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.

Chapters

Chapter 3

I gestured toward the main conference room with a sweeping arm motion that felt both theatrical and necessary. "Shall we review the footage in a more appropriate setting? The lighting and acoustics will better showcase your special moment."

Alan's smile tightened at the corners, but with fifty employees watching, he had little choice. "Of course," he managed, guiding Luna forward with his hand pressed possessively against her lower back.

The whispers followed us down the corridor, a wave of speculation that I rode with perfect posture and an unreadable expression. Victoria appeared at my side, tablet in hand, her eyes communicating what her words couldn't: everything was ready.

"The emergency broadcast system is active," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You're cleared for override whenever you're ready."

I nodded once, imperceptibly. Three years as my assistant had taught Victoria to read the smallest signals. She knew something monumental was about to happen—she just didn't know what.

The conference room doors slid open automatically at our approach. Inside, the massive screen dominated the far wall, already displaying the company livestream platform. The view counter showed 50,000 active viewers—employees, investors, industry watchers, all tuned in to witness what they thought was merely a corporate love story.

How disappointing it would be to discover it was actually a tragedy.

"Please, take a seat," I said, motioning to the chairs at the head of the table—the power position Alan always insisted on occupying during meetings. "As our CEO and his... fiancée," the word tasted bitter on my tongue, "you should have the best view."

Confusion flickered across Luna's face as she registered my tone, but Alan guided her to sit, his confidence apparently unshaken. He still believed this was a routine PR exercise—that I was simply doing my job, processing his announcement through proper channels.

I took my position at the podium, setting my tablet down with deliberate care. The wireless microphone felt cool against my palm as I tapped it once, the sound echoing through the room's premium acoustics.

"Testing, one, two," I said, watching the audio levels rise on the screen. "Perfect."

With a few practiced taps on my tablet, I activated the broadcast override—a system I'd designed for emergency communications during corporate crises. The irony wasn't lost on me that its first real use would be for exactly that purpose, just not the kind anyone had anticipated.

The door opened silently, and Marcus slipped in, his presence barely registering to the others in the room. As HR Director, his attendance at a PR review wouldn't raise eyebrows. He moved to the side of the room, making eye contact with me as he approached the podium.

"Some documentation you requested," he said quietly, sliding a flash drive across the smooth surface. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and in his eyes I saw years of suppressed frustration—watching Alan's behavior go unchecked, documenting violations that never seemed to matter, waiting for someone with enough power and motivation to act.

I took the drive, our exchange hidden from Alan's view by my body. "Thank you, Marcus."

He nodded once, a gesture that communicated everything: I've got your back. Do what needs to be done.

"Now," I said, turning back to the room with renewed purpose, "let's begin our review of this momentous occasion."

I played the proposal footage, watching Alan's face as he relived his moment of triumph. Luna clasped her hands together, the diamond catching the light with every movement. She looked genuinely happy—a realization that stung more than I expected.

"Beautiful cinematography," I commented professionally. "The lighting team did exceptional work. And the timing of the reveal—" I paused the video at the exact moment Luna's face came into frame, "—absolutely perfect for maximum emotional impact."

I plugged in Marcus's flash drive, its contents appearing instantly on my tablet. With a few quick swipes, I prepared the next slide.

"Now, as we consider how to position this announcement within our broader corporate narrative, I think it's important to provide context."

I tapped my screen, and the proposal footage was replaced by a detailed financial chart—company credit card statements, executive expense reports, and one particular transaction highlighted in glaring red: $75,000 charged to the executive account at Tiffany & Co. three weeks ago.

Alan's face drained of color so rapidly I thought he might faint.

"Context," I repeated, my professional presenter voice never wavering, "is everything in public relations."

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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 3

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