My Fiancé Spent My Money on His Mistress

Raiden walked into my hospital room seven hours late.

Seven hours.

My mother had called him the moment the ambulance arrived. That was at 11 PM. It was now 6 AM. The sun was coming up outside the window, pale and cold through the blinds.

He still looked perfect. Dark hair combed back. Gray suit pressed. He even brought flowers. White roses in expensive paper.

But when he leaned down to kiss my forehead, I smelled it. Perfume. Floral and sweet and nothing like what I wore.

"Selena," he breathed. His hand reached for mine. "God, I was so worried. I came as soon as I could. Traffic was—"

"Sit down," I said.

My voice didn't sound like mine. Too flat. Too calm.

He blinked. Then smiled that soft, concerned smile I used to love. "Of course. Let me just—"

"Sit."

He sat.

My parents had left twenty minutes ago. I'd asked them to. My mother hadn't wanted to go. She'd looked at Raiden when he finally arrived with an expression I'd never seen on her face before. Something cold and knowing. But she'd kissed my cheek and walked out with my father's hand on her back.

Now it was just us. Me in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm and a hole in my stomach. Him in a chair with flowers he probably grabbed from an all-night bodega.

"I'm so sorry," he said. He leaned forward. Earnest. Devoted. "I should have been here sooner. I was at a client dinner and my phone died, and by the time I—"

I picked up my phone from the bedside table.

He stopped talking.

I opened the photo gallery. Turned the screen toward him.

The first picture was Alyssa. In his bed. Wearing nothing but a sheet and a smile. The timestamp said it was taken four days ago.

Raiden's face went white.

"Keep looking," I said.

I swiped to the next photo. Alyssa again. This time in the Cullinan I bought him. Kissing his cheek. Her hand on his thigh. The caption underneath read: "Road trip with my love."

Swipe.

The two of them at a resort in Turks and Caicos. Last summer. While he'd told me he was at a business conference in Chicago.

Swipe.

A screenshot of their text conversation. Alyssa: "She really believes you're waiting for marriage?" Raiden: "She believes everything I tell her. It's honestly impressive." Alyssa: "You're terrible." Raiden: "I'm practical. She's useful. You're fun. Everyone wins."

I watched his throat move as he swallowed.

"Selena—"

"I'm not finished."

I swiped again.

Bank statements. The credit card I gave him for emergencies. Charges at Cartier. Hermès. A recurring payment for rent at an address in Tribeca. Alyssa's address.

Swipe.

A photo of the ring. The one he designed. The one I thought was ours. On Alyssa's hand. Posted six months ago with the caption: "He knows exactly what I love."

I set the phone down on the blanket between us.

Raiden opened his mouth. Closed it. His hands were shaking.

"How long have you known?" he finally asked.

I almost laughed. That was his question. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just a calculation. How much damage control did he need to do.

"Two days," I said. "I saw her at the jewelry store. I followed her to the parking garage. I watched you kiss her in the car I bought you."

He flinched.

"Then I went home and found the rest," I continued. "All of it. Every lie. Every transaction. Every post you hid from me for years. You blocked me from your close friends list and called me an ATM in a group chat. You told her I was clueless. You laughed about the fact that I trusted you."

My voice was still calm. Flat. Like I was reading a grocery list.

"Selena, please—" He reached for my hand.

I pulled it back.

"The engagement is over," I said.

He froze.

"I want the apartment key. The credit cards. The car keys. Everything with my name on it. You have until Monday to return it all to my lawyer."

"You can't—" His voice cracked. "We've been together for ten years. You can't just—"

"I can."

I looked at him. Really looked at him. At the face I'd loved since I was eighteen. The man I'd built my entire future around.

And I felt nothing.

No anger. No sadness. Just a cold, clear certainty.

"You used me," I said quietly. "You used my family. You took our money and our connections and you gave them to her. You made me believe you respected me while you laughed at me behind my back. You performed virtue and patience and love, and none of it was real."

He was crying now. Actual tears on his perfect face.

"I do love you," he whispered. "I made mistakes, but I love you. We can fix this. Please, Selena. Please."

I picked up my phone again. Opened my contacts. Deleted his number while he watched.

Then I looked up at him.

"Get out."

He didn't move.

"Get out of my room. Get out of my life. If you ever contact me again, I will file a restraining order. My lawyer already has copies of everything. So does my father."

I reached for the call button beside my bed.

"If you're not gone in thirty seconds, I'm calling security."

Raiden stood up. The flowers fell from his lap onto the floor.

He opened his mouth one more time. But whatever he saw in my face made him close it again.

He walked to the door. Stopped. Turned back.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I pressed the call button.

A nurse appeared in the doorway ten seconds later. Raiden was already gone.