After His Affair, I Faked My Wedding Day Death

I stared at my laptop screen, unable to process what I was seeing. My fingers hovered over the trackpad, trembling slightly as I refreshed Cameron's profile again. The relationship status remained stubbornly, devastatingly changed: "Single."

Two weeks before our wedding.

Nine years together, and he had changed his status to "single" without even telling me.

"This has to be a mistake," I whispered to the empty penthouse, my voice echoing off the pristine white walls that suddenly felt cold and foreign. The Los Angeles skyline glittered beyond our floor-to-ceiling windows, oblivious to my world collapsing.

I reached for my phone to call Cameron, but it buzzed in my hand before I could dial. An email notification. From Vanessa Clarke—Cameron's assistant.

My stomach twisted as I opened it.

The first image loaded, and the phone nearly slipped from my grasp.

Cameron and Vanessa. Together. Intimately together.

I scrolled with increasing horror. Another image. And another. Ninety-nine photos in total, each more intimate than the last. Cameron kissing her neck in what looked like a hotel room. Vanessa in his lap at what I recognized as his office after hours. The two of them on a beach I didn't recognize, his arms wrapped around her waist possessively.

Beneath the photos was a message:

*He never loved you, Isabella. Not like he loves me. He's been mine for months. I thought you should know before you embarrass yourself walking down that aisle for a man who's already moved on. P.S. He says you're too boring in bed. I fixed that for him.*

A strangled sound escaped my throat as I dropped the phone like it had burned me. The device clattered against our imported marble coffee table—the one I'd spent weeks selecting when we moved in together.

I stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it before the violent heaving began. Nothing came up; I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Nine years of memories flashed through my mind in sickening waves—the cramped studio apartment we'd shared in college, where I'd worked two jobs so Cameron could focus on building his first app. The nights I'd stayed up with him, editing his business proposals, bringing him coffee, believing in his vision when everyone else called him delusional.

When I finally rose from the bathroom floor, my legs barely supported me. I caught my reflection in the mirror—hollow eyes, ashen face. I didn't recognize myself.

"Isabella Martinez," I whispered to my reflection. "What happened to you?"

I wandered through our penthouse like a ghost, touching the evidence of our life together. Photos from vacations. The engagement ring on my finger that had once symbolized forever. All lies.

Darkness fell. I couldn't bring myself to turn on the lights. Couldn't bear to see our life together illuminated when it had all been a sham.

At 2 AM, I found myself sitting cross-legged on our bed, my laptop casting an eerie blue glow across the room. My fingers moved across the keyboard with a strange detachment, as if someone