The Billionaire Fiancee's Revenge

The bachelor party shimmered like a lie dressed in gold.

Laughter spilled through Wellington's grandest hotel lounge, a room pulsing with music, money, and the unshakable illusion of happiness.

Crystal glasses clinked. Balloons floated lazily against the ceiling. The air smelled of champagne, expensive cologne, and the faint edge of something artificial,like joy bought at a price.

At the center of it all stood the man of the hour-Alexander Wellington.

Heir to a billion-dollar empire, his name carried weight in every corner of the city. Yet at that moment, sitting back in a velvet chair with his jacket undone and tie loose around his neck, he didn't look like a man chasing power. He looked...happy. He's getting married to his sweetheart tomorrow morning.

He swirled the champagne in his glass, watching the bubbles rise and fade. Around him, his friends were loud and half-drunk, a blur of designer suits and careless cheer.

"To the future, Mr. Wellington!" one of them shouted, voice thick with drink. He slapped Alexander's back with the kind of affection that only comes from money and whiskey.

Alexander smirked, the corners of his mouth curving in quiet amusement.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not disappearing tomorrow."

The room erupted with another round of cheers and laughter. Someone turned the music louder. Another bottle opened with a pop that echoed off the chandelier.

And still-in the far corner,someone wasn't laughing.

Summer.

Her golden hair was tucked neatly beneath a hotel cap, her uniform crisp, black and white against the shimmer of the room. She moved with the elegance of someone who once belonged to this world, not as a worker, but as someone who'd been adored, desired, envied.

But tonight, she didn't belong.

The uniform was borrowed. Stolen, actually.

The real attendant was likely still unconscious in a supply closet, drugged just enough to sleep through the night.

No one noticed. No one looked twice at the quiet server moving through the crowd.

But if they had, they might've seen the storm in her eyes.

Summer's gaze stayed locked on Alexander-sharp, aching, burning with a pain that hadn't dulled despite time. The man she'd once dreamed of marrying stood just a few feet away, laughing, relaxed and getting married to her sister.

Kimberly.

Her name stung even in thought.

Kimberly had everything-the ring, the wealth, the title. The life Summer had built in her head for years.

Her fingers trembled. Inside her pocket sat a small glass vial, cool and fragile against her palm. Clear liquid, almost beautiful in its stillness.

She turned it slowly, her reflection rippling on its surface.

Her heart thudded. You've come this far. You can't back down now.

Her lips parted in a whisper, a vow dressed as a toast.

"To the groom."

Then she poured.

The liquid slid into the glass, disappearing beneath the bubbles. A perfect crime in a perfect glass.

She steadied her breath, lifted the tray, and crossed the room. Each step felt like walking across her own breaking