. I designed it." My fingers flew across the keyboard, accessing the security footage archives. "I also need all financial documentation related to executive expenditures from the past six months. Particularly any unusual withdrawals or transfers."

Victoria's professional mask slipped for just a moment, revealing confusion and concern. "Is this about..." She trailed off, glancing toward the screens where employees still clustered, watching replays of the proposal.

"This is about transparency." I pulled up the security footage access protocols, entering my override codes. "And accountability."

She nodded once, sharply, something like understanding dawning in her eyes. "Fifteen minutes. I'll have everything ready."

As she left, I allowed myself ten seconds—exactly ten—to close my eyes and breathe. When I opened them, the woman in my darkened monitor reflection looked dangerous. Good.

The security feeds showed me exactly what I needed. The building's main entrance, the executive parking garage, the elevator cameras. I tracked the movements of one particular black Audi pulling into the reserved space marked 'CEO.' Twenty minutes after the livestream ended, right on schedule.

Alan emerged first, straightening his tie with the self-satisfied air of a man who believed he'd just cemented his legacy. Luna followed, glowing with newfound importance, clutching his arm as if afraid someone might snatch her prize away. They paused at the lobby entrance, clearly preparing for their grand entrance.

I switched to the lobby feed and watched as they pushed through the doors to enthusiastic applause. Employees gathered around, offering congratulations and admiration. Someone handed Luna a bouquet of roses—probably ordered from the same florist who'd delivered lilies to my office every anniversary for three years.

Alan beamed, his arm possessively around Luna's waist as he held up her hand, showcasing the diamond that caught the light with every movement. Luna blushed prettily, accepting compliments with the practiced modesty of someone who'd been rehearsing for this moment.

I watched it all through the digital eye of the security camera, cataloging every smile, every handshake, every betrayal.

Then I stood, smoothed my skirt, and picked up my tablet and the wireless microphone we used for company announcements. The weight felt good in my hand. Substantial. A conductor's baton for the symphony I was about to orchestrate.

The office fell silent as I emerged from my glass sanctuary. Employees parted like water as I walked toward the celebrating couple, my heels striking the marble floor with metronomic precision. Click. Click. Click.

I caught my reflection in the polished brass of the elevator doors—spine straight, chin lifted, eyes clear and focused. I looked exactly like what I was: the woman who controlled this company's image. Its narrative. Its truth.

Alan saw me first. His smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered, pulling Luna closer as if she might shield him from whatever was coming.

"Iris!" Too loud, too forced. "Did you see the big news?"

I smiled. Not the warm, professional smile I used at press conferences or the intimate one I'd once reserved for him. This was something new—something cold and sharp and perfect.

"Congratulations on this beautiful moment," I said, my voice carrying across the now-hushed lobby. I raised the microphone, making sure everyone could hear my next words. "As head of PR, I'd like to review the footage to maximize our branding opportunity."

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My five-year-old daughter was dying in the ICU, her heartbeat replaced by the continuous, electronic scream of a flatline. I gripped her cold hand, my throat sealed shut by a terror so absolute I couldn't even cry out. I dialed my husband Grayson's private number, the one reserved only for me and his assistants. He declined the call instantly. A second later, a text buzzed against my palm: "In a meeting. Do not disturb. Stop calling." Five miles away, Grayson was at a luxury gala, adjusting his silk tie and laughing with Belle Escobar. He told her I was just being "dramatic" and using our daughter's "fever" as an excuse to avoid the event. He had no idea Effie's heart had already stopped. When I finally reached our penthouse, soaked from the rain and carrying Effie's small socks in a plastic bag, Grayson didn't even look at me. He snapped at me for ruining the hardwood floors and asked if I'd left Effie with the nanny just to "feel sorry for myself." Three days later, while I buried our daughter in a small, lonely ceremony, Grayson was at the Hamptons. Belle posted a photo of him golfing with the caption: "A mental health day with the boys." He didn't even attend the funeral, but he returned home demanding I clear out Effie's room to make a study for Belle's son. The injustice burned through me until there was nothing left. I swallowed a handful of sleeping pills, desperate to join my daughter. But instead of the darkness, I woke up to blinding lights and the scent of Grayson's expensive cologne. I was standing in a ballroom, wearing a blue silk dress I had already burned. Above me, a banner read: "Happy 5th Birthday Kaiden & Effie." I was back, exactly one year before the tragedy. This time, I wasn't going to be the grieving wife. I was going to be their worst nightmare.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.2

