My Fiancé's Ultimate Deception

After seven years of devotion, I finally became pregnant with my fiancé Coleton's twins. But when I started bleeding, terrified and in pain, he wasn't there.

I miscarried our babies alone on the cold bathroom floor.

I had called him twelve times. He declined every single one. Later, I found out why: Annis, his ex-girlfriend, needed him because she was "sad" about her divorce.

He came to the hospital two days late, a fresh hickey on his neck. Instead of comforting me for the loss of our children, he forced me to post a public apology to Annis for "harassing" them with my emergency calls. He even used my phone to flirt with her, planning their dinner date right in front of me while I was still grieving.

When I refused to play along, he abandoned me at the hospital exit, causing me to fall and get a concussion. Later, I found them in our bed, and he had the audacity to invite me to their "celebratory" dinner.

"You're doing this for me, right?" he asked, a hopeful smile on his face. "So I can finally be happy with Annis?"

I looked at the man I had given my life to, the man who had left our children to die to comfort his ex, and saw a stranger. This time, there would be no tears, no second chances. I took the pre-nup he signed years ago—the one that gave me a huge chunk of his company if he ever betrayed me—and walked away for good.

1

My fiancé, Coleton Stephenson, was late. Again. The soft hum of the waiting room was a stark contrast to the frantic beat of my heart. Every tick of the clock felt like a hammer blow against my ribs. He had promised he'd be here to pick me up.

The heavy door creaked open, and Coleton finally walked in. He moved with that easy, confident stride that always turned heads. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, were a little too bright. A smile, too wide, stretched across his face.

He saw me, his expression softening to what he thought was reassurance. He walked over, his arm already reaching to pull me into him.

"Baby, I'm so sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Traffic was a nightmare."

I stiffened before his hand could even touch my skin. A cold wave washed over me. I pulled back, almost imperceptibly, just enough to avoid the contact.

He froze, his hand hovering in the air. His smile faltered.

"Everything alright, Clarissa?" he asked. The concern in his tone felt manufactured, a performance.

I kept my gaze steady, not meeting his eyes directly. My eyes locked onto the faint, reddish mark just beneath his jawline. It was small, almost hidden by his perfectly tailored collar, but it was there. A fresh, tell-tale bruise.

A hickey.

My stomach clenched. I said nothing. My silence hung heavy in the air between us, a suffocating blanket.

He cleared his