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Scarred by His Deceit Novel Cover

Scarred by His Deceit

The house keys felt cold in my palm as I stood frozen outside Preston's home office. Three days before our wedding, and I was still finalizing paint swatches for our dream home—the one we'd spent months planning together. The one that was supposed to be our fresh start. The door was slightly ajar, and Preston's voice drifted through the crack. "Marcus, you should have seen Sienna's face when I told her." Preston's voice carried that smug tone he used when he knew he'd done something impressive. "She thought I was joking." I pushed the door open just enough to hear better, my fingers instinctively tracing the raised scar that ran from my collarbone to my shoulder—the permanent reminder of the night I'd thrown myself in front of a knife meant for him. "What did you tell her?" Marcus's voice was muffled through the phone speaker. "I sold the house, man. The one Evie's been designing for months." Preston chuckled, the sound slicing through me like that knife had three years ago. "Sienna's been eyeing that limited edition Hermès bag forever.
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Chapter 2

I stood in the middle of the furniture store, clutching the receipt for the bedroom set we'd ordered for our dream home. The sales associate shifted uncomfortably beside me, her eyes darting between Preston and me as he paced the showroom floor.

"We need to return everything," I said quietly, handing her the paperwork. "The house... we're not getting it anymore."

Preston's phone buzzed for the fifth time in ten minutes. He glanced at it, his expression softening momentarily before hardening again as he looked at me.

"Evie, we've been over this." His voice carried across the showroom, drawing glances from other customers. "It's just a house."

I felt my scar burning under my touch. "It wasn't just a house. It was our future."

"Our future?" Preston's laugh was sharp, cutting through the hushed atmosphere of the store. "Don't be so dramatic. We can find another place."

A couple browsing nearby sofas stopped to stare. The sales associate took a small step back, her professional smile faltering.

"You sold it for a handbag," I whispered, fighting to keep my voice steady. "For Sienna."

Preston's eyes narrowed. "Lower your voice."

"No." Something inside me hardened. "You don't get to tell me to be quiet anymore."

His face flushed red. "Stop being selfish, Evie!" He raised his voice deliberately, making sure everyone could hear. "Sienna needed that bag more than we needed that house!"

Tears stung my eyes as I realized what he was doing—making me the villain in front of these strangers. The sales associate looked like she wanted to disappear.

"Sir," she ventured cautiously, "perhaps we could discuss the returns privately—"

"There's nothing to discuss," Preston cut her off, then turned back to me. "Your tears aren't going to change anything. You're always so emotional about everything."

I felt the weight of every stare in the room. My fingers traced my scar as I struggled to breathe normally.

"I think we're done here," I managed to say, turning away from him.

---

Later that evening, I sat on my apartment balcony, scrolling through my calendar on my phone. Last month's entry caught my eye: "Birthday dinner with Preston."

Except there had been no dinner. No celebration at all.

Preston had called that morning, his voice urgent. "Sienna's having a crisis, Evie. I need to go to her."

"But... it's my birthday," I'd reminded him, already knowing the answer.

"We'll celebrate next weekend," he'd promised before hanging up.

Next weekend never came.

I scrolled further back, noting all the appointments I'd attended alone. Dr. Sarah Chen's office for my scar treatments. The specialist for my pain management. Every single one marked with a notation: "Preston no-show."

Rain started falling softly, and I felt the familiar ache spreading across my scar. I reached for my medication, wondering if Preston even remembered what dosage I was supposed to take when the weather changed.

My phone buzzed with a text from Elena: "How are you holding up?"

I typed back: "I'm fine."

The lie came easily now.

---

"You're not fine, Evie."

I looked up from the hospital chair where I was waiting for my appointment with Dr. Chen. William Nelson stood in front of me, his police uniform crisp and formal, but his eyes were soft with concern.

"Officer Nelson," I said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking on you." He sat beside me, his presence solid and reassuring. "I've been doing it for about ten years now."

My brow furrowed. "Ten years?"

"Since high school." William's voice was gentle but steady. "I noticed how you looked at him then. How you've been looking at him ever since."

Something in his tone made me study his face more carefully. The slight wrinkle between his brows. The way his eyes never left mine when I spoke.

"You've been watching over me?" I asked, not sure if I should feel disturbed or touched.

William nodded slowly. "I've seen how he treats you. The appointments he misses. The way he makes you feel small."

My scar throbbed painfully, but not from the rain this time.

"Your friend Sienna," William continued carefully. "She calls him every time you're vulnerable. Every time you need him most."

I stared at him, stunned by his observation. "How do you know about Sienna?"

"I make it my business to know who hurts the people I care about." William's hand moved toward mine but stopped short. "And I've cared about you for a very long time, Evie."

Something warm unfurled in my chest—something I hadn't felt in years. Not the desperate need I felt with Preston, but something steadier. Safer.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" I whispered.

William's eyes held mine, serious and intent. "Because you weren't ready to hear it."

And as Preston's name flashed on my phone screen again, I wondered if I was finally ready now.

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