The Hostage Stole My Fiance

Everyone praised my fiancé as the perfect man.

He waited for me patiently through my grueling police academy years.

Today, we were finally getting our marriage registered.

My best friend, Samantha, was taking our commemorative photos with a bright smile.

Five years ago, my father took seven fatal stabs to save Samantha from a kidnapper, bleeding out in my arms.

Since then, Samantha swore she would protect my happiness with her very life.

As I smiled at the camera, Charles suddenly leaned into my ear.

"I saw you when your team was in action yesterday," he whispered.

I frowned, confused because my unit had been conducting a secretive vice raid.

"When you led your team to inspect the venue next door," Charles smirked, his breath hot against my neck.

"I was in the middle of pinning Samantha against the wall, screwing her brains out."

"She was so nervous she shook, and only moaned when you were called away."

I stared at Samantha, who was still smiling sweetly behind the lens.

My stomach violently twisted.

Charles pulled back, shielding Samantha from my intense gaze.

"It's your choice now," he said gently.

"Do you want to continue with the registration, or do you want to cry your heart out?"

Platform Blurb

A sharp pain pierced my chest as Charles smirked at me during our marriage registration.

He had just confessed to sleeping with Samantha—the very hostage my father had died to save.

For three years, I hid my identity as the heiress of Vance Group, working as a lowly cop just to honor my father's legacy.

I even gave Charles his startup capital, completely trusting his vows.

Now, he shielded Samantha, challenging me to either sign the papers or cry and walk away.

They thought I was just a powerless orphan with a broken heart.

They thought they could trample on my father's sacrifice and my love without consequences.

I slowly took my hand off the registration form and pulled out my black card.

If Charles wanted to play dirty with his newfound wealth, I would gladly show him what real power looked like.

***

"Say cheese, you two! This is going straight into the wedding scrapbook!"

Samantha Miller chimed from a few feet away, raising a silver digital camera to her eye. The flash blinded me for an instant, casting harsh shadows against the sterile white walls of the Civil Affairs Bureau.

"You look a little stiff, Nat," Charles Lawson murmured.

He stepped into my personal space, his expensive cedarwood cologne crowding my lungs. We stood in front of the registration counter. The clerk sat behind the glass, stamping documents with a rhythmic thud.

Charles reached out. His fingers brushed the fabric of my white blouse.

"Let me fix your collar," he said, his voice loud enough for Samantha and the clerk to hear.

Then, he leaned in. His lips hovered inches from my ear, and his tone dropped to a register meant only for me.

"You missed quite a show yesterday, Natalie."

I froze. "What are you talking about?"

I kept my smile fixed in place for the camera, assuming this was some twisted joke.

"While you were banging on the VIP room doors at the club, crying and looking for me," Charles whispered, his knuckles grazing my throat, "Samantha was on her knees in the booth right next door."

The smile fell off my face.

"I had my hand clamped over her mouth," he continued, a vile edge of amusement lacing his words. "I had to hold her tight so she wouldn't scream your name while you walked past our door."

My stomach clenched. Nausea surged up the back of my throat. I shoved his hands away and stumbled back a step, putting distance between us.

"Is everything okay?" Samantha lowered the camera, tilting her head.

Her wide innocent eyes locked onto mine. She wore a pristine pink dress, playing the supportive best friend to perfection. Those were the same eyes that had watched my father bleed out on the pavement five years ago.

"You're shaking, Natalie," Charles noted. He offered a false look of concern and reached for my waist. "Pre-wedding jitters?"

"Don't touch me," I snapped.

Behind the counter, the clerk paused, her stamp hovering over our marriage certificate.

"Nat, don't make a scene," Charles warned. His smile vanished. "Samantha took the day off just to be our witness. Show some appreciation."

"Appreciation?" I echoed. My voice came out cold, hollow. "For what? For being the girl my father took seven knife wounds to save? Or for swallowing my fiancé in a club booth yesterday?"

Samantha gasped. She pressed one manicured hand to her chest.

"Natalie! How could you say something so awful?" she whimpered.

"Keep your voice down," Charles hissed, dropping the loving-groom act entirely. He grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise. "Are you crazy? We are getting married today. People are staring."

"Three years," I said, staring at the man I thought I knew.

I wrenched my arm out of his grasp.

"I spent three years building a life with you, Charles. I cooked your meals. I ironed your shirts. And you choose to screw the one person alive because my father died."

"Your father did his job," Samantha cried out, tears brightening her eyes. "He was a security guard! It was a tragedy, but you can't hold that over my head forever. Charles and I... we just couldn't fight our connection."

"Connection," I repeated, the word turning to ash on my tongue.

"Grow up, Natalie," Charles sneered. He took another step toward me, using his height to crowd me. "You have nothing: no family, no money, no future without me. I pay your rent. I bought that cheap blouse on your back. A man has needs, and Samantha understands that. You should be thanking her for sticking around to support you today."

"Support me," I said.

"Exactly." Charles pointed to the registration form resting on the counter. "Now sign the paper. Sign it, and we go back to normal. I'll still marry you. You still get to be my wife. I'll even pretend this little outburst never happened."

Samantha stepped up, linking her arm through his. She rested her head on his shoulder, wiping a false tear from her cheek.

"We can all just get along, Nat," she pleaded. "Charles loves you. He just needed a little release. I don't want to take him away from you. I just want to share him."

The audacity of her words hung in the air.

My hand slipped into the deep pocket of my coat. My fingers brushed against a piece of cool, rigid plastic. It was a solid black card, the Vance Group insignia embossed on the front.

For three years, I had hidden who I truly was. I played the struggling orphan, a poor security guard's daughter, all to make sure Charles loved me for myself, not for a billionaire empire. I wanted a normal life. I wanted a man who would choose me without wealth in the room.

I pressed my thumb against the raised numbers on the card.

The urge to cry vanished. The grief that had been threatening to crush my chest evaporated, replaced by a freezing, absolute clarity.

I looked at the marriage registration form on the desk. Two signatures were required. Charles had already scrawled his name on the bottom line in thick blue ink.

"Are you going to sign, miss?" the clerk asked. She shifted in her chair, clearly uncomfortable with the drama unfolding in her lobby. "There's a line forming behind you."

"Yeah, Nat," Charles commanded. "Pick up the pen. Don't embarrass yourself any further. You know you have nowhere else to go."

"I'm not the one embarrassing myself," I said.

I reached across the counter and grabbed the registration form. The thick paper crinkled in my tight grip.

"What are you doing?" Charles demanded. He reached out to snatch it back.

I ripped the document straight down the middle.

"Hey!" the clerk shouted, half-standing from her chair.

I tore the paper again, halving the pieces.

Before Charles could react, I slammed the shredded remains directly into his face. The sharp edges of the thick paper scraped his cheek as they fluttered down to the tiled floor.

I turned on my heel and pushed through the heavy glass doors of the registry office.