The Fiancée Who Stole My Kidney

Donny Bradshaw POV:

Diane didn' t believe I would go through with it. I could tell from the string of texts she sent over the next few days-a mix of feigned concern, anger, and condescending advice to "get some rest." She thought I was just throwing a tantrum. After three years of me bending to her every whim, she couldn' t conceive of a world where I wouldn't eventually forgive her. She had tragically overestimated her hold on me, and just as tragically, underestimated the depth of my resolve.

I didn't reply to any of her messages. Instead, I packed a bag, left the house key on the counter of the home that was no longer ours, and moved into the small, sterile room above the garage where I worked.

A week later, an invitation popped up in my old college alumni chat group. A ten-year reunion. My first instinct was to ignore it. The last thing I wanted was to make small talk and pretend my life wasn't a complete dumpster fire. But the organizer, our old class president, sent me a private message. People were looking forward to seeing me, the guy who' d started his own successful auto shop from scratch. I was one of the "success stories." The irony was a bitter pill. Reluctantly, I agreed to go.

I showed up late, still in my work clothes, smelling faintly of motor oil. The restaurant was buzzing with the cheerful noise of people catching up, reminiscing. I found an empty seat in a dark corner, hoping to blend into the background.

"Donny! Man, it's good to see you!" someone slapped me on the back. It was Dave, a guy I used to study with. "Where's Diane? I figured you two would be joined at the hip, as always."

Before I could formulate an answer, the restaurant doors opened. And there she was.

She wasn't alone. Eugene Crosby had his arm draped possessively around her shoulders. They moved through the room like they owned it, laughing at something he'd whispered in her ear.

The chatter in the room died down for a beat. Everyone knew Diane and I were a package deal. Seeing her with him sent a ripple of awkward tension through the crowd. My buddy Dave coughed and suddenly found something fascinating to look at on his phone.

Diane' s eyes scanned the room and landed on me. For a fraction of a second, I saw something flicker in her expression-surprise? Guilt? It was gone before I could be sure. Then, with a deliberate slowness, she guided Eugene to a table on the opposite side of the room, turning her back to me.

I knew what this was. She was angry. Angry that I hadn' t answered her texts. Angry that I had dared to call her bluff. Angry that I had served her with divorce papers that morning. This was her punishment.

A cold smirk touched my lips. I picked up my beer and took a long drink.

Someone suggested a game of "Truth or Dare" to break the ice. The bottle was spun, and of course, it landed on Eugene.

His friend, a smarmy guy in a ridiculously expensive suit, grinned. "Truth. Why is a guy like you, Crosby, still single after all these years? Don' t tell me no one' s been able to pin you down."

Eugene didn' t say a word. He just turned his head and looked directly at Diane, a possessive, knowing smile on his face.

The guy laughed. "Ah, I see! You were waiting for someone. Someone who was, uh, otherwise engaged." He shot a quick, apologetic glance my way.

The class president coughed loudly. "Dude, not cool. It' s just a game." He looked at me. "Donny, man, they're just joking."

I just shook my head, a hollow feeling spreading through my chest. "It's fine."

It wasn't fine. I remembered all the stories. Diane and Eugene had been inseparable since kindergarten. They were the golden couple, destined for a merger of family fortunes. Seeing them together now, it felt less like a new romance and more like a return to the natural order of things. I was just an interruption. A temporary diversion.

The party wound down, and I was one of the first to leave, desperate for air. I was standing by my truck when she caught up to me.

"Donny, wait."

I turned. She stood there, bathed in the cool glow of the streetlights. "They were just kidding around back there," she said softly. "Don't take it to heart."

My eyes drifted down. Just below her collarbone, peeking out from the neckline of her dress, was a dark, purplish mark. A hickey. Fresh.

My gaze snapped back to her face. My voice was ice. "It doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with me."

Her face hardened. "So you really don't care? I can walk around with another man's mark on my neck and you feel nothing?"

"That's your business," I said, my voice flat. "Why should I care?"

She opened her mouth to say something else, but just then, Eugene stumbled out of the restaurant, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

"Di," he slurred, putting on a show of being drunker than he was. "I don't feel so good. Can you take me home?"

She hesitated, her eyes darting to me, waiting for a reaction. Searching for a spark of the old jealousy, the old possessiveness she could so easily manipulate.

I gave her a small, tight smile. "Go on," I said. "He needs you."

Her hesitation was a performance, and we both knew it. I could see the genuine concern for him in her eyes. It was a look she had never once given me. The whole pathetic scene was designed to make me feel small, to make me fight for her.

But I was done fighting.

I watched them get into his Porsche, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. As the red taillights disappeared down the street, my own eyes turned to steel.

I pulled out my phone, my thumb scrolling through my contacts until I found the number for my lawyer.

"Hey, it's Donny Bradshaw," I said when he answered. "Draw up the papers. I want everything ready to file first thing in the morning. No negotiations. No delays."

I couldn't endure another second of this.