The Fiancé's Cruel Deception
I was kidnapped with my fiancé, Charlton Morris. In that dark, damp room, he was my hero, shielding me from our captors and whispering promises of safety.
After our rescue, he proposed in front of the world's cameras. But the fairytale was a lie. The kidnapping was a sham he orchestrated with my own father, a cruel plot to ruin my reputation.
I was just a pawn, a public pariah to make his family accept his true love, Giuliana. They humiliated me with a degrading video, had me committed to a mental asylum where I was nearly assaulted, and then discovered I was pregnant.
They forced me to abort the child I was secretly carrying-his child. They thought they had broken me, that I would disappear quietly with my shame after they had taken my dignity, my reputation, and my baby.
But on the day of their wedding, I sent them a gift: the preserved remains of the child they made me kill. Then, I burned my old life to the ground and bought a one-way ticket to London. They thought the story was over. They had no idea my revenge was just beginning.
Chapter 2
The engagement was a whirlwind of fake smiles and forced pleasantries. Charlton played the devoted fiancé perfectly, his public displays of affection sickeningly convincing. I played the grateful bride-to-be, my gratitude a thin veil over a growing sense of dread.
Our relationship was a bizarre performance, a morbid charade for public consumption. After the initial media frenzy, the Morris family, an old-money dynasty led by a formidable matriarch, made their disapproval clear.
"This… Kiara Mitchell," the matriarch, Eleanor Morris, had sneered at a family dinner, her eyes raking over me with undisguised contempt, "is hardly the suitable match for a Morris heir. Her reputation precedes her, and not in a way that benefits our legacy."
Charlton had defended me, publicly, of course. "Mother, Kiara is a strong woman. She has been through a terrible ordeal. She deserves our respect."
But his words felt hollow to me. A calculated performance, designed to push his family further into a corner.
The Morris family launched a full-scale campaign against our union. They cut off Charlton's access to the family trust, threatened his position in the corporation. They banned me from family events, spread rumors about my "unsuitability."
Charlton, in turn, used their objections to fuel his narrative. He became the defiant lover, willing to sacrifice everything for the woman he "loved." He staged public arguments with his family, deliberately leaking their harsh words to the press.
I was his weapon, his pawn. Each scandal, each public humiliation, was designed to provoke his family, to make them so desperate to get rid of me that they would accept the "lesser evil."
Giuliana Wilson. The name was a constant whisper in the Morris family's hushed conversations. Charlton's college sweetheart, the "new money" girl they despised even more than me.
I tried to talk to him, to understand his game. "Charlton, what is this really about?" I asked him one night, after a particularly nasty public squabble with his aunt. "Why are you doing all this?"
He looked at me, his eyes cold and unreadable. "You know why, Kiara. We're in this together. We survived something horrible. We deserve happiness."
His words were a carefully constructed lie. I could feel it, like a chill down my spine.
One evening, after another exhausting family confrontation, Charlton had left me alone in our sprawling penthouse, claiming he needed to "handle things." I was tired, wired, and utterly miserable.
I wandered aimlessly, my feet leading me to his study. The door was ajar. A low murmur of voices drifted out. Charlton' s voice. And another, a woman' s.
Curiosity, a dangerous emotion, tugged at me. I crept closer, pressing my ear to the door.
"…you're doing great, Charlton. They're almost broken." It was a smooth, melodic voice. Giuliana Wilson.
My heart hammered. I held my breath, straining to hear.
Charlton chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "They will be. They'll beg me to marry you, my love."
My world stopped. The air left my lungs.
Giuliana's voice, now laced with a cruel satisfaction, "And Kiara? The little socialite? She's serving her purpose, I suppose. A convenient distraction, a useful pariah."
A wave of nausea washed over me. My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms. Pariah. Tool. Pawn.
Charlton's voice, devoid of any warmth, "She's nothing. A means to an end. Once they accept our marriage, she'll be out of the picture. Disposed of."
Disposed of. The words echoed in my head, cold and clinical. I staggered back from the door, my body suddenly weak. For a moment, a blind, white-hot rage threatened to consume me. I wanted to kick down the door, to scream, to claw their smug faces, to smash this perfect penthouse into a million pieces.
But another voice, colder and sharper than my fury, cut through the haze. Don't give them the satisfaction.
My tears would be a victory for them. My screams, music to their ears. My destruction would only prove their point—that I was unstable, unhinged, and ultimately, disposable.
No.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the inferno in my chest down, banking it into a cold, hard ember of resolve. I would not be disposed of. I would be the one who disposed of them.
My mind, once clouded with shock and pain, was now terrifyingly clear. I wiped the single, traitorous tear from my cheek. I smoothed my dress, erased the horror from my face, and replaced it with a mask of weary confusion.
The game had begun. And I would play it better than they ever could.
A piece of furniture scraped inside the room. I took a few steps back down the hallway, making my footsteps audible, as if I had just arrived.
The door opened suddenly. I feigned a startled gasp, stumbling backward.
Charlton stood there, his eyes widening as he saw me. His face, usually so composed, was momentarily stripped bare, revealing a flicker of panic.
"Kiara?" he asked, his voice losing its fabricated warmth, becoming sharp, wary.
I looked at him, my eyes wide and intentionally blank. I glanced past him at Giuliana, who emerged in her silk robe, a triumphant smirk already forming on her lips. I offered her a weak, tired smile.
"Charlton," I said, my voice deliberately soft and fragile. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I just… I couldn't sleep. I was looking for you."
His expression shifted from panic to confusion. Giuliana's smirk faltered. They had expected hysterics. A confrontation. A storm. I was giving them a gentle, broken breeze.
"It was all a lie, wasn't it?" I whispered, letting my voice crack, forcing tears to well in my eyes. I wasn't asking about their grand conspiracy. I was letting them think I was referring to his love for me, a simple, pathetic heartbreak.
He didn't answer. He just stared at me, his eyes like chips of ice, trying to read me.
Giuliana stepped forward, her smile widening again, dripping with condescending pity. "Of course, it was, darling. Did you really think someone like Charlton would ever truly be interested in someone like you?" She laughed, a brittle, mocking sound.
I flinched, as if her words were a physical blow. I let the tears fall, a perfect performance of a shattered heart. I looked at Charlton, my expression one of utter devastation.
"I see," I whispered, my voice choked with manufactured sobs. "I was just… a fool."
I didn't scream. I didn't rage. I simply turned, my shoulders slumped in defeat, and walked away, a picture of a woman utterly and completely broken.
As I walked back to my room, I heard Giuliana’s triumphant whisper, "See? Pathetic. She’ll cause no more trouble."
I closed my bedroom door behind me, the sound a soft click. The mask of heartbreak fell away, replaced by a face of cold, calculating fury.
Oh, my dear, sweet Giuliana, I thought, a venomous smile touching my lips. The trouble hasn't even begun.
