After My Fiancé Chose My Best Friend

"He disowned you," Alexander said, steering me out of the gala's side exit.

"What?" I stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

"Your father released a statement to the press ten minutes ago." He opened the door of his waiting town car. "He claimed you suffered a mental breakdown and severed all legal and financial ties."

"He can't do that," I whispered.

"He already did. Get in."

I slid onto the leather seat, watching the city lights blur outside the tinted windows. My own father had publicly erased me to protect a lie. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, too exhausted to cry.

The next morning, a thick manila folder landed on the glass dining table with a heavy thud.

"Explain this," Alexander demanded.

I glanced up from my black coffee. "Good morning to you, too."

"Page four," he instructed, tapping the heavy paper.

I opened the folder. It was a medical report. My medical report.

"You collapsed at the Bennett offices three weeks ago," Alexander said, pulling out the chair opposite mine. "The clinic diagnosed you with severe malnutrition."

I closed the folder. "I skipped a few lunches. It was a busy quarter."

"You weighed one hundred and ten pounds," he read from a separate sheet. "Your iron levels were dangerously low."

"I was managing a multi-million dollar merger."

"You were killing yourself," he corrected. His voice lacked its usual icy edge. "You worked ninety hours a week while your fiancé and your best friend planned their takeover."

"Why are you digging into my medical records?" I asked, gripping my mug.

"Because I needed to know who I married." He pulled out a bank statement, highlighting a row of numbers. "You paid eighty thousand dollars to a private hospital last year. For Vivian Moore."

I stared at the tabletop.

"She had a severe infection," I said softly. "Her insurance wouldn't cover the specialist. I used my savings."

"You emptied your savings," he clarified. "You bought her designer dresses so she wouldn't feel out of place at industry events. You secured her a junior executive role at Bennett."

"She was my best friend. We grew up together."

"She was a parasite." He tossed a stack of printed emails next to my coffee cup. "My security team pulled Ethan's private servers last night. Vivian wasn't just having an affair. She orchestrated it."

I frowned, picking up the top sheet.

"Read the dates," Alexander urged.

"February twelfth," I read aloud. "She tells Ethan to stop using protection."

"Read the next one," he demanded.

I picked up the second sheet. "March first. She tells Ethan my father will never allow a bastard grandchild. If she gets pregnant, he will have to marry her."

"She wanted the pregnancy," Alexander stated. "She knew your father prioritized the bloodline above all else. She envied your position, Lillian. She wanted your fiancé, your family, and your future. So she plotted to steal them."

A strange sound escaped my throat. Not a sob. A laugh.

It echoed in the cavernous dining room, harsh and bitter.

Alexander's jaw tightened. "You find betrayal amusing?"

"I find my own stupidity hilarious," I shot back, tossing the papers onto the table. "I starved myself to build a future for a man who was busy making a baby with my best friend."

He rounded the table and stopped right beside my chair.

"I was wrong about you," he said.

I looked up, stunned. The ruthless Alexander Sterling never admitted fault.

"You are not the schemer I thought you were," he continued, his gaze dropping to my collarbone, taking in my frail frame. "You are the casualty. And I will not let my wife be treated as collateral damage."

Before I could respond, the doorbell chimed, echoing through the marble foyer.

A maid opened the heavy oak door. Vivian stood on the threshold, flanked by two men carrying cardboard boxes.

"Put them anywhere," Vivian instructed the movers. She spotted me in the dining room and smirked. "Lillian. I brought the rest of your trash."

I stood up, gripping the edge of the table. "Get out."

"Your father asked me to clear out your old room," she said, stepping into the foyer. "Since you're officially disowned, he wants to turn it into a nursery for the baby."

"You could have hired a courier," I said.

"I wanted to see it for myself," she mocked, looking up at the crystal chandelier. "The grand Sterling estate. It's a shame you won't be here long."

I stepped forward, but Alexander moved faster.

He stepped between us, completely blocking her view of me.

"Who allowed you on my property?" Alexander asked.

Vivian blinked, her arrogant smile faltering. "Alexander. I was just doing Lillian a favor. She has nothing left."

"My wife does not require favors from thieves," he replied smoothly.

Vivian's face flushed. "Excuse me?"

"I read the emails, Vivian." Alexander shoved his hands into his pockets. "I know exactly how you trapped Ethan. I also know you faked your medical complications last year to siphon another thirty thousand from Lillian's accounts."

Her eyes widened. She took a step back. "That's a lie."

"I have the bank transfers," he said. "You resented her success. You hated that she had to save you. So you slept with her fiancé to prove you could take something from her."

"She didn't deserve him!" Vivian shouted, her mask completely shattering. "She ignored him! She was always working!"

"She was working to fund your pathetic lifestyle," Alexander countered.

Vivian looked at him, genuine panic warping her features. She realized she couldn't charm him. She couldn't manipulate the narrative anymore.

"Alexander, you don't want her," Vivian pleaded, changing tactics. "Everyone knows this marriage is a sham. She's broken goods."

"She is a Sterling," he replied, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You are a guest in my home, insulting my wife. Do you understand the consequences of your words?"

Vivian shrank back.

He snapped his fingers. Two massive security guards materialized from the hallway.

"Escort Miss Moore off the premises," Alexander ordered. "If she returns, have her arrested for trespassing. And burn those boxes."

"You can't do this!" Vivian shouted as the guards grabbed her arms. "Lillian, tell him to stop! We're family!"

I held her gaze. "We were never family. Goodbye, Vivian."

She thrashed against the guards, her shrill voice echoing down the driveway until the heavy doors slammed shut.

Silence settled over the foyer.

I looked at Alexander. He didn't gloat. He simply turned back to the dining room and pulled out my chair.

"Sit down," he instructed.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"Because nobody disrespects what belongs to me," he replied, pointing to the plate of eggs the maid had just set down. "Eat."

I sat down, picking up my fork. The food tasted like ash, but I chewed anyway.

His phone buzzed on the table.

Alexander glanced at the screen. The protective warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp fury.

"What is it?" I asked.

He locked his phone and slid it into his pocket.

"Your father isn't finished," Alexander said quietly. "He just called an emergency board meeting. He's trying to seize the shares your grandfather left you."