After My Husband Fired Me, I Became His Rival's Partner

9.2

The morning light glinted off the glass facade of the Price Enterprises building as I strode across the marble lobby in my charcoal Armani suit. The click of my heels echoed confidently with each step, a rhythm I'd perfected over years of being the company's invisible backbone. Today was different. Today was bonus day—the one time each year when results couldn't be hidden behind corporate politics or flashy presentations. I smoothed my hands over the tailored suit, mentally rehearsing the brief acceptance speech I'd prepared for the "Top Sales Champion" award. For the fifth consecutive year, I'd single-handedly secured over sixty percent of the company's revenue. Not that anyone besides the accounting department and Ethan knew this. My husband had always insisted I maintain a low profile, claiming it was strategic for negotiations if clients underestimated us. "Good morning, Ms. Jenkins," the receptionist called, her smile genuine but tinged with something I couldn't quite place.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.6

Divorce After Discovering Husband's Betrayal

8.6

My phone rang just as I was finishing a report for next week's board meeting. The number wasn't saved in my contacts, but I recognized the area code—the hospital near my father's office. "Claire Wright?" The voice was clinical, detached. "Yes, this is she." My pen hovered over the signature line as I waited for whatever routine inquiry this call might bring. "Ms. Wright, this is Mercy General Hospital. Your father has suffered a massive cardiac event. He's in critical condition. You should come immediately." The pen slipped from my fingers, splattering ink across the pristine document. "What?

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.6

Divorcing The CEO: I'll Take Your Empire

8.6

I spent three years being the perfect wife to tech mogul Cash Ferguson, a forensic accountant playing the role of a low-risk asset to stabilize his public image. My world shattered when I saw a live CNBC broadcast from Sundance showing Cash tenderly hoisting a two-year-old boy onto his hip—a secret son born to a socialite mistress while he was supposedly at a business roadshow. When I confronted him with divorce papers, Cash didn't apologize; he laughed, calling me a "liability" and weaponizing my mother’s history of mental illness to claim I was genetically unfit to carry his heir. He didn't just reject the split; he locked the penthouse elevator and froze every one of my accounts, reclassifying me from a wife to a piece of disputed company property. "You came from nothing, Isidora," he sneered, tossing a credit card at me like a leash. "Stop being dramatic. I can afford a pet, but don't think you can survive a day in the real world without my name." The betrayal turned lethal when I discovered Cash had tracked down my mother’s stolen emerald brooch—my only connection to my past—and bought it as a gift for his mistress. He was using my trauma and my heritage to decorate the woman who had replaced me in his secret life. I realized then that Cash had made a fatal accounting error: he forgot that I was the one who built his shadow accounts and knew exactly where the fraud was buried. He wanted to treat our marriage like a hostile takeover, so I decided to give him a market correction he would never forget. I escaped down forty flights of stairs with nothing but a burner laptop and a plan to burn his empire to the ground. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d show him what happens when a forensic accountant initiates a liquidation protocol. I’m not just leaving; I’m going to make him crawl.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.9

My Husband Forced Me to Donate a Kidney to His Mistress

7.9

The ticker tape on the news crawl was still burning behind my eyelids: *Foster Enterprises Declares Insolvency.* The words were a neon slash across my vision, turning the gray Manhattan skyline into a blur of vertigo and rain. My phone had been vibrating against my hip for an hour—lawyers, creditors, panic—but I didn't answer. I only had one destination. Zain. He was the only solid thing left in a world that had liquefied beneath my feet this morning. I bypassed the doorman at the Obsidian Tower, my breath hitching in my throat as the elevator surged toward the penthouse. I needed his voice. I needed him to tell me that money was just paper, that my father wasn't going to prison, that we would survive this. The penthouse door was unlatched. That should have been my first warning.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.3

My Sexy Boss

9.3

Cherry Mae Banaag, an exceptional and hardworking woman, had one main goal: to provide a better life for her father, who was battling a heart condition. Faced with life's challenges and the lack of financial resources for her father's surgery, Cherry found herself with no option but to accept an offer from Rexon Del'Torre, the renowned lead vocalist of Logistic Band, whom she had recently met at the Resto-Bar where she worked. Initially agreeing to be his personal assistant, Cherry soon found herself in a situation where Rexon requested something more. How could she resist his charisma, his captivating scent, and his provocative touch? How could she turn down Rexon Del'Torre when he seemed to be the only one capable of fulfilling her desires and claiming her body and soul?

Billionaire Modern Romance

My Fiancé Proposes But Not to Me

Chapter 2

